(A glimpse into the forthcoming book “From the Principal’s Desk – A Journey of Lessons“)
Dr Arun Prakash
It was the mid-1970s. In those days, education was not just a pathway—it was the only real lifeline for most families. There were no backup plans, no startup dreams, no YouTube tutorials to fall back on. If you wanted to make something of your life, you studied. It was sacred.
And in that era, there was a boy. Brilliant—undoubtedly. Curious, energetic, full of questions and ideas. But also, impossibly naughty. Forever distracted. Never interested in studies. Mischief was his default mode—whether in the classroom, the corridor, or at home.
The teachers were frustrated. Tuition teachers came and went—some even left mid-session, unable to handle the whirlwind. The parents were desperate. They knew he had potential, but they had no idea how to reach it. The child, however, didn’t seem bothered. He was busy playing, exploring, tinkering—everything but studying.
Then came Sir.
A teacher from the same school, a sort of family friend—not particularly famous, not loud or charismatic, but present. Observant. Wise.
He didn’t scold. He didn’t preach. He didn’t demand, “Sit down and study.” Instead, he asked, “Want to play cricket?” And off they went. He saw the boy liked working with tools? He got him to help fix a chair. Liked storytelling? They read folktales together. Slowly, gently, with no pressure, Sir began weaving lessons into the play.
Without even realizing it, the child started learning. Tables became part of games. Science slipped into playtime. Language came alive through stories. What others tried to force with discipline, this teacher unlocked with presence.
That child went on to top the state board exams. Later, he achieved success in multiple fields, becoming a respected figure. But when asked about his journey, he doesn’t start with degrees or awards. He starts with Sir—the mentor who never shouted, never punished, never gave up.
Even when age caught up with Sir—when he needed a stick to walk—the student still sat beside him like a child, not because he had to, but because he never forgot the man who believed in him.
That, to me, is what mentorship means.