flying roofs

  Last week, I told my students, "From next week, every English class will start with a student's voice before mine. After the attendance, a short talk, and then the lesson. A hand shot up almost instantly. "Ma'am... about what?" "About anything under the sky," I replied, "provided the sky doesn't fall on our classroom decorum!" The room erupted. "Wooow!"... "Seriously?"... "That's nice!" Everyone was excited. Then came my little plot twist. "We'll start with zigzagging through the attendance register." The "Wooow!" suddenly became "Ohhh". Some faces were busy calculating. Some were praying their turn was still a month away. A few looked at the attendance register as though it had personally betrayed them. Today was Monday. It's Aarvi's turn.The girl who is permanently powered by invisible batteries, always restless, always smiling, with two cute dimples that app...

                                                A Teacher's Window to Growing Minds Classes began today after a long summer break. Unlike every other reopening day, Maulik and Aarav didn't disappear into their favourite corner of the classroom. They marched straight to the centre, dropped their bags dramatically on the desk and wished me. Suddenly Aarav popped up- "Ma'am, you read a lot. Have you ever read Friedrich Nietzsche?" "Not really," I replied. "That's not my stuff in fact." Before I could complete my sentence, another book appeared. The Antichrist. And just like that, the conversation took a sharp turn—from summer holidays to Nietzsche, then to Hitler, philosophy, ideology and history. Trying to poke a hole in his argument, I casually remarked, "I don't agree with people who have no emotions for others." "Oh no, Ma'am!" His volume instantly do...

  Morning, ten minutes before class time, the class teacher steps into the room, carrying a calm smile and a heart ready to receive every child. One by one, the students walk in—some with bright smiles and cheerful wishes, some with dreams and quiet hopes, some still holding on to yesterday’s unfinished thoughts, and a few silently carrying worries heavier than their school bags. And then came my little story of the day. He walked in, kept his bag aside, and gently rested his head on the desk—as if the morning itself felt too heavy. I went up to him, What happened? Nothing, Madam, just not feeling good. Suddenly, he looked up and said— Madam, today I thought of not coming to school, but then I imagined—you would be upset because PT is on, and you would ask so many questions… and of course, the diary entry signed by parents! So I thought better to come. So, you mean to say, you came to school today just because you didn’t want me to be upset, or to avoid my questions? He paused,smil...

  Those Tears Still Follow Me… Some moments do not end when the day ends. They do not leave us when the bell rings, when the classroom becomes silent, or when the school gate closes. They remain. It was PTM day. The corridors were filled with parents, children, report cards, questions, expectations, and anxious little faces waiting to know what would be said about them. Among them came one of the most vibrant and lively girls of my class. She entered proudly with her mother, carrying the innocence of childhood and the nervousness of a student who had just stepped into Class 9 from Class 8. She had always been a child with sparkling eyes, cute dimples, and a heart full of unwritten stories. Before they even reached me properly, her mother asked, “Meri beti class mein kaise karti hai?” The child looked at me. That look was fragile. Her eyes were pleading silently, as if they were saying, “Madam, please understand me… please protect me… please tell her I am trying.” I handed...