The LOLLYPOP Man

 THE LOLLYPOP MAN

 I can picture it even now — Exhibition Road, the traffic held up, a long line of boys spilling out from the school gates, some impatiently edging forward, and one of our support staff standing firmly in the middle of the road, lollipop stop sign raised high. As a master, I saw this scene countless times.

And somehow, that simple picture has stayed with me.

Who remembers it?

The boys were crossing from the school campus to Jeejeebhoy Ground — the Simba field — and back again. Occasionally, a teacher would take on the duty, and sometimes even Mr Beaman himself.

It was a small but important part of the daily rhythm of The Bishop’s School, Pune — care, kindness and a sense of duty.

Though the boys did not always make life easy! In their hurry to get across, some would suddenly dash into the road, completely ignoring the raised sign. I’m sure there were a few heart-in-the-mouth moments for the person trying to keep them safe.

Later, the same arrangement was used on the road between St Margaret’s field and the new Roberts Block.

It’s remarkable what the mind chooses to keep. Years later, an ordinary scene like this can bring back the boys, the masters, the grounds, the games and the countless little routines that made up our school days.

Were you ever one of those boys waiting to cross Exhibition Road? And do you remember the lollipop sign — and the person holding it?

Were you ever asked to hold it and help boys cross over?

The Bishop's School, Pune

Letting go

 MORNING REFLECTION 

**Sometimes, You Have to Let Go**

We spend so much of life learning how to hold on:

to plans, to people,

to dreams we once believed were meant for us,

taught that seeing things through

is the measure of strength.

But some roads that once felt right

stop feeling like home.

A job left after many good years.

Not because it was bad,

or the people were wrong,

but because something else, quietly, felt right instead.

Dreams age too.

Some belonged to an earlier version of ourselves:

worth everything then,

proud of even now,

but no longer the shape of who we've become.

That doesn't make those years a mistake.

We look back at them with gratitude, with affection,

the lessons, the friendships,

the people they built.

A thing doesn't have to last forever

to have mattered.

It was right for us then. It isn't now.

Life keeps moving. We move with it.

New rooms open,

and sometimes we notice, almost by accident,

that the life ahead fits better

than the one we're still holding.

A life well lived isn't measured

by how long we held on,

but by the gratitude for where we've been,

the nerve to stand where we are,

and the readiness to see

 where we're headed next.

On leading people

 Lead the Head. Earn the Trust. Touch the Heart.

Over 45 years in education, I have learnt a great deal about leadership simply by watching people. I have had some wonderful role models along the way, but some of my strongest lessons have also come from seeing what happens when leadership gets it wrong.

I first came across the terms Logos, Ethos and Pathos in a philosophical article I happened to read. The three words stayed with me because, the more I thought about them, the more I realised how closely they connect with leadership.

One thing I have learnt over the years is simple: you cannot force a good idea down someone’s throat. It's always been a big NO for me. 

The days of “because I said so” leadership are largely gone. Perhaps earlier generations accepted it more readily. Today, people want to understand why something needs to change, how it will work, what it will achieve and what difference it will make.

And I think that is a good thing.

That is where Logos, Ethos and Pathos come in.

Logos — make the case.

Give people the facts, evidence and reasoning behind an idea. Warren Buffett is a good example of the power of a clear, well-reasoned argument.

Ethos — earn the trust.

People need to believe in the person behind the message. Experience, character and consistency matter. Mahatma Gandhi demonstrated how leadership can be grounded in the credibility of the person as much as in the message.

Pathos — touch the heart.

Even the strongest argument may not move people unless they have a reason to care. Martin Luther King Jr. showed the extraordinary power of hope, purpose and emotional connection.

The best leaders use all three. The balance simply changes according to the person, the situation and the decision.

I remember an occasion in education when this became very real for me.

We were starting a particular prose book in Grade 9, and I suggested moving it to Grade 8.

There was understandable hesitation. Why change something that had been done the same way for years?

My reasoning was straightforward. Starting earlier would give teachers and pupils more time to teach, learn and assimilate the book, rather than having to rush through it.

We discussed the reasoning, the practicalities and the expected outcomes. But at some point, the conversation came back to the pupils themselves.

Why should learning be a race against time?

Why not give children the space to understand, absorb and enjoy what they are learning?

The discussion gradually became less about moving a book from Grade 9 to Grade 8 and more about a simple question: what is better for learning?

That experience reinforced something I have seen throughout my career. Leadership is not about forcing people to accept your idea. It is about helping them understand it, trust it and, ultimately, see why it matters.

Logos makes the case.

Ethos earns the trust.

Pathos touches the heart.

When you bring all three together, you move beyond compliance.

You create commitment.

The invisible leader

 # If You Are Not Visible, You Are Invisible

There is an old comfort in the idea of leading from behind: the quiet architect, letting others take the bow while the real work happens off-stage. It sounds humble. For years I half-believed it myself. Somewhere along the way we started mistaking absence for humility, and I think the UAE, of all places, is where that excuse finally runs out of road.

I remember being that quiet one myself, decades ago, at the back of my first staff meeting hoping nobody would ask my opinion. What if I said something foolish? What if the senior staff decided, quite reasonably, I had no business being in the room at all? It took years to learn the back of the room is not where careers are made, however comfortable the wall feels against your shoulder blades. I grew into someone rather different, though he'd probably still recognise the handwriting.

Watch young leaders and you'll see the same two mistakes repeating. Some shout from the rooftops before they've earned the right to — every opinion posted, every meeting narrated, presence mistaken for substance. Others go quiet almost immediately, hand in solid work, and step back, mistaking retreat for professionalism. Neither is leadership yet. But it's the second group that worries me more, because timidity, left alone, doesn't correct itself with age. It calcifies.

## The Slow Disappearance

Give it fifteen years and watch the quiet ones. They rise a certain distance on real competence — middle leadership, a department, a rung or two up the ladder — then stall and slowly fade. They rarely reach the top, because nobody remembers the last time this person took an actual position on something. There's a phrase for the type, half-affectionate, half-damning: the invisible angel, supposedly holding everything together backstage, whom nobody has actually heard speak in a crisis. Wonderful at the job. Impossible to locate when the roof is on fire.

## Now Say the Quiet Part

Maybe that self-effacing style worked once, fifty years ago, when a leader could run things by paperwork and let results talk. That world is largely gone, and it's especially gone here. You don't have to look far for the model. Dubai's own leadership has long understood this instinctively — a ruler regularly seen walking among ordinary people in malls and public spaces, sharing leadership reflections directly with millions of followers rather than through intermediaries, has made visibility part of governing itself. Not for its own sake, but as reassurance that someone is present and reachable. Worth studying, whatever chair you occupy.

## Visible Is Not the Same as Loud

Before anyone pictures me forever hovering at your shoulder, let me stop you there — that isn't it either. There's a particular horror reserved for the leader visible in entirely the wrong way: reading over your keyboard, sitting in on meetings just to sit in, treating "staying close to the work" as licence for helicopter parenting with a job title attached. I've met that leader too, and frankly, I'd rather deal with the invisible one. At least you know where you stand with an absent boss.

Real visibility sits calmer than either extreme. It's being known, not everywhere. People trusting that if something breaks, you'll show up and deal with it, without needing you at their shoulder the rest of the time to believe it. When something goes wrong, they know whose door to knock on. When it goes right, they know who noticed.

## What This Actually Costs You

In the end, it asks for courage rather than volume. A memo is easy to send from behind a closed door. Standing in a room to defend it in person is not. So ask yourself, whatever you happen to lead — a classroom, a company, a family: can people find you when it matters? Or has staying comfortably unseen quietly become your way of stepping back?

That timid young man at the back of the staff room couldn't have answered that question honestly. I'd like to think I finally can. I doubt anyone remembers the ones who worked hardest in the shadows. I think they remember the ones who could be found — not for applause, but because someone needed to know where to look.

If you are not visible, you are invisible. And the unseen leader, however well-intentioned, rarely leaves much behind worth remembering.

Are We Preparing for the Future We Are Creating?

 

Are We Preparing for the Future We Are Creating?

Reimagining Education: Perhaps the Only Logical Answer

Every now and then, I find myself wondering what sort of world we are leaving behind for the next generation.

Perhaps it is because there is so much uncertainty around us. Wars continue, tensions between countries are rising, nuclear weapons remain a frightening reality and climate change is bringing its own challenges. Add floods, earthquakes, droughts and extreme temperatures, and it is difficult not to wonder where all this could take us. I am not saying the world is coming to an end. It isn't. Mankind has faced difficult times before and has shown an amazing ability to survive and adapt. But with so much confusion and mistrust between countries, can we completely rule out another major global conflict? I sincerely hope not.

A war between major powers today would be very different from the wars of the past. Nuclear weapons have changed the picture completely. Surely that alone should make leaders think very carefully before choosing confrontation over dialogue.

Then there is nature. Floods, earthquakes, droughts and extreme heat have always been with us. But today, millions of people live in large cities and depend on complicated systems for almost everything. When something goes wrong, the impact can be huge. The World Meteorological Organization says that 2015–2025 were the eleven warmest years on record.

I am not suggesting that we should live in fear, but perhaps we should take a little more notice of what is happening around us.

We Know the Problems. But Are We Doing Enough?

I know I am hardly the first person to raise these issues-  Newspapers, scientists, researchers, academics and world leaders have been talking about them for years. There are plenty of meetings and organizations looking at these problems too. The United Nations, COP, the G20, the World Economic Forum and many others bring people together to discuss the future. The UN's 2024 Summit of the Future was another serious attempt to get countries to think together about peace, climate, technology and future generations.

And, to be fair, a lot is being done.

The UAE has taken important steps in sustainability, climate action, artificial intelligence and education. Singapore and several other countries are also looking seriously at sustainability, technology and the skills their young people will need.

So I am not saying that nothing is being done. A lot is being done, and there are many people working seriously on these challenges.

But I sometimes wonder whether it is enough.

We have become very good at identifying problems, producing reports, holding conferences and making commitments. The harder part is turning all that discussion into action that lasts. I know this is not easy. Governments have competing priorities, businesses have pressures and societies do not always agree on what should come first.

But perhaps we need to spend a little less time talking about the future and a little more time preparing for it.

And that brings me to education.

Reimagining Education: Looking 50 Years Ahead

As an educator, I have often wondered whether we are asking the right questions about education. We rightly talk about preparing children for jobs. We talk about digital skills, artificial intelligence, new technology and the jobs of tomorrow. All of that is important. But I think we need to look further.

Curriculum change is a must — not simply to keep up with the times, but to look 50 years ahead.

A child entering school today could still be working, leading organizations and making important decisions in 2075. We have very little idea what that world will look like. So perhaps we need to ask a different question. Instead of only asking, “What does a child need to know?”, should we also be asking, “What sort of person will the world need 50 years from now?”

Of course, knowledge will always matter. Mathematics, science, languages, history, literature and the arts are important. We should never lose sight of that. But knowledge alone is not enough.

Young people need to learn how to think, question, reason, adapt and make good decisions. They need to know the difference between fact and opinion, recognize misinformation and understand how technology and artificial intelligence should be used responsibly.

They also need to learn how to disagree without becoming disagreeable. They need to listen to people who think differently and understand that their own view may not always be the only view.  And we need to give more importance to judgement and character — integrity, empathy, resilience, responsibility, courage and respect. These things may not always show up in an examination result, but they will matter enormously when today's children become parents, professionals, citizens and leaders.

Perhaps one of the most important things we can teach them is the ability to say, “I may be wrong.”

We should teach children how to think, not what to think. Give them knowledge, but encourage curiosity. Give them technology, but teach them when to use it and when they need to think for themselves. Let them solve real problems, work with others, make decisions, get things wrong and try again.

Education should not simply prepare young people to earn a living. It should prepare them to live in a complicated world and to make it a little better.

After all, the people who will one day make decisions about conflict, climate, technology, resources and society are sitting in classrooms today. That is why I believe education is about much more than getting a job. It is about preparing people for life.

What Can We Actually Do?

Perhaps the answer is not as complicated as we sometimes make it.

We need wiser leaders who are prepared to listen and talk rather than always trying to win. Governments have to look beyond the next election or political cycle. Countries have to recognise that some problems simply cannot be solved alone. And we need to give young people the education to do better than we have done.

I don't know what challenges mankind will face over the next fifty years. Neither does anyone else. But we don't have to know exactly what the future will look like to prepare better for it. We can help young people become curious enough to keep learning, confident enough to ask questions, sensible enough to make good choices, resilient enough to deal with setbacks and thoughtful enough to understand other people.

We may not be able to tell them what the future will bring but we can certainly prepare them to face it.

And perhaps that is where we should begin — in the classroom.

 

The Childhood Lesson I Didn’t Know I Was Learning

Some childhood memories stay with you for years. I have one that takes me back to the railway quarters where my cousins Annette and Penny and I spent quite a lot of time together.

Whenever guests were coming, we knew what was expected of us.

First, have a bath and make sure you looked clean and tidy.

Then tidy up the hallroom. We had to make sure everything looked good before the guests arrived. And we did it with pride. It was our home, and we wanted it to look nice.

There was no maid to do everything for us.

I sometimes think about that today when I see children who don't lift a finger at home because there is someone to do it for them. Perhaps they are missing out on the simple satisfaction of helping and taking responsibility.

Then the guests arrived.

We had to greet them properly.

“Hello, Auntie.”

“Hello, Uncle.”

And if we said it too softly, we would hear:

“Auntie, Uncle, haven't heard you!”

So we said it again, louder this time. There would be smiles and laughter.

And then, after the guests had settled down with their tea, coffee and snacks, came the part I dreaded.

We had to perform.

Annette and Penny would sing or dance. I would often have to recite a poem. One I remember particularly well was Casabianca. I was under ten, quite shy, and I hated standing there with everyone looking at me.

But I did it.

I also remember Annette and Penny singing Sisters:

“Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters…”

Which was rather amusing because, after singing about being such devoted sisters, they would sometimes go inside and have a good fight!

Looking back, though, I realise those little performances did something for me.

They gave me confidence.

I was learning to stand up, speak clearly and not be afraid of people listening to me.

Years later, I found myself speaking to large audiences and singing in a band. I am sure those early experiences helped.

And perhaps there is a small leadership lesson here too.

When we have a young recruit or someone new to the team, we should give them opportunities to show what they can do. Encourage them to speak, present an idea, lead a small task or simply share what they are good at.

They may be nervous at first, but a little encouragement can build confidence. Sometimes people don't need to be pushed into the spotlight; they just need someone to invite them into it.

So here is my unsolicited advice to young parents.

When guests come over, bring the children out.

Let them say hello. Let them talk. Let them help around the house. Let them tell a story, recite a poem or sing a song.

They may not like it.

I certainly didn't.

But you may be helping them develop confidence without even realising it.

Today, I thank my mother and my aunt for making us do those things.

At the time, I thought they were embarrassing us.

Now I realize they were helping us.

And when I think back to those railway-quarter days, I remember the laughter, the tea, Annette and Penny singing about being “devoted sisters” and then going off to fight, and me standing there reciting Casabianca.

I wouldn't change any of it.

Funny how the things we dislike as children can become some of the things we are most grateful for as adults.

Some childhood memories stay with you for years. I have one that takes me back to the railway quarters where my cousins Annette and Penny and I spent quite a lot of time together.

Whenever guests were coming, we knew what was expected of us.

First, have a bath and make sure you looked clean and tidy.

Then tidy up the hallroom. We had to make sure everything looked good before the guests arrived. And we did it with pride. It was our home, and we wanted it to look nice.

There was no maid to do everything for us.

I sometimes think about that today when I see children who don't lift a finger at home because there is someone to do it for them. Perhaps they are missing out on the simple satisfaction of helping and taking responsibility.

Then the guests arrived.

We had to greet them properly.

“Hello, Auntie.”

“Hello, Uncle.”

And if we said it too softly, we would hear:

“Auntie, Uncle, haven't heard you!”

So we said it again, louder this time. There would be smiles and laughter.

And then, after the guests had settled down with their tea, coffee and snacks, came the part I dreaded.

We had to perform.

Annette and Penny would sing or dance. I would often have to recite a poem. One I remember particularly well was Casabianca. I was under ten, quite shy, and I hated standing there with everyone looking at me.

But I did it.

I also remember Annette and Penny singing Sisters:

“Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters…”

Which was rather amusing because, after singing about being such devoted sisters, they would sometimes go inside and have a good fight!

Looking back, though, I realise those little performances did something for me.

They gave me confidence.

I was learning to stand up, speak clearly and not be afraid of people listening to me.

Years later, I found myself speaking to large audiences and singing in a band. I am sure those early experiences helped.

And perhaps there is a small leadership lesson here too.

When we have a young recruit or someone new to the team, we should give them opportunities to show what they can do. Encourage them to speak, present an idea, lead a small task or simply share what they are good at.

They may be nervous at first, but a little encouragement can build confidence. Sometimes people don't need to be pushed into the spotlight; they just need someone to invite them into it.

So here is my unsolicited advice to young parents.

When guests come over, bring the children out.

Let them say hello. Let them talk. Let them help around the house. Let them tell a story, recite a poem or sing a song.

They may not like it.

I certainly didn't.

But you may be helping them develop confidence without even realising it.

Today, I thank my mother and my aunt for making us do those things.

At the time, I thought they were embarrassing us.

Now I realise they were helping us.

And when I think back to those railway-quarter days, I remember the laughter, the tea, Annette and Penny singing about being “devoted sisters” and then going off to fight, and me standing there reciting Casabianca.

I wouldn't change any of it.

Funny how the things we dislike as children can become some of the things we are most grateful for as adults.

What flying a kite taught me about life

 

What Flying a Kite Taught Me About Life

I was never very good at flying kites. There was the ritual of preparing the thread, patiently untangling knots, waiting for the right breeze, coaxing the kite into the sky, and then watching two kites dance, circle and tangle high above us, each trying to outwit the other. It was all rather hit and miss. I don't remember winning many kite battles. What I do remember is the excitement, the shouts from neighbouring rooftops, and that sinking feeling as my kite drifted away.

Only years later did I realise that flying a kite had taught me something about life.

A kite doesn't soar because someone holds the string tightly. It flies because the person below knows when to pull, when to ease, and when to trust the wind.

I've come to believe that people are much the same.

As parents, partners, teachers, friends or leaders, we often think that holding on tighter is the best way to protect those we care about. But people flourish when they are trusted.

Hold on too tightly and you hold people back. Let go completely and the connection is lost.

The real skill lies in staying connected while giving others the freedom to find their own way.

Like flying a kite, the secret isn't in holding on tighter. It's in knowing when to loosen the string.

Funny how some of life's biggest lessons arrive on the end of a piece of string... and stay with us long after the kite has disappeared from the sky.