Over the years, I have led countless sessions on leadership—something I am truly passionate about. Recently, I asked a simple question: Did you always want to become a teacher? If not, what did you want to become?
It reminded me of that old saying: “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” I’ve never believed that. Teaching isn’t a fallback—it’s a calling. For me, aside from some whimsical moments in youth when I thought of becoming a priest (perhaps drawn to the calm and the robe!) or dreaming of being the lead singer and rhythm guitarist in a band, teaching quietly stayed with me.
I began at my old school—The Boys High School, Allahabad—teaching English and History to grades 5 through 8. I loved teaching English—the stories, the poems, the magic of language. History was harder to bring alive, so my heart truly belonged to English and the literature we shared.
In 1981, I moved to The Bishop's School, Pune, where I spent the next twenty years until 2001. Initially teaching both English and History, soon English became my sole focus. Teaching literature—whether the joys of a story or the complexity of Shakespeare’s plays—was a delight. The classroom buzzed with laughter, questions, and discovery.
At Bishop’s, boys were clever. Those days, without Google or ChatGPT, my main reference was Encyclopedia Britannica. When stuck, I consulted the master of English himself—Mr. Beaman ( Senior teacher and Boarding Suptd) . Looking back, I surely erred sometimes, but I did what I knew best. I remember telling curious boys, “Let me check, I’m not too sure,” when they tried to catch a young master out. It was all part of the lively dance between teacher and pupil.
Early on, I took private tuition sessions before school, sitting on benches outside my accommodation. Between five and eight boys gathered—always talkative and quick to offer chores to escape studying. Many have become doctors, business leaders, politicians—hardworking, simple, and down to earth.
I played a lot of badminton, volleyball, and table tennis with the boys—the competition was intense and every point fiercely contested.
Boys being boys, they tried their tricks—bunking classes, inventing excuses to visit the infirmary, sneaking peeks during exams. I was firm, sometimes too firm. The punishments I handed out are not something I’m proud of today, and I always apologise when I reflect on them. But I was only doing what I had learned as a schoolboy.
Teaching is a two-way street. Pupils influence us as much as we influence them. The joy extends beyond lessons—games, duties, co-curricular activities, parental engagement, welcoming new pupils, and saying goodbye to board exam finishers. Each part is a thread in the rich tapestry of school life.
Boarding life at Bishop’s was special. Living on campus with 240 boarders and 100 staff felt like one big family. Everyone helped each other—sometimes a little too much! The school became a ghost town during holidays—quiet compared to the usual buzz.
A small fond memory is the old billiards table in the staff room, where teachers sneaked quick games after hours. It was more than a game—it was camaraderie and relaxation amid a busy day.
After Bishop’s, I taught at The Modern High School, Dubai, teaching English to boys and girls. Teaching girls was different—their responses, learning styles, and subtlety were refreshing. Though brief before moving fully into leadership, those years remain close to my heart.
There is no greater joy than being in a classroom, feeding off the energy of young minds. Education is about connection, empathy, and the human spirit. No robot or AI can replace a good teacher. The kindness, encouragement, and understanding a teacher offers—no machine can replicate.
Will teachers ever be replaced? No. And I hope not. Teaching is the heart of education—the spark lighting every learner’s journey.
If I had to do it all over again, would I choose teaching? Without hesitation, yes.
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