I still remember the day I felt like a schoolgirl waiting for exam results. After months of brainstorming, sleepless nights, and countless cups of masala chai, we had finally built a fantastic software with our in-house programmers. All I needed was one report to run.
And then — silence.
The data person was absent. No call, no message. I dialed once, twice, then ten times, pacing like a restless tiger. My temperature rose faster than Dubai’s July afternoon.
Hours later, when he finally called back, I burst out: “Where were you?!”
His quiet reply cut through my anger: “Ma’am, my two-year-old was burning with fever.
My wife couldn’t stay—she had her academic audit.”
That was the first time it struck me—while I was chasing numbers, someone else was fighting a completely different battle.
Another morning, another storm. An important event, VIPs arriving, and our main teacher simply didn’t show up. The stress levels in me could have powered the entire school generator.
Later that day, I learned her divorce had been finalized the previous evening.
The contrast hit me hard: for me, the crisis was an event; for her, it was life itself. While I was fuming about missing chairs and empty slots, she was trying to stitch together the pieces of her life.
And then a lighter moment—a lesson wrapped in comedy. During prize distribution, with the chief guest beside me, the teacher in charge of trophies stood frozen, ignoring all my hints. The audience shifted, I grew restless. Only later did she admit: she had forgotten her spectacles, and could not read the nominee list and between nerves and “the Principal standing there,” she simply froze.
Three very different scenes—stress, pain, and laughter—but they all taught me one truth: leadership is not about flawless audits, soaring graphs or picture perfect events. It is about pausing long enough to see the person—their fears, struggles, and yes, even their spectacles.
When I look back I can see many more such instances which made me pause. It was in those pauses that I realized something had to change—starting with me. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became: I needed to see people, not just performance.
So I changed.
Instead of summoning people to intimidating Principal room, conference rooms, I began walking into their spaces—staff rooms, classrooms, corridors. I started listening to their stories, not just their statistics. I set more realistic timelines, encouraged no disturbance time after 4 pm, and reminded myself: nothing is so urgent that it overrides humanity.
I still work late into the night—because I love it.
And yes, we still have the data, the audits, the reports to prove our progress. The difference is, I’m no longer carrying it alone. More minds are engaged, more hearts are invested. One small conscious change has made a big difference: pausing to acknowledge effort. At first it surprised people—almost as if they were waiting for the “but…”—but soon it gave way to that unmistakable happy glow.
Today, teachers don’t avoid me in the corridors. They walk up with ideas, worries, even jokes. Students stop me, not just to show their outpasses, but to share their triumphs and troubles. The school feels alive with energy and trust.
Leadership is not about filling in boxes or raising bars—it’s about raising people. And sometimes, it’s as simple as saying: “I understand. We are with you.” I realized people don’t remember the reports I chased, they remember whether I stood with them when life got heavy.
Love you Zindagi!
Vandana Marwaha
Principal and Director
DPS Sharjah
Picture Courtesy:
Diya Carissa
Grade 12 School Topper (2024-25)
