I had just joined the school and was handling an all-boys section for the first time. Used to co-ed classes, managing the boisterous energy of middle school boys was overwhelming. During the auditions for compering the Sundeep Batavia Tournament, the classroom was flooded with students, buzzing with noise and commotion. Amidst the chaos, Yash stood out—not for talent, but for his playful interruptions and carefree “masti.” To silence him, I handed him the script and asked him to read with voice modulation.
To my surprise, Yash delivered with remarkable flair—his voice carried confidence, rhythm, and clarity far beyond what I expected. Instinctively, I chose him, though many cautioned me against it: “He will not turn up, he’s inexperienced, he may spoil the event.” Still, I trusted my judgment. On the day of the tournament, Yash rose to the occasion. He compered with brilliance, earning admiration from peers, teachers, and guests. That recognition lit a spark within him—he grew more confident, responsible, and respected in class.
This reminded me of the story of the man throwing stranded starfish back into the sea. When questioned about the futility of his efforts, given the sheer number of starfish, the man replied that though he could not save them all, but for the one starfish he returned it made all the difference. And for Yash, that one chance became his sea—his place to shine. And that is the true privilege of being a teacher. We may not be able to change every child’s life, but for the one we notice, the one we trust, the one we lift—it can mean the whole ocean.
Chandrani Gangopadhyay
