The Teachers Who Shaped Me

Every year, when Teacher’s Day arrives, I find myself travelling back to the classrooms of my childhood. I see the wooden benches, the chalk dust settling on a dark green board, and the familiar rustle of a classroom rising to its feet as the teacher walks in. In those moments I realize that much of who I am today was quietly sculpted by people who never asked for fame, only for our growth. Teacher’s Day is not merely a date on the calendar. It is a day to bow our heads in gratitude to those who lit lamps in our minds and then stepped back so that we could walk on our own. I belong to a generation that held its teachers in the highest esteem. To us, a teacher was not just an employee of the school but a towering figure of wisdom. We revered them. We wanted to please them, and more than anything, we wanted to be as knowledgeable as they were. When a teacher asked a question, my hand would shoot up before the sentence was even finished, not out of mere competitiveness but out of a deep desire to earn an approving nod. That nod meant the world to me. I always chose to sit on the front bench, and I wore the title of “teacher’s pet” like a medal. In those days it was never an insult. It meant that I was attentive, respectful, and eager to learn, and I was proud of it.

What made our teachers extraordinary was that they saw us as whole human beings, not just as future examination scores. I remember a time, early in my adolescence, when I began my menstrual cycle. It could have been a moment of fear or embarrassment. Instead, I went to my teacher with calm confidence and told her plainly what had happened. For that ease, I will always thank my mother, who had prepared me so wonderfully and taught me that this was a natural part of life and nothing to hide. But I also thank my teacher, who received the news with such warmth and dignity that my confidence was only strengthened. She made me feel safe. That, I believe, is the true mark of a great teacher, she creates an environment where a young girl can speak openly, without shame, to an adult she trusts. Our teachers did not confine themselves to textbooks. They taught us how to live. They taught us not to drag our chairs across the floor, because the noise disturbs others and consideration begins with small things. They taught us not to interrupt when someone else was speaking, and that listening is a form of respect. They taught us to be kind to the weaker child, to be authentic, and never to lie, even when the truth was inconvenient. Their lessons were repeated so often and so lovingly that they became part of our nature. One saying has stayed with me all these years, and I can still hear it in my teachers’ voices, “If health is lost, something is lost. If wealth is lost, nothing is lost. But if character is lost, everything is lost.” As a child, I did not fully grasp its depth. Today, having seen how life unfolds, I understand it completely. Wealth can be rebuilt, and even health can sometimes be restored, but a person without integrity has nothing left to stand upon. Of all the things my teachers gave me, this was perhaps the most priceless, because it has guided my decisions in moments when no one was watching. Discipline was also a part of that education. Our teachers corrected us firmly, and sometimes they punished us. Yet we never doubted that it came from care. When a teacher scolded us, we reflected on our mistake rather than question her motives. Our parents trusted the school in the same way. If we came home with a complaint about a teacher’s strictness, the likely response was, “You must have done something to deserve it.” There was an unspoken understanding between home and school that both were working toward the same end, which was to raise a good human being.

Today, I observe a very different picture, and I confess it troubles me. Many modern children feel free to hold their teachers accountable, to argue, and even to challenge them openly. Parents, too, often rush to the school to scold a teacher who has disciplined their child. I do not wish to suggest that teachers should be beyond question or that cruelty should ever be excused. Genuine abuse has no place anywhere, and teachers must be held to professional standards like everyone else. But there is a vast difference between protecting a child from harm and undermining the very person entrusted with shaping that child. When parents publicly criticize a teacher in front of their children, they teach the child that authority deserves no respect. And a child who learns to disrespect a teacher will, sooner or later, struggle to respect anyone. I would gently offer parents this thought. If they feel they can teach their children better, with more patience and consistency than a school can, they are free to home school. Many families do so successfully. But if they choose to send their children to school and rely on a teacher to educate them, then trust must come with that choice. A teacher cannot guide thirty children if every correction is met with suspicion. Partnership, not confrontation, is what serves the child. If a concern arises, let it be raised respectfully, in private, and with the willingness to listen. Let the child see that the adults in their life stand together. Teachers, too, work in a changed world, and they deserve our empathy. They face larger classrooms, heavier expectations, and the constant fear of being misjudged. Yet despite these pressures, countless teachers still arrive each morning with patience and dedication. They stay late to help a struggling student, buy supplies from their own pockets, and celebrate the success of a child who may never remember to thank them. Their reward is rarely money or recognition. It is the quiet knowledge that somewhere, years later, a grown man or woman will think of them with affection.

That is exactly what I am doing today. I think of my teachers who encouraged my curiosity, who corrected my posture and my pronunciation, who taught me that a kind word costs nothing, and that honesty is a priceless possession. Many of them may no longer be with us, and some may not remember my name. But their voices live on in my habits, my values, and my conscience. So, on this Teacher’s Day, let us do more than offer flowers and greeting cards. Let us restore the dignity of the teaching profession. Let us teach our children to stand when a teacher enters, to listen with humility, and to accept guidance with grace. And let us remember that a teacher’s greatest lesson is not found in any syllabus. It is the lesson that character is the one wealth we must never lose. To all my teachers, past and present, thank you. Ms. Naureen Khan Principal of BPS who inculcated the love of English literature in me ; Guddi Baji, Bila Baji and Sir Farooq of Haleem Institute who used to say that even an animal cleans the space where they sit, Mrs. Mira Phailbus, Principal  who defied the pressure to have Kinnaird College girls a unform with a retort that “ My girls must learn to dress up for the occasion”; my beloved Professor Zia Sahib who taught me Economics at LSE who was in love with my handwriting and always believed me to the horror of the entire class ….I can go on naming so many more.  You made me who I am.