Member-only story
THE REAL COURSEWORK
The Teachers We Forget to Name
What a classroom misses
Photo by George Becker
The older I get, the more I wonder why we treat the person holding the chalk as the ultimate arbiter of learning. After all, my formal education began with a masterclass in institutional failure.
I had just relocated to Delhi from Kolkata — a brand-new school, already scared stiff. On my very first day in first grade, the teacher decided the best welcome ritual was to banish me from the room and order me to hold on to my ears. It was that classic, vintage punishment: standing in a corner, hands gripping my earlobes as visual shorthand for shame and repentance. The crime? I hadn’t finished homework assigned before I even enrolled in the school. Clairvoyance was a prerequisite for the curriculum.
I was flabbergasted. My previous school in Kolkata had been strict, sure, but it was nurturing. I wasn’t used to this brand of callous absurdity, or to a teacher who treated a six-year-old like a fugitive trying to evade the law. But that same Kolkata school had also taught me to be fair. And fearless.
So, instead of weeping in the corridor, I went rogue. I marched off to find the principal’s office.
