Rajbir Singh (01 July 2025)
Picture this: you’ve spent a year chasing data like a detective on a wild case. You’ve braved power cuts, budget constraints, Unhelpful lab assistants, and university red tape. Finally, after rounds of editing, frantic tea breaks, and one existential crisis, you send your research paper to a journal. You breathe. You wait. And then… nothing.
Welcome to the mysterious, creaky old house known as peer review — where papers go in, time stands still, and outcomes emerge like lottery numbers. The idea of peer review is noble — elegant, even. You write something smart. Experts read it, check if it makes sense, suggest improvements, and if all goes well,
you’re published. In theory, it keeps bad science out and good science in. But theory, as any seasoned Indian researcher knows, doesn’t always translate neatly into practice.
Let’s begin with the first roadblock: lack of reviewers. There simply aren’t enough willing hands. The number of research submissions has exploded in India over the last two decades, thanks to UGC regulations, the publish-or-perish culture in academia, and the growing number of PhDs entering the system. But the reviewer pool? It hasn’t grown at the same pace. Senior professors are swamped. Junior ones are under pressure. And reviewing, let’s be honest, doesn’t come with much glory.
Which leads us to the second problem: delays. It’s not uncommon to wait three, six, or even twelve months to hear back. This might be just about bearable for a tenured professor, but for a PhD student trying to submit their thesis or an assistant professor
gunning for promotion, it’s agonising. Time is career currency in Indian academia.
Then there’s the tricky matter of bias. In an ideal world, reviewers are neutral, wise, and fair. But we live in the real world — where sometimes your reviewer doesn’t like your field, your methods, or your institution. Sometimes they are your rival, hidden behind the curtain of anonymity. It’s not unheard of for ideas to be “borrowed,” or for criticism to come not from the science but from a clash of academic egos.
Add to this the lack of consistency. One reviewer praises your statistical rigour; the other questions your entire hypothesis. One wants you to add ten references; the other says your paper is too long. It’s like being caught between two stern schoolteachers who can’t agree on your essay. And you — the author — are left to guess which direction to run.
The fourth problem? Opacity. The peer review system is still largely hidden from view. Most reviews in Indian and international journals are anonymous, and often the process lacks transparency. This secrecy can shield reviewers from backlash — but it also means no one’s accountable if the review is sloppy, biased, or flat-out wrong.
And finally, perhaps the biggest irony of all: reviewers are unpaid and under-acknowledged. For a job that requires expertise, judgment, and time, there’s usually no reward — not even a line on your annual appraisal. In India, where academia already comes with low pay and high demands, that’s a tough ask. Many researchers, understandably, would rather focus on their own papers than review someone else’s.
So, where does that leave us?
The peer review process is essential — no doubt about it. Without it, we risk turning academic publishing into a free-for-all. But it’s time we looked at it critically. We need more reviewers, faster systems, better recognition, and, perhaps, a dash of transparency. Some journals are experimenting with open peer review. Others are offering certificates or incentives. That’s a start.
Until then, the story remains the same. Indian researchers will keep waiting for emails that never come, reviewers will keep grumbling in silence, and the mighty machine of peer review will trudge on — noble in intent, but desperately in need of reform.
And if you’re a researcher reading this? Patience. Treat rejections as test of patience. And maybe an opportunity to have few more cups of chai.