By Dapbianglin Sohkhlet
Tourism in Meghalaya is a case of aspirations taking flight but the system clipping the wings of the aspirants. In international summits, policy corridors, and strategic plans, tourism is hailed as the golden goose fuel for economic growth, a fountain for rural development, and a platform for cultural diplomacy. Yet beneath all the declarations and development jargon, there is a quiet disconnect, a silence too loud to ignore. In Meghalaya, where mist-kissed hills and living root bridges draw travelers from around the world, tourism remains something we talk about proudly, but teach about poorly, if at all.
We celebrate tourism’s success in speeches, but in schools, it barely exists.
In village classrooms, students still dream of becoming doctors, police officers, and engineers, careers passed down through textbooks and tradition. Ask them about tourism, and most wouldn’t know what you mean. Ask their teachers, and they may fumble for a definition. How can we expect a child to chase an unfamiliar star?
Here lies the contradiction: tourism in Meghalaya is most actively practised in rural areas, yet it is precisely in these spaces that it is least understood as a discipline. Home-stays flourish, local guides are in demand, yet our schools and colleges often carry no syllabus, no module, no mention of tourism as a field of study. If tourism is the second-largest contributor to Meghalaya’s economy, why then is it absent from our blackboards?
The answer, I fear, lies in a cocktail of oversight, elitism, and misplaced assumptions.
Too often, tourism is boxed into a professional category something to be learned through a brief, two-month training; not a career to be studied deeply, critically, or creatively. The result? A generation of “trained” individuals with certificates but no confidence. Where is the professionalism in that? What we have built is a system where those who walk the talk, guides, hosts, and local entrepreneurs are not offered real tools for excellence, and those who study the field academically are left stranded without employment, relevance, or recognition.
I recall, personally, how my own village honoured me for completing my Master’s degree in Tourism. It was a proud moment. And yet, beneath their applause was something humbling – a shared curiosity, almost confusion: “What exactly do you study in tourism?” they asked with genuine wonder. That moment, more than any examination, was my education. It made clear just how distant our formal institutions are from grassroots realities.
And this is not an isolated case. A teacher once shared the story of a former student, a tourism postgraduate, now working on malaria control in the Health Department. A worthy job, no doubt, but is this the destination for a tourism graduate? Was all that study, fieldwork, and vision only meant to land elsewhere, because the tourism sector simply couldn’t make space?
The education system demands degrees. The employment system demands experience. But no one tells us how to build that bridge in between. Fresh graduates are often told they are “too fresh” for government jobs, lacking experience, exposure, and eligibility. Yet these same systems claim to seek “innovative minds” and “young energy.” This contradiction is not just frustrating; it’s unjust. What about those without family businesses to inherit, or wealth to fund start-ups? What about students who hold knowledge but no network, who possess passion but not privilege? For many, education is not a stepping stone it becomes a stumbling block.
Meanwhile, the informal tourism sector trudges along, full of promise and yet plagued by problems. Local tour operators navigate without guidelines. Home-stay hosts offer hospitality with no training in safety or sustainability. The value chain is broken and fragmented between those who study tourism in theory and those who live it in practice. Where is the connection? Where is the collaboration?
We have scholars without platforms. We have practitioners without guidance. We have dreams without destinations. And we wonder why tourism, for all its beauty and buzz, remains underdeveloped. But it doesn’t have to be this way.
We speak proudly of eco-tourism, but behind the buzzwords lies a quieter truth where is the plan? Who is measuring how many is too many? Where is the carrying capacity report before the next trail gets trampled? Where is the pricing strategy that values both the local host’s effort and the visitor’s experience? Who teaches segmentation – how to shape experiences for backpackers, families, cultural seekers and not just treat every traveller the same?
And then there’s the illusion I’ve seen too often: locals selling chips, bottled water, and trinkets at tourist sites, counting the day’s small earnings and mistaking it for sustainability. It feels like progress, but it isn’t a plan, but a survival masked as success.
True sustainability is not built on daily sales, but long-term systems. Without training, structure, and strategy, rural tourism risks becoming a revolving door of missed opportunities. We need more than tourists. We need teachers. We need tools. We need to stop mistaking the smoke for the fire and start building from the roots, not just the revenue.
Tourism is not just about sightseeing. It’s about human connection, shared stories, dignity in service, and pride in culture. It is a living, breathing sector that deserves to be nurtured, not only in the market, but in the classroom. Not only in cities, but in the hills and hamlets that make tourism possible in the first place.
So, what now?
Let us introduce tourism as a subject in school syllabi and college curricula not as an optional add-on, but as a viable, vibrant field of study.
Let us empower rural tourism service providers with real training professionals that are standardised, and accessible.
Let us create jobs where tourism graduates can do what they were taught not push them into unrelated sectors just to survive.
Let us stop equating success only with entrepreneurship. Let us make room for those who want to be employed, mentored, and grow within systems, not just start one.
And most importantly, let us listen.
Let us listen to the student who wonders if their degree means anything.
Let us listen to the villager who welcomes tourists but doesn’t know what tourism actually is.
Let us listen to the stories that don’t make it into policy, but shape the lives of real people.
Until we do all of the above, tourism will remain a beautifully written script with no actors.
A ladder with missing rungs. A dream deferred at the very grassroots that makes it possible.
Let us build a system that doesn’t just look at tourism from the top, but grows it from the ground up. Because tourism is not a fantasy. It is a future and it deserves to be real.
A Grounded Call: Towards a Thoughtful, Trained, and Inclusive Tourism Future Tourism in Meghalaya has become something of a paradox spoken of as a major pillar of economic growth, yet still treated with the informality of an afterthought in education and employment. The time has come for us to move beyond intention and embrace action, to bridge the gap between ambition and awareness.
Let us begin with the most evident truth: those working closest to tourism, our local guides and escorts, are often those furthest from formal recognition. They know the land, its stories, its silences. They carry wisdom not found in textbooks. Yet their knowledge is rarely certified, their contribution seldom acknowledged. We must offer them employment not as a favour, but as rightful inclusion in a growing sector. Let us also extend trust to our research scholars. Their dissertations and data are not idle theory; they are blueprints for progress. Why must their ideas remain bound within the walls of academia? Why not grant them the opportunity to initiate tourism-based projects, particularly in rural areas? Let them lead, let them test their learning against real-world soil.
And let us begin earlier still. Tourism must be introduced in the school curriculum from the secondary level not as an ornamental subject, but as an essential education in culture, hospitality, and livelihood. Students in rural and urban Meghalaya alike must learn that tourism is not just about serving tea or making beds; it is about storytelling, conservation, management, and pride.
We need community campaigns, yes but not just banners and slogans. We need village dialogues, interactive workshops, and immersive learning. The idea of tourism must move from concept to community, from lecture hall to living room. Our youth, particularly those without economic inheritance or access to networks, must be empowered not judged for their inexperience, but trusted for their fresh eyes and daring minds. Give them platforms before demanding résumés. Let them explore, stumble, and innovate. Every expert, after all, began without experience.
Skill development should not be delayed until after graduation. It must begin in our secondary schools. Let us teach hospitality, communication, local guiding, digital booking systems and even basic financial literacy. These are not luxuries; they are lifelines.
And let our scholars walk the path of service. Let them conduct mobile workshops in rural corners of Meghalaya not to speak above, but to speak with. Knowledge is best when it circulates.
Finally, we must be honest about the current practice of hospitality in most rural areas. In guesthouses and restaurants, jobs often go to family by default whether or not they are prepared. Let us honour the profession by requiring at least foundational training or certification. Whether a worker is a relative or a recruit, hospitality deserves knowledge, not guesswork. Because tourism is not merely about economic gain. It is about dignity, about connection, about telling the story of Meghalaya with grace and authenticity.
We have the youth. We have the wisdom. We have the resources.
What we need now is the will to bridge the classroom and the community.
The courage to trust new voices. And the humility to learn even from those we once overlooked.
Let us not merely speak of tourism as a potential. Let us build it thoughtfully, inclusively, and together.
Tourism in Meghalaya is growing, but the foundation remains fragile. Without real education, inclusive training, and grounded strategies, we’re building dreams on uneven ground. It’s time to move beyond token initiatives and bring real opportunities to the people who live where tourism breathes. Because until the learners are empowered, the practitioners supported, and the systems aligned, tourism will remain just another untapped promise in the mist.
The writer is a research scholar of the Tourism Department, at North Eastern Hills University, Shillong. Email: [email protected]