Dr Arun Prakash
We are delighted to present From the Principal’s Desk, a series of insightful and engaging reflections by Dr. Arun Prakash, Founder Principal of Laurels International School, and a seasoned educator with over 40 years of experience in both school and university-level teaching and administration. In this book, Dr. Prakash draws upon his life’s journey—from his humble beginnings in a small village school to his esteemed career in education. With a blend of humor, wisdom, and personal anecdotes, he takes us through the lessons learned along the way, offering a unique perspective on the ever-evolving world of education. Through these stories, Dr. Prakash aims to inspire both educators and parents alike, as they navigate the challenges of preparing the next generation for an unknown, but exciting future. We hope you enjoy this series, which will appear regularly, exclusively in Prizdale Times.
Prologue
As you embark on this journey with me, I invite you to sit back and relax—this is going to be a blend of stories, lessons, and maybe even a few surprises along the way. If you’ve ever wondered what it takes to sit in the principal’s chair, well, let’s just say it’s not all about shiny shoes and stern looks (although those help sometimes). This book is a reflection of my years in education, but before we get to that, let me take you back to where it all started—my childhood, in a much simpler world, where education was more about grit than gadgets.
My first memory related to education isn’t exactly what you’d expect. It was May 1964, and I wasn’t sitting in a classroom or writing an exam. No, I was in our courtyard, along with a bunch of other kids, making clay molds of Chacha Nehru’s face. Yes, the same Chacha Nehru who was our first Prime Minister. He had passed away recently, and in our little tribute, we were busy crafting his likeness, blissfully unaware of the world outside our courtyard. I must admit, the clay creations weren’t masterpieces, but it was the thought that counted, right?
My first real brush with formal education came when I was taken to the village school, holding my father’s hand. Now, my father was a government servant, and his appearances at home were as rare as rain in a desert. So, when he was around, it was a big deal. We walked a few hundred meters to the school, and as soon as we arrived, the teacher did something that has stuck with me to this day—he gave up his own chair for my father. It was a grand gesture, considering there were no other chairs in the school.
Now, here’s where things get interesting. When it came time to enroll me, my father paused while writing my name in the register. He looked at me thoughtfully and asked, “What name should we write for you?” For a brief moment, I thought I’d get to choose something cool—maybe a name like Ramesh or Suresh, the local heroes. But no, my father, in his wisdom, decided to name me “Arun Prakash,” meaning morning reddish light. And just like that, “Sunil” vanished, and Arun Prakash was born. Ironically, my mother didn’t get the memo—she spent years wondering who this “Arun Prakash” fellow was when letters addressed to me started arriving.
Ah, those early school days! Our primary school wasn’t the kind of place you’d see in an education brochure. Imagine 400 kids crammed into a small panchayat house, supervised by two teachers—one of whom was more absent than present. Yet, somehow, I became the unofficial “Assistant Teacher.” Don’t ask me how that happened, but before I knew it, I was helping other kids with their lessons, even though I hadn’t quite mastered my own. Apparently, that’s how I learned the art of multitasking—by necessity, not choice.
Now, let me tell you about the “facilities.” We didn’t have any of the modern comforts you’d expect in today’s schools. Desks? What desks? We brought old jute sacks from home to sit on, and the few lucky ones got to sit on the tatpatti, a mat that was always in high demand. And toilets? Well, those were a luxury we hadn’t yet discovered. The entire village was toilet-free, so cleaning them wasn’t part of our daily routine. But don’t worry, we had plenty of other tasks to keep us busy—like fetching water from the well, cleaning the school grounds, and occasionally cooking the mid-day meal (when it was available). We were essentially schoolchildren by day, labourers by necessity.
As for homework, well, let’s just say there wasn’t any. Homework wasn’t a thing in our village school, so I was blissfully free of any assignments. But that didn’t stop my classmates from getting back at me. Whenever I upset them at school, they’d run to my mother and complain, telling her that I wasn’t reading or studying. My poor mother, alarmed by their tales, would summon me for impromptu study sessions. Out came the inkpot, some used paper, and the wooden sticks to write with—my mother determined to make me “compensate” for my so-called negligence at school. Needless to say, those sessions were filled with tears on my part, but she remained unfazed, intent on making sure I wasn’t falling behind.
Looking back, I realize that my schooling was more of an adventure than a structured academic experience. We didn’t have fancy textbooks for every subject. In fact, we had one book that covered everything—from social studies to math, Hindi stories to moral lessons. That one book was our Bible, and by the time the school year started, I’d usually finish reading it within two weeks. After that, I spent most of my time teaching others, which, as it turns out, is how I learned best.
Fast forward to today, and education looks nothing like it did in those days. We now have schools equipped with everything you can imagine—air-conditioned classrooms, smart boards, labs that could rival research centers. Parents are more involved, students are more connected, and education has become a priority. But in all this progress, one thing has remained constant—the importance of the teacher. Whether in a village school with no toilets or in a modern institution with cutting-edge technology, the role of the teacher is irreplaceable.
This book is my reflection on what I’ve learned over the years—from those dusty village classrooms to the digital age. It’s about the lessons I’ve picked up, the mistakes I’ve made, and the wisdom I hope to pass on. We’re living in an era where technology is advancing faster than we can keep up. The children we educate today will face challenges we can’t even begin to imagine. Soon, the line between human and machine will blur, and the “Homo Chipians” of tomorrow will emerge—humans integrated with technology, their capabilities enhanced beyond what we can comprehend.
So, how do we prepare for that future? That’s what we’ll explore in this book. I hope my stories, experiences, and insights will not only make you smile but also give you something to think about. After all, education isn’t just about what we know—it’s about what we dare to dream.
Arun
Coming Next: Part 1: The Foundation of Learning; Chapter 1: Parents Role in Education
