Whenever I mention online classes, people usually nod in understanding. But the moment I say “online library,” the confusion begins.
“Library… online? What do you even do there?”
The past few months have felt like an educational roller coaster with no warning signs. When the spring break suddenly started earlier than expected, many of us quietly celebrated for a moment. The reason behind it was serious, of course, but somewhere between cancelled alarms and unexpected leave, there was also relief.
As the new term approached, uncertainty filled the air. Every message notification caused anxiety until the final decision came: online learning again.
This time, however, things felt different. During the Covid days, online classes often felt like being thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool without knowing how to swim. Cameras froze, microphones refused to cooperate, and “Ma’am, you’re on mute!” became the unofficial school anthem.
Now, everyone logged in like professionals. Teachers were prepared, students knew exactly where to click, and parents seemed calmer too. What once felt chaotic now felt organised.
Meeting a brand-new class online still felt daunting. How do you connect with children you have never met in person? Yet, children surprised us once again.
For Phase 1 students, parents helped make sessions smoother. But with Phase 2 Library classes, things became far more interesting. The sessions were meant to be brief, with students continuing work offline to reduce screen time.
The Grade 5 students, especially the boys, had other plans.
They wanted discussions, debates, news analysis, fighter jets, missile interceptions, global politics, and passionate opinions about “the orange man” — their mysterious nickname for a certain world leader. At times, the Library class sounded less like a reading session and more like a live international news panel hosted by ten-year-olds.
And somewhere in between, I was gently trying to steer them back toward books.
What stood out most was how much children simply wanted to talk. They wanted reassurance, connection, and someone to listen. Our planned 10-minute sessions often stretched into 25 minutes.
Then came the happiest news: we were returning onsite.
Suddenly, nobody complained about early mornings. Children arrived excited and eager to reclaim their libraries. Hearing classroom chatter again felt therapeutic. Even the scraping of chairs sounded comforting.
And just as normalcy returned, alerts and interruptions brought us back online once more.
Still, through all the uncertainty, one truth became clear: children genuinely want to be in school. And honestly, teachers want it too.
So until we return fully onsite again, we continue doing what teachers and students somehow always manage to do best — adapt, laugh, connect, and carry on.
And as for what we do in an online library?
It turns out it was never just about books.
Sheetal Bhatia
