By Dr. Arun Prakash
Every Teacher’s Day we hear the same things: teachers are praised as “nation-builders,” garlands are offered, stage performances are organised, and for a day the profession is celebrated. And then, almost like a switch is flipped, the very next morning everything returns to what it was. The teacher goes back to the same classroom, carrying the same load of non-teaching duties, facing the same lack of respect, and struggling under the same system that does not allow them to do what they entered the profession for: to teach, to inspire, to guide.
This year, I do not want to simply celebrate teachers with kind words. I want to raise an alarm, and my alarm is this: teachers who can truly transform children are on the verge of extinction. There will always be people standing in front of classrooms. Lessons will be taught, notes will be dictated, and exams will be prepared for. But let us be honest with ourselves: most of these people are instructors, not teachers, and certainly not Gurus. A Guru is rare, and it is the Guru we must save. Because once the Guru disappears, no amount of technology, coaching, or reform will be able to save education.
Think back to your own schooling. Out of all the teachers you had, how many truly shaped your life? How many inspired you to think differently, to dream bigger, to find strength in yourself? For most of us, the number is small. One, two, maybe three. The rest fade away into memory. This is not to dismiss their effort, but to recognise a truth: not everyone who stands in a classroom is a teacher in the true sense. And only a rare few rise to the level of Guru.
I still remember my own early education in a small village. We had no blackboards, no desks, no toilets. We carried jute sacks from home to sit on. And yet, I was fortunate to have one teacher, Sri Jagdamba Prasad ji, who lit a fire in our minds. He was strict, demanding, sometimes even feared, but he was also inspiring. He made us feel that education was not about poverty of resources but about richness of thought. Whatever I became, it was because of that Guru. He had nothing, but he gave us everything.
The problem today is that Gurus rarely come to the profession. And when they do, they often leave at the first opportunity. It is not enough to say teachers are poorly paid, or that workloads are heavy. Everyone knows this. The deeper reason is that education today is largely run by people who are not educators.
In government schools, teachers are treated as spare hands for every task. They supervise mid-day meals, run census surveys, sit at polling booths, and fill endless registers. This happens because bureaucrats look at teachers and think: they have “too many holidays.” They forget that every government employee enjoys 30 days of earned leave, and that teachers’ vacations are not free time but part of the rhythm of academic life. Still, to punish them for this so-called privilege, work is invented. Instead of preparing lessons, teachers are busy counting ration bags or compiling statistics for reports that will gather dust. The classroom suffers, and the Guru suffocates.
In private schools, the story is no better, only different. Many are started by the newly rich, people who made money in business, real estate, or trade. Because they succeeded in one area, they assume they know education too. Schools become profit machines or symbols of status. Teachers are treated as employees, sometimes even salespeople, expected to impress parents and obey the owner’s every whim. There is no room for autonomy, no space for the Guru’s vision. A school run like a circus can only produce performers, not thinkers, and teachers in such schools are tamed like lions and dogs to perform tricks on command.
And then come the parents. Parents today feel entitled to dictate everything in the classroom. Why so much homework? Why so little homework? Why did my child not get the prize? Why did you punish my child? The teacher becomes the punching bag of parental anxieties. The irony is that parents forget that their child’s teacher is not dealing with one child but with thirty or forty, each with their own needs. Just because someone once went to school, they assume they are qualified to tell a teacher how to do their job. But going to a hospital does not make you a doctor, and going to school does not make you an educator. Yet parents constantly erode the teacher’s authority.
No wonder Gurus rarely enter this profession anymore. And when some do, driven by passion, they soon find themselves suffocated by bureaucracy, dictated to by non-educators, undermined by parents, and overburdened by paperwork. The first chance they get to escape — to a corporate training job, a government post, or even an administrative desk — they leave. What remains in classrooms are mostly instructors. Sincere, perhaps hardworking, but lacking the spark of the Guru.
When Gurus vanish, society does not stop searching for guidance. It simply looks elsewhere. First came the tuition teacher. Then came the coaching centres, promising “100% results” and producing exam-trained children, not educated human beings. Now we see the rise of artificial intelligence tutors. Apps can already solve mathematics instantly, explain science with animations, and personalise lessons for each child. Parents are delighted, because at least someone is filling the vacuum schools left open.
But the real storm is yet to come. Tomorrow, humanoid robots will stand in classrooms. They will have infinite patience, perfect memory, and even simulated empathy. They will never take leave, never forget a fact, never lose their temper. Parents will begin to ask: why do we need human teachers at all?
The danger is real. If we lose the Guru, society will accept these substitutes. Machines can teach lessons, but they cannot build character. They can analyse, but they cannot empathise. They can guide the mind, but they cannot touch the soul. A robot may look like a perfect teacher, but it will never be a Guru. If we surrender to this, we will raise a generation that is intelligent without wisdom, skilled without compassion, and literate without true education.
So how do we save the Guru? It begins with sensitising the bureaucrats. Teachers are not spare clerks. Their time belongs to children, not registers. Bureaucrats must understand that teachers are professionals, not government staff with too much free time.
We must also sensitise and train school owners. Too many believe they are ringmasters and the school is their circus. They must learn to be facilitators of education, not dictators of egos. A school is a garden, not a business showroom. Teachers are gardeners, not performers.
Then comes teacher training. Let us be frank: most of what passes as training today is a joke. Endless PowerPoints, motivational lectures, and finally a group photograph, after which everyone forgets what was said. If we want Gurus, training must be continuous, rigorous, and transformative. Not about covering modules, but about shaping mindset. Not about ticking boxes, but about turning instructors into role models.
Parents too must be sensitised. They must understand that education is a specialised skill. Knowing a subject does not make you a teacher. Teaching requires empathy, patience, communication, and passion. Teachers are rare combinations of these qualities. Parents should support them, not undermine them.
And we must recognise and reward the real Gurus. Awards play a role here. For decades, the Padma awards were seen as favour-driven, reserved for the powerful or well-connected. Teachers working quietly in dusty classrooms had no chance. But in recent years, I must say, things have changed. The Padma’s are becoming more transparent, recognising unsung heroes — farmers, grassroots activists, tribal artists, and yes, even teachers. This is the direction we always wanted. The National Teachers’ Award too has improved. For years it was ceremonial, mechanical, even tokenistic. But now mechanisms are being developed to seek out real Gurus, even in remote corners. I have seen teachers from small towns and villages being honoured, and it gives me hope. Yet let us not fool ourselves. We are still light years away from true recognition. For every teacher honoured, hundreds remain invisible. Awards must inspire, but what teachers really need is daily dignity. A single ceremony cannot make up for a lifetime of neglect. Recognition must become culture, not event.
Beyond recognition, we must invest in teachers more than in infrastructure. A good teacher can inspire under a tree. A poor teacher cannot inspire in a palace. Money spent on teachers — their growth, training, and dignity — gives faster and greater dividends than marble floors and glass walls.
We must also redefine the goal of education. Today we see bankers becoming comedians, CEOs becoming DJs, engineers leaving jobs to pursue passions. Why? Because passion matters more than pay. Education should prepare children to discover and follow their passion, not just to secure a job. If teachers guide children well, every profession can give dignity and livelihood.
And we must equip teachers for the age of AI. AI is not going away. Teachers should not fear it, but master it. They should use it as an assistant, not see it as a competitor. And then they must teach children how to use AI wisely, ethically, and humanely. That is something no machine can do.
Finally, recruitment. We cannot keep filling classrooms with people who merely hold degrees. If the Army has SSBs to test officer-like qualities, why can’t we develop systems to identify Guru-like qualities? Empathy, communication, vision, and leadership should be tested, not just academic knowledge. And above all, we must free education from the mafia of lobbies, clans, and political appointments that dominate policy and postings. Only when education is led by professionals can Gurus flourish.
Saving teachers is not about sympathy. It is about survival. Without Gurus, the bell will still ring, the lessons will still be delivered, exams will still be conducted. But children will not be educated. They will be trained, informed, skilled perhaps — but not educated.
Disclaimer
Before I close, let me also say this clearly. It is not that all administrators are indifferent, it is not that all school owners lack vision, it is not that all teachers are uninspired, and it is not that all policymakers are ineffective. Many are deeply committed, visionary, and purposeful. I have met them, worked with them, read about them, and seen their tireless efforts. They are the hope. They are the champions. They are the ones who must be recognised, encouraged, and strengthened.
This article is not meant as criticism. It is meant as a call to strengthen the millions of silent heroes in every sphere — the entrepreneurs, administrators, bureaucrats, teachers, sensitive parents, and policymakers — who are already working for education with sincerity and passion. They are the real leaders of the Save the Teacher project, and it is on them that I count.
