(From the forthcoming book: From the Principal’s Desk – A Journey of Lessons)
Dr Arun Prakash
My journey as a schoolteacher began in 1988. At the time, I was one of the youngest teachers with no prior experience in school teaching. However, I had a fair bit of exposure to tertiary-level teaching, guiding B.Sc. and M.Sc. students at the university level. The school was in an industrial township far from the big cities, and it held parent-teacher meetings (PTMs) every month. PTMs were quite an event, especially for the parents—mothers in particular—who saw it as a social outing in an otherwise quiet township. A joke used to float around that whenever ladies bought new dresses, they would find a reason to visit the school as there were very few social activities otherwise.
One of my early experiences with PTMs came just a few months into my job. I was curious to observe how these meetings went and how teachers handled parents, especially when some of them came with grievances. I saw one senior teacher deeply engaged in a serious conversation with a parent in the school lobby. Naturally, I eavesdropped a bit, curious about how they handled such situations. The parent was asking detailed questions about her child—how her daughter participated in class, how she interacted with her peers and teachers, whether she was confident, and how she performed in activities.
I was impressed by how smoothly the teacher responded. The conversation went on for a good 20 minutes, and the parent left the meeting profusely thanking the teacher for her insights and the care taken for her child. I praised my colleague for his deep knowledge of the student and how well he managed the conversation. But then came the shock—he revealed that he didn’t even know the child! He didn’t teach her class, had never interacted with her, and didn’t have a clue who she was.
This revelation left me dumbfounded. He explained that he answered the parent’s questions using generic phrases. “She has a lot of potential,” “There’s room for improvement,” or “She can achieve a lot but sometimes shows laziness”—ambiguous responses that can apply to just about any student, like a horoscope. It was an eye-opener for me, showing that while some teachers take shortcuts, sincere engagement is always more effective.
Later in my career, I realized the importance of keeping detailed notes about every interaction with students. I have seen teachers and administrators maintain journals where they record these encounters, making it easier to track each student’s progress and follow through on action points.
At one of the schools where I had the privilege to serve as Principal, we started with less than 100 students in April and ended that first year with about 200. Over the years, the school grew exponentially, attracting thousands of students from across the region and beyond. We had around 400 children in boarding, but the majority were day scholars. Despite the school buses ferrying most students, many parents would drop their children off in the morning as that was their only chance to spend time with them, given their busy schedules.
I believe in an open-door policy. Anyone who wants to meet me can do so. Often, parents have minor concerns that can be solved on the spot in just a few minutes. I made it a habit to greet the children at the entrance every morning, and in doing so, I ended up meeting many parents as well. They would convey small but important concerns—like asking a teacher to remind a child to take medicine after lunch or explaining that their child hadn’t completed their homework because they were unwell. These issues, though minor, can become quite disruptive if left unaddressed. By taking quick action, I could resolve most problems on the spot.
I’ve noticed that many principals maintain a distance from parents, making it nearly impossible to meet them. Some principals have so many layers of bureaucracy that parents must wade through just to fix an appointment. In my case, even when the school grew to over 4,000 students, I always kept my door open. And this culture of approachability percolates down the hierarchy—when the leader is accessible, everyone becomes more approachable, creating a school environment where parents feel heard and supported.
Speaking of communication, another incident comes to mind. A child went missing from her home, and the parents were in a state of panic. We were in a secured township, so such incidents were rare, but you can imagine the parents’ anxiety. That evening, a father came to us for help. It was around 8 p.m. My colleagues and I were getting ready for dinner, as we had a shared living arrangement—one house for the kitchen, another for the drawing-room, and a third for the bedrooms.
The father started talking to me. I understood his distress, even though he was speaking Tamil—a language I barely knew beyond a few words I picked up at Indian Coffee House. For over 45 minutes, he poured his heart out, and I listened intently. We later found the child, unharmed. The next day, my colleagues praised me for how I had comforted the father. What they didn’t know was that I hadn’t understood a single word of what he said! But here’s the lesson—communication is much more than just words. When you genuinely care and listen with empathy, the message comes through, regardless of the language barrier.
Parents who are sincerely involved in their children’s education are assets to the school. As educators, we should appreciate and utilize their involvement to create an environment where children can truly blossom. Teachers must remember that parents have entrusted us with their most precious possession—their children. It’s natural for parents to be worried, anxious, or demanding at times. If we approach every interaction with this understanding, we can build lasting, positive relationships with them.
While attending an in-service course at a prestigious institute, I shared a program I had started called Parent Connect. Parents could choose a day to spend at the school with their child, attending classes, assemblies, and even meals. It was a hit. Every day, four or five families visited, observed the learning environment, and left feedback. When I presented this initiative to other principals at the conference, they thought it was a disaster waiting to happen—they feared exposing the school’s weaknesses. But I’ve always believed that when a school is making sincere efforts, there’s nothing to hide. Parents will see the genuine commitment and provide constructive feedback.
Recently, during a discussion with my senior team, we concluded that if we prioritize the genuine development of children over personal egos, there can be no real disagreement. The same goes for communication with parents. If teachers are wholeheartedly focused on nurturing children’s growth, communication gaps will naturally disappear.
I also have a message for parents. Yes, there are schools that focus on profit, teachers who may not be fully committed, and principals who may not be ideal. But after more than 45 years in education—having founded several schools both in India and abroad—I can confidently say these are the exceptions, not the norm. Trust is the foundation of any relationship, and we should begin with trust until proven otherwise. It shouldn’t be the other way around, where trust only begins after someone proves they’re worthy of it.
Let me share another incident. While setting up a school in a challenging area, I learned the value of proactive communication. One day, a young child was accidentally locked in a washroom. By the time we realized what had happened, the child was traumatized. We acted immediately, consoling the child, calling the parents, and removing all the latches from the washroom cubicles to prevent future incidents. When the parents arrived, our proactive actions helped diffuse the situation, and they appreciated our efforts.
In another case, a parent persistently complained that his child wasn’t receiving the non-vegetarian meals promised to day boarders. Initially, the staff dismissed his concerns, confident that non-veg meals were being provided three times a week. But when I looked into it, I found that the non-veg items were served only at dinner—something day boarders never experienced! We adjusted the menu immediately, ensuring fairness for all, and the issue was resolved. This situation taught me that listening with sincerity and taking proactive steps can solve most problems.
In the end, honesty, sincerity, and empathy are the keys to effective communication. If we approach every situation with a genuine desire to help, there will never be a communication gap. Transparency and accountability are the pillars of success.
