Family First

 

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Family First: Reclaiming Childhood in a Digital World

Raising children who feel, play, and love in a world of distractions.

Children today have hundreds of digital “friends,” yet many sit alone in their rooms. Screens promise connection, but what they deliver is isolation—and childhood is quietly slipping away. Families gather at the same table but live in different worlds—each member bent over a device, together yet alone.

Not long ago, childhood was about running barefoot, scraped knees, and laughter echoing in real rooms. Streets and fields brimmed with children spilling out of homes, free and unshackled. Afternoons glowed golden, dust rising beneath our racing feet, mingling with the scent of pakoras and the fragrance after rain.

We played cricket with rubber balls, wickets made of sticks, hearts racing in hide-and-seek behind banyan trees. We shouted, fought, and reconciled within minutes. Kites climbed into the sky, tails fluttering; marbles clicked in the dust, and every game taught patience, compromise, and belonging.

Evenings belonged to family: stories shared, laughter echoing across verandahs, presence uninterrupted by devices. Loneliness felt impossible.

How different childhood feels today. Many children sit alone—headphones on, faces lit by glowing pixels, companionship reduced to digital echoes. Conflicts are patched with emojis, victories celebrated with stickers, secrets whispered into the void. Their bodies move less, lungs burn less from running, and friendships unfold in artificial spaces that lack warmth and presence.

“More voices, more faces—yet less true connection.”

The dangers run deeper for the youngest. Studies reveal a sharp rise in anxiety, depression, and feelings of inadequacy among children tethered to devices. Every filtered image whispers that they are not enough. One careless comment can cut like a blade; one post can unravel a child’s confidence. Surrounded by hundreds of digital “friends,” too many feel unseen and unloved.

Our ancestors may have lived slower, narrower lives, but they were rarely as lonely—or anxious—as children today. Devices magnify comparisons, amplify insecurities, and replace real friendships with fleeting likes.

Schools, of course, require children to use technology at home for research and assignments. Used wisely, it is a powerful tool for learning. But the danger is when it replaces family time, play, and conversation. Children do not need more apps—they need time to play, share meals where laughter spills across the table, and experience presence that cannot be downloaded.

“They need parents who look them in the eye, not at a screen.”

They need to fall, fight, and forgive in real games; to run until their lungs ache; to know the strength of a hug and the reassurance of a hand held tightly.

There is hope. We can still raise a generation that laughs loudly, feels deeply, and loves fully. Let children chase marbles in the dust, send kites soaring into tangled branches, run until joy echoes down the street. Let families reclaim the dinner table, talk face-to-face, share freely, and truly be present for one another.

The call is simple yet urgent: family first, always.

Wise leadership cuts through the clutter

 

Cutting Through the Clutter: How Wise Leaders Lead
Lessons in clarity, simplicity, and discernment from decades of experience in education and leadership.

In a world crowded with jargon, endless slides, and competing voices, true leadership stands out by being quiet, simple, and deliberate.

When I was growing up, life was simpler, and people were easier to read—a smile meant what it said, a frown meant what it felt. I often think of my mother, who is no longer with us, and the quiet lessons she gave me. She had a way of seeing people clearly, understanding hearts without a word, and showing love and patience in even the smallest actions. Those lessons—her calmness, honesty, and kindness—have stayed with me, shaping how I connect with others, even in complex professional settings.

As Lao Tzu said, "Simplicity, patience, compassion. These three are your greatest treasures."

Today, life—and meetings—can feel very different. Interactions are layered, cautious, and often more about impression than clarity. I often wonder: how can we make conversations meaningful? How can we ensure time together fosters understanding rather than confusion, and progress rather than noise? These questions have guided my work in education and leadership for decades.

“Clarity and simplicity matter more than eloquence aimed at confusion.”

In leading schools and teams, patterns repeat themselves. Some dominate discussions, some present information that is hard to digest, and some rely on language that confuses more than it clarifies. I remember one meeting where a single slide had multiple charts and graphs crammed into it—I had to squint and nudge a colleague to make sense of it. By the end, most of the audience was lost. Sometimes I catch myself thinking: how often do we, even with the best intentions, make communication harder than it needs to be?

Then there is jargon. Phrases like “leverage synergies for scalable outcomes,” “drill down into core competencies,” or “drive actionable insights through data-driven paradigms” sound impressive but rarely clarify anything. How many people leave meetings enlightened, and how many leave wondering what happened? These moments remind us that not every point requires a response, and not every argument is worth pursuing. Great leadership is about discernment—knowing when to engage, when to step back, and when to focus energy on what truly matters.

Dealing with adults, just as with children, requires differentiation. Some thrive on detail; others need clarity. Leaders must create spaces where everyone can contribute. Meetings and discussions can be opportunities for collaboration—but only if we structure them with purpose, listen actively, and communicate clearly.

Over the years, I’ve learned that restraint often trumps argument. Sometimes the wisest action is to pause, reflect, and redirect energy toward solutions. Folding your arms, smiling politely, and focusing on what matters is often the path to influence and respect.

Keeping communication simple, honest, and respectful benefits everyone. Clarity fosters trust; brevity fosters understanding; patience fosters collaboration. Each interaction, no matter how small, is an opportunity to lead with purpose.

Reflecting on these experiences is not about blame—it’s about growth. We must constantly ask: how can we communicate more clearly? How can we create meaningful spaces for dialogue? How can we lead with patience, clarity, and empathy?

As Peter Drucker wisely said, "Effective leadership is defined by results, clarity, and the ability to make people think."

“Great leadership is about the spaces you create for understanding and growth.”

After all these years, seeing teams and students navigate challenges, it is clear that wise leaders know this approach leaves a lasting impact on their communities.

 

Leadership is not about titles—it’s about showing your value and creating other leaders

 Leadership is not about titles—it’s about showing your value and creating other leaders.

Have you ever been thrown into a situation so overwhelming that you had no choice but to rise—or sink? No one is ever fully ready for leadership, but the moment you act, adapt, and show your worth is when your real strength emerges.

In my forty-five years in education, I’ve seen almost everything—challenging leaders, petty rivalries, jealousy, backstabbing, and sweet smiles hiding devious hearts. I’ve also seen resilience, dedication, and extraordinary professionalism. I’ve learned to see the funny side of things, which keeps me grounded and reminds me not to take myself too seriously.

I had everything going for me in Pune—experience, qualifications, a proven track record—yet things didn’t fall into place. It would have been easy to give up. Instead, I took a leap of faith and moved to the UAE to join GEMS. That decision changed everything. I became Principal of an exceptional school, and today I serve as Executive Vice President, overseeing some of the largest Indian schools in the GEMS network. I work alongside talented, committed professionals. And no matter the role, I will always be a teacher at heart—teaching is an extraordinary profession.

There will always be challenges—roadblocks, frustrating moments, seemingly insurmountable problems, and never enough hours in the day. It’s no use whining—learn to make things happen. Adapt, keep learning, and let others see what you are good at. Don’t hide your talents under a bushel. Look the part. Walk the part. Talk the part. Step up when opportunities arise—they rarely knock twice. True strength comes from being self-made. Show courage, determination, and relentless passion.

Leadership is about respect, empathy, and transparency. I treat everyone—from the senior-most colleague to the watchman—with equal respect. I believe in fair play, without favoritism, and in giving people a chance to shine on merit. A true leader creates other leaders. I’m proud that over a dozen staff who worked under me as Principal have become Principals themselves. Seeing them thrive is deeply rewarding.

Yet I am far from perfect, and I am learning every day. You’d be amazed at how much you can learn simply by observing those around you—their strengths, mistakes, and small habits that make them effective. Reflect, laugh, and grow along the way.

The time to act is now. Don’t wait. Don’t hesitate. Step up, lead, and make your mark. Show your value, embrace the challenge, and leave a legacy that will last far beyond yourself.

Reflections

 Reflections on a sweltering  evening 

What if it all works out exactly as we envisioned it would ?

What if the mountain ahead

is not there to block us,

but to show us how high we can actually climb?

What if the doubts that keep us awake at night 

are simply the shadows before the glorious dawn?

What if the challenges we face together

are not weights holding us back,

but tools shaping us into something wiser and  stronger?

What if every lesson we teach,

every quiet act of kindness,

is already building a future for us

brighter than we can ever  imagine?

And what if—

all along—

it was never about failing or winning,

but about showing up

and daring to believe that nothing was impossible?

The lost art of autograph books

 Smudges, Hearts, and Secrets: The Lost Art of Autograph books

Before emojis and Instagram, friendships were written in ink.

Remember the thrill of flipping open an autograph book and discovering your friends’ scribbles, doodles, and secret messages waiting inside? That little book was a time capsule—capturing laughter, secrets, and the drama of school life in ink.

If you are under 15, you may not even know what one is. No, it wasn’t Instagram’s ancestor or a prehistoric iPad. It was a small, brightly bound notebook that became a treasure chest of memories—filled with signatures, notes, and doodles that were ambitious, if not exactly artistic.

Autograph books go back centuries. They began in Europe, but by the time they reached Indian schools, they had morphed into something far more exciting—part diary, part confessional, part detective agency.

I had one in school. It carried messages from classmates, notes from teachers, and, to my pride, the signatures of a few Indian tennis stars I managed to corner after a match in Allahabad. No other famous names graced its pages, but at that age, even a slightly wobbly autograph from a sportsman felt like gold dust.

The real craze, though, was the “profile wall” at the back. Friends would fill in their name, date of birth, favourite colour, favourite dish, and best pastime. But the most eagerly awaited sections were always “Favourite Boy” and “Favourite Girl.” That was where the drama unfolded—less about hobbies and more about discovering who liked you, and whether you were anyone’s favourite. For a teenager, that was headline news.

I still have my autograph book somewhere. I haven’t seen it in years, but knowing it’s there brings back a flood of memories—faces, laughter, friendships—preserved forever in crooked handwriting and smudged ink.

When I began teaching, autograph books were still very much alive. Students would bring them to me, eager for a signature or a few words. I never wrote casually. I paused to think about what to say—a quote, a word of encouragement, something that might linger long after the ink had faded. Who knows? A sentence in an autograph book might have made someone smile, reflect, or even see life a little differently.

It was only around 2010 that autograph books began to fade, replaced by WhatsApp forwards, Instagram stories, and digital yearbooks. The messages became faster, flashier, and more forgettable. Yet the magic of those handwritten notes—smudges, crooked letters, little hearts in the corner—can never be replaced.

Do you still have an autograph book tucked away somewhere, waiting to be opened again?

The power of true inclusion

 No Child Left Behind: The Power of True Inclusion

Pulkit Chopra’s journey proves true inclusion empowers every child and inspires communities to leave no one behind.

In most parts of the world, children grow up playing the game of musical chairs. There are always fewer chairs than children, and each round, someone is excluded until only one remains—the “winner.” The game teaches a troubling lesson: for me to succeed, others must fail.

In Japan, however, the rules are different: if one child is left without a chair, everyone loses. Children learn to huddle and hold on so that all may find space. The lesson is clear: I succeed only if you succeed too.

This difference captures the UAE’s journey in inclusive education. Over the past decade, the nation has become a regional leader, with clear policies, trained inclusion specialists, and centres for students of determination. More than 20,000 students of determination are enrolled in mainstream schools, supported by teachers and Individual Education Plans. The message from leadership is clear: no child is left behind.

Our inclusive ethos has always been championed by Sunny Varkey, Founder and Chairman of GEMS Education, a strong advocate for embracing every child. At The Millennium School, we launched the Best Buddies programme, inspired by the global movement to foster friendships between students with and without disabilities. Led by passionate teachers and school leaders, our pupils were paired with children from the Manzil Centre for People with Disabilities and the Rashid Centre for People of Determination, engaging together in art, music, and sport. True bonds were built, and all children learnt empathy and acceptance.

Inclusion is about choices as much as programmes. I remember one such choice when the parents of a toddler, Pulkit Chopra, came seeking admission in kindergarten after being turned away by several schools. Our registrar, Sunila Shetty, strongly recommended we admit him, and we did without hesitation.

For twelve years, Pulkit thrived—singing in concerts, participating in sports, and even serving as a prefect from his wheelchair. His classmates rallied around him, his teachers adapted, and the school community grew in empathy. Pulkit himself was always cheerful, motivated, and inspirational—reminding us every day what courage can achieve.

Earlier this year, I attended his graduation from a top Dubai university. Today, Pulkit Chopra is a successful entrepreneur. His story proves that inclusion is not charity—it is empowerment, made possible by the UAE’s unwavering support for its people of determination.

Yet, there is more to do. Schools need greater awareness, training, resources, and support for families. Inclusion must move from compliance to conviction, from support to celebration of diversity.

The lesson is simple: we all win when no one is left standing.

Pulkit Chopra’s journey—from kindergarten in a wheelchair to successful entrepreneur—reminds us that inclusion empowers all and no child should ever be left behind.

THE PIPE ORGANS .

 

Echoes of Majesty: Pipe Organs at The Bishop’s School and Europe’s Old Churches

“I have always been spellbound by the deep, resonant chords of old pipe organs, which seem to lift the spirit and fill a church or cathedral with solemnity, history, and splendour unmatched by any other instrument.”

On a recent trip to Europe, I sought out these majestic instruments whenever possible. I climbed into the lofts to get closer to the gleaming pipes, the polished console, and occasionally, the hidden bellows. The lofts themselves were almost magical—shadows dancing on the walls, the scent of aged wood, and silent pipes looming overhead gave the space a ghostly aura, as if generations of players still lingered, waiting to strike the first solemn chord.

Being there reminded me vividly of home—St. Mary’s Church in Pune, with its venerable pipe organ, where Bishops boys once pumped the bellows during services. Though unseen and strenuous, the organ’s majestic voice filled the church with reverence and grandeur, echoing through stone and memory alike.

My fondest recollections belong to Founder’s Day at The Bishop’s School. Across twenty or so ceremonies, I watched the boys march down to St. Mary’s in spotless white uniforms and maroon blazers, shoes gleaming. The staff, too, were immaculately dressed. A few alumni were always present, and so were some ex-staff, making the occasion even more special and tinged with nostalgia. Inside the church, the atmosphere was hushed and expectant. Pews were adorned with flowers, and the altar bright with baskets of fruit—offerings from the boys to be given to the poor and needy.

In the week leading up to the service, Bishops boys pitched in wholeheartedly. There was no Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Sikh, or Jew—every boy worked side by side. They cut the grass, swept cobwebs, polished pews, and shined the famed brass eagle lectern. It was a yearly facelift for the church, and though it meant dodging a few tedious periods, the result was radiant—a church ready to welcome its children and guests alike.

Then came the grand entry: the Head Boy and House Captains walking with solemn dignity. As the service began, Mrs. Jolly—who everyone would remember—played the ancient organ. Though heard only once a year, the moment she touched the keys, the church seemed to breathe. The organ’s sound was majestic and moving—sometimes gentle, sometimes thunderous, always awe-inspiring.

The service was led by Mr. B.W. Roberts, the Principal, who preached the sermon, while Mr. Beaman oversaw nearly every aspect of the arrangements. The main hymn was always “O God, our help in ages past,” echoing through the stone walls, blending with the swell of the organ. Then came the Bishops’ School Song, sung with full voice by boys and staff alike, adding pride and belonging.

The organ’s voice is unlike any other. It can whisper softly or thunder like a storm, but always with majesty and reverence. Even now, whenever I hear a pipe organ, I am transported back to those Founder’s Days—the march, the flowers, the fruit baskets, the polishing, the laughter, the expectant hush—and above all, that magical sound.

How many of you carry fond memories of the Founder’s Service at Bishops, as I do?