Fatima, Grade 3, Brighton School, Ahmedabad

It’s hard not to notice her. The tall girl with big eyes! A twelve year old!  I still remember how her face blossomed when I gave my first Hi 5 on the day I walked into that classroom. That was one of the few times she smiled very genuinely. She makes sure she hides her smile if she notices that you are noticing her. She never raises her hand despite knowing all answers. She hides her face in all the classroom photographs. She does not talk to anyone too quickly. She is just there in the class, assimilating everything that is happening.

Fatima was very unpredictable. One day she was smiling bright and another day she was angry. One day she would make comments and pull my leg. Another day, she would not answer my questions. She would stare at me angrily on some days. She would avoid all sorts of eye contact on other days. For years, I struggled to understand what goes on in that little child’s mind. Definitely, there was something that made her who she is. A story that would give a perfect sense to everything that is happening. Fatima never let me know it. She would never let me come to her house. She never wanted me to meet her mother. Being the stubborn self that I am, I would just go to her house, sit and talk to her mother. All that time, she would conveniently hide herself in a corner without even lifting her head. She hated theatre lessons. She would throw all sorts of tantrums to avoid theatre class. What was going on with her? I had no answer.

Days passed and things started getting much more complex. I noticed her influencing other girls in the class. I noticed the sort of micro-political behavior she displayed. It was very hard for me to understand what was going on in that kids head. Soon, she got herself into a huge entanglement when she started writing love letters to an older kid in the school.  I inquired her about the same and she constantly denied it. She was in almost reaching her teens and I could definitely see what was happening in her mind. Finally, I found strong evidence which clearly showed all the stupid mistakes she was making. I could not ignore it for that would convey a different signal to her nor could I take it seriously for she was just a little child. I was certainly very angry for I did not expect this from her. But instead of giving consequences, I sat down and spoke to her. I told her that everything in life was a choice and every choice decided where we would end up in life. I gave her two possible scenarios that could happen from her actions and told her it was her choice to choose what she wanted. She broke into tears and did not speak a word.

Next day morning, when she came back to class, she assumed that I would tell all other kids what happened and she stood there like a silent victim. I remembered an article I happened to read about an African tribe. When someone in the tribe does something wrong, all other members remind them of all the good things he or she did. I stood up and asked the kids to come one by one and share all the little things that Fatima did to help them. For fifteen minutes, kids spoke about how they are thankful to Fatima and reminded her about all the good things she did. Fatima broke into tears and cried for ten minutes straight. We were all absolutely silent and were just looking at her. Then, Fatima told us her story. She spoke about how troubled her family life is and shared some deep personal stories that one would never imagine a child was experiencing. I could see why my Fatima was what she was! I just could see all the dots connect.

Things changed after that day. Fatima was very different. She still continued to make fun of me. She still continued to say no to me. But now, there was no disrespect. She makes class a much happier place. She is the lead actress in our finale showcase. She showed the maximum growth in RC. She writes everything fearlessly.  Every evening, for an hour, she gets around fourteen kids in the community together and teaches them what I teach in the class. Fatima has come a long way! She always wanted to be a teacher and now I surely know she will make a great teacher.

Fatima’s story to me is a proof of how difficult the lives of our children are and given the right kind of atmosphere, how much they would grow. Children need to be taught not just content but the ability to think and make choices. A classroom needs to make all kinds of children comfortable and a teacher needs to understand there is a reason why a child is in a certain way.  Fatima’s story is a perfect example of truth and hope for me. One day, I will see the classroom that she will teach and I know I will be a proud teacher. :)

Story submitted by Revanth, 2014 fellow, Ahmedabad

Meena Madam, Rakhiyal School, Ahmedabad

It was just another day in Rakhiyal English Medium when an anxious man came rushing in to the office looking for 5th and 6th grade teacher, Meena Patel. She was in her class as usual having a tough time monitoring 50 shouting, shrieking 13 year olds. 

Yamini Ma’am, our Principal, walked to her class carrying with her the grave news. What happened in the next 30 minutes seemed like a montage of pictures seen through a bioscope. There were two cars parked outside the gate, with all the teachers trying to figure out who travels in which one, disdainfully; students were parting with serene curiosity in their faces; the surrounding air had subtle morbidity lingering! 

Meena ma’am’s husband had passed away earlier that morning. He had an organ failure. Meena ma’am and Sir were a young and bustling couple with 1-year-old daughter they had fondly named Nancy. 

I have heard stories about her and her constant struggles. By the sound of it, her life has been so dysfunctional, shouldn’t she be vexed and prickly? 

I mean my life is comparatively sorted and I mostly have options available to make it better and steer it in any direction I want to but all I do is sulk and crib and maybe, sometimes, take out my anger on poor people in an unjust manner.

I cannot remember how many times I have gotten off the auto and walked through the huge school gate looking as grumpy as an old squirrel on a winter morning, only to be merrily greeted by this woman standing at the top of the stairs. I would instantly light up and spend a few minute (as I set up the classroom for daily lessons) wondering how is she so composed all the time!

She is the first one to be there. She travels 20 km every day to get to school on time, seldom take leaves and delivers her responsibility with utmost dedication! You would never find her sitting idle or chatting her time away. She is always working!  The children adore her, the staff is fond of her, and even though we both know the psychological torture she has to endure being nice to me, she still puts up with my silly, random high and not-so-high spirited behavior. 

She derives her motivation from her daughter and all the people she meets. I had a stuck up mentality previously that random people do not add value to your life. They do. She does. I would like to achieve the mental and emotional stability that she displays, one day. 

Till then, she is my one of the celebrated Humans of Teach for India. 

Story submitted by Sutapa, 2015 cohort, Ahmedabad. 

Sai, Grade 3, Rakhiyal School, Ahmedabad

The light in the classroom flickers on and off. The single child in the classroom and I wait for the others to arrive. He tucks his shirt in neatly and brushes the wetness off his face with the stroke of his right hand. He waits nearby the door as I begin my morning ritual of a teacher. The student follows his own reflection and puts his hand out to feel the rain on his hands. The coldness makes him quiver and he tries to quickly regain his composure. I also momentarily step outside to soak in the fresh air.

All we see around us is this tiny area of Ahmedabad being taken over by the floods of the monsoon. The water is not heavy, but all the mundane routines of a regular day seem to be delayed. Even the birds seem to be nestled deep into their nests and the stray dogs away from our sights. We catch a glimpse of a butterfly trying to find a safe place to flutter its wings with no avail.

The silence between us thickens and all we hear are the raindrops splashing on puddles. It seems that no one else will turn up. My student stares into my eyes and captures from me a notoriously repeated response. “You can go home,” I say, “There will be no one coming in today, I suppose.”

He turns his half mischievous face towards me and flashes a brilliant white smile. He says, “I will stay here.” I glare back at him and think about the time he will most likely not use purposefully by being here. I ask him to go home again, this time a little bit more sternly. He, too, holds his ground. “I will stay here and learn,” he says enthusiastically.

We hastily gather ourselves in front of the class to begin the day with the rain still dripping slowly in front of us. “I could be at home,” I think to myself. My student jostles his way out of the classroom with his knapsack and sits next to me. The lesson begins with a round of sight words followed by a reading of a story. The student jumps at every word and even closes his eyes when he thinks the monster in the story is about to eat him. His eyes are fixed to mine. We take a short break for recess. We put together our spare change and eat a hot samosa down the corner. The day continues to move in the ebb and flow of any other classroom day.

The rain stops just half an hour before the end of the school day. I send the student home and watch him walk cautiously as greets his mother. He runs back towards me and gives me a little note with a drawing of a carefully sketched tiger. It reads, “Thank you,” with his name Sai etched underneath with a sharp black pencil. I pat his head and this time he runs along, splashing the puddles that come his way.

I close my eyes and hope for another rainy day.


Story submitted by Shyam, 2014 fellow, Ahmedabad

Seema Madam, FD Jamalpur, Ahmedabad

June 2015, 12:01 PM: 

I walk into a school, people pass me with stares. That day, the phrase “fear of the unknown” became an experience. I saw people. All of them with black robes/Hijab or white khaki kurtas, long beard. I saw children. Very cute but a frown in their faces waiting for parents to pick them up. I kept walking until I reached a room where I could see a lady sitting with an air of authority. She was speaking to parents. I also saw a man with a kind face. When I greeted him, he reluctantly greeted me back and asked me to wait for Principal Ma’am. Later I get to know that he is the Principal and the lady I was waiting for is the Headmistress. 

Fast forward to 15 minutes later, I am in the staff room. A teacher introduces me to the other teachers whose names I knew I would take a long time to remember. That’s when I remember seeing Seema Ma’am. She comes in, greeting As-salamu alaykum to fellow teachers. She glances at me for a second and sticks to a smile for the rest of the day. 

Days went by. I thought I was here to teach. What more could have bothered me? Well I was wrong. Things started becoming bad for me. I was called up to the staff room to be scolded at, teachers would come to my class unannounced and ask me why I do not follow Islamic practices the way they do (they knew I am born to Muslim parents), they would hit my kids whenever they wanted and with full authority. I was terrified of speaking up, thinking that it would spoil whatever relationship I was trying to build. My timid nature got even more timid after witnessing culture differences. 

Out of all the teachers though, who were hostile to me, the most terrifying was Seema Ma’am. I was told that she is a senior teacher at school. The kind of vibe I got whenever I would be in the radius of her visibility was unbearable. I felt like hiding in a corner when she was around. 

She did not talk to me. Ever. A conservative smile, maybe yes, sometimes. Apart from that, it was pretty much her barging into my class and hitting my kids for reason I still do not know (I have left it at that!) or it was about her looking at me like I don’t belong there. Our relationship was mostly about her being hostile and I being timid. I also felt that she was against any teacher being even a little friendly to me. 

But then, I did not give up. I thought to myself, “Maybe you are not doing enough.” 

I started noticing her. I complimented her on (seemingly) little things… A dress, a earring. I would tell her what I am going through even when I knew she is barely interested to know. I would share my worries, my happy moments in class. 

Slowly, changes started happening. She started accepting me. She began to share lunch with me. She probably started seeing me as a part of the school’s ecosystem. Maybe she started to find me familiar. While there were many things turning around, the most significant evidence of change was her asking my co-fellow, Viraj to click a picture of us together during an educational trip with the kids.

What happened next will be a memory for a long time to come. She put her arms around me and held me very close to her, as if I was a dear one. I felt belonged. She told Viraj that the picture should come out very well… As if I meant something to her. I am glad I have the picture to share with you. I am glad Viraj (my cofellow) froze this moment for me. A moment that brought me so much joy.

January 2016, 4:15 PM:

Seema Ma’am sees me at the seminar hall teaching kids. She comes in with permission, asks my kids if they are enjoying class. Kids shout, “Yes Ma’am!” And she says, “Why not? You have the best Didi in the world!” And she looks at me with proud eyes. 

I am blessed to have faced these challenges. I would never have celebrated the relationship that we now share otherwise. I would never have noticed every kind gesture that comes my way, every day. 

“Because without the bitter, sweet isn’t as sweet.”- Brian, Vanilla Sky

Story submitted by Neida, 2015 fellow, Ahmedabad.

Krish, Grade 1, Dani Limda School, Ahmedabad

The other day I was watching a fair and lovely advertisement on television. Such advertisements have always vexed me and I’ve always failed to understand how beauty and success can be measured by a person’s color. I wanted to drive this question into my class so when one day

Krish, the most talkative and opinionated boy of my class was sitting on the stairs, all by himself, waiting for his dad to pick him up, I grabbed the opportunity ,  went up to him with a blank paper and a pencil and asked him to draw “A Beautiful Girl.”

“What do you think a beautiful girl looks like?”, I said.  He drew a stick figure of sorts, red and yellow in colour, with big ears, long hands and a wide nose. I asked him, “What kind of hair does a beautiful girl have” to which he replied, “Didi ke jaise lambe baal par chote baal bhi acche lagte hai.” I interrogated him more and asked him questions like “What do you think is the color of a beautiful girl?” He said “Red, I like red. Par yellow bhi accha hai…um blue bhi and black,just like your hair. Didi, saare colors hi ache hai...beautiful girl….all colors.” 

His innocent answer just melted my heart and made me realize how pure and blank the mind of a child is. It is the society that drives prejudices and divisions into the minds of children and forces them to differentiate each other based on color,caste,creed etc. 

It is so refreshing to listen to the opinions of these 5 year olds because they are free from any biases. The anger that I felt after watching the advertisement was washed away by the joy that I felt in knowing that i spend my days interacting with and moulding such young, free and pure  minds. Krish reminded me that just like him, the world needs to appreciate, accept and celebrate differences because “saare colors hi acche hai.” 

Story submitted by Anukshi, 2015 Cohort, Ahmedabad

Raju, Grade 2, Kubernagar, Ahmedabad

My Dear Raju,

I can never forget my first interaction with you. You were busy enjoying your game of bat and ball, just came to say hello for a minute and ran back like a cheetah into your game. The very next day I saw you stabbing another boy from class with a sharpened pencil. I was appalled at your behaviour and promised myself to get you on the path of a great learning experience.

As I started to teach you and your friends, I noticed you were little different. The difference was much more than not being able to identify alphabets. While I was giving instruction in the class, you were busy exploring the dustbin. While all of us sat on the floor to study, you loved to sit on the windowsill. No incentive - no stars - no stickers - no points - nothing invested you enough to be able to sit and listen to your didi. Whenever you got bored of running around in the classroom, you simply opened the door and went out. I never understood why you were doing what you were doing.

With regular interaction beyond the four-walled classroom, we came closer. You started to show some patience, understanding and care towards everyone around you only after a few days of practicing meditation. Together we tried to make you learn in your own style. You started to learn through puzzles. I had never seen you more engaged and invested in something more than solving jigsaw puzzles. As you solved them, you didn’t need a windowsill to sit on and an empty class to run around. All what you wanted was to solve your puzzle in lesser duration than the previous time. Starting with shapes, then 4-piece jigsaw puzzle, moving on to 8,12 piece jigsaw puzzle to ultimately successfully solving a 32-piece puzzle in just 1 month. I saw the sense of accomplishment on your face. I have seen how calm you have become now and how you uplift all those around you! This reminds me of you sharing the appreciation with Sagar when you said, “I haven’t done this all by myself, Sagar has done it too. We all should clap for Sagar also.” You made my heart thump with joy.

You have made me realize that sometimes education is much beyond ABCs and 1..2..3..s. Belief, patience, love, perseverance and grit are an essential for human development at any age. You made me believe everyone is different and everyone has his or her own kind of spark. I love to see how far you have come and I am sure that there is a long way to go. You are young and you are fire! Thank you for teaching me the same. Thank you for being my phenomenal teacher.

Lots and lots of love,

Your Purvee didi

Story submitted by Purvee, 2014 Fellow, Ahmedabad.

FalakNaaz, Grade 3, FD Jamalpur, Ahmedabad

“A river cuts through a rock not because of its power, but its persistence.” 

An entire world of such a river which embodies not just persistence, but power as well is FalakNaaz. When I entered my classroom in the narrow lane of Jamalpur seven months ago, there was this girl sitting in the remote corner of the class. Gazing me through her curious eyes, she said, a tad bit shyly, but rather wryly, “Aapki ye activities kab khatam hongi? Mujhe padhna hai.”

I was furious. Here I was working day in and day out to make her a better reader, but she simply thought I was some jester and she was ‘due’ to get an ‘actual’ teacher. I quickly reached my bag, grabbed an Enid Blyton and put it in front of her. I asked her to read it. She was struggling, my God she was struggling. Other than few high frequency words and few letters she found, all I could hear was a myriad confusion in form of a sound. I asked her to stop reading and said, “Aapko padhna hai, to padho ab.” It was her turn to be furious. I could see the turmoil in her eyes. I gauged my first mistake. 

English was not a measure of intelligence, but a language that I chose to teach these bunch of kids to make a world outside Jamalpur accessible to them. In this process, I forgot to tell them ‘Why’ are they learning these sounds and what significance does blending of these sounds has in forming words. The very next day I could see a Frankenstein’s monster in the making. Her hand shot up for guessing the sound of the day as soon as I wrote it on the green board, she was the first one to form new words using the word-families. She made consistent efforts to break sounds, blend them and experiment with different onsets etcetera. Without me insisting, she approached me, the fire still in her eyes, “What is this? C – r – e – a – t u r e (as in toore)”. I said, “C – r – e – a – t u r e (as in chur)”. I kind of gave her that one for she was able to get the “C – r – e – a” right. 

I was now curious to know where did she come across such a word, for the leveled stories which I gave them seldom had words of such complexities. She pulled out a copy of ‘Moral Stories’ from her bag which she had from her second grade and showed me the word. She had finished reading three quarters of a page that was hardly with any illustrations. I was impressed, I didn’t show. “You can do much better”, I said. Weeks after weeks went by and her ocean of sounds, blends and diagraphs was ever expanding. She kept on asking for books, soaked them in her mind and returned them. Until a day came (just recently), when she said, “Bhaiya, that book?”. I was perplexed about which book had I promised. She pointed towards my bag. That much cue was enough. I removed that Enid Blyton children’s classic and handed it to her. 

There were drum rolls in my ear and it was my moment to rejoice. She started reading the book in front of the class and read it with such intonation, phrasing and gestures, that I was in lack of words to say the best. She might not have got all the words right, but, to be able to read more than 90% of what she read, accurately, was the biggest deal for me. This is the story of my FalakNaaz. Even today she says, “Aapki ye activities kab khatam hongi? Mujhe (pointing at big fat book) padhna hai”.

Story submittted by Viraj, 2015 Fellow, Ahmedabad.