It was around 8:00 a.m. A crowd was beginning to gather outside the city’s most prestigious private school, Surya Nagari International School. Parents were dropping their children off in their cars. The children were resplendent in their new uniforms, while security guards were constantly stopping buses to let them in. In the crowd, a woman slowly made her way toward the school gate. Her clothes were worn. A faded blue sari was frayed at the edges, simple slippers on her feet. Her hair was streaked with gray, and she carried an old leather bag that once bore the words “Teachers’ Pride,” now almost gone. That woman was Sunita Sharma, about 55 years old. A simple face, a deep look in her eyes, and a slow, graceful gait are the hallmarks of a teacher. But today, there was a tremor in her steps, as if she were headed somewhere she would no longer be recognized. As she reached the gate, a security guard blocked her way. “Madam, where are you going?” Sunita smiled and said, “Son, I’m going inside the school.” I want to meet Principal Ma’am. The guard looked her up and down. Old clothes, light stains on her sari, her slippers covered in dust. With a dismissive smile on his face, he said, “See, this is a school. It’s not a government office.” Principal Ma’am is very busy. You can’t meet her just like that. I need an appointment first.” Sunita said calmly. “I don’t need an appointment. I used to teach here.” The guard laughed. “You’re here, Ma’am. This school is Suryanagari International, where even doctorates line up to teach. You might have mistaken me. Now, please give way. The children’s bus is about to arrive.” She remained silent for a moment. Then softly said, “Yes, dear. I know it’s the same school. It’s just that the name has changed and the faces have changed.” Just then, a new female staff member emerged from inside. High heels, a modern suit, and a tablet in hand. The guard said, “Ma’am, this woman wants to go in. She says she used to teach here.” The new staff member, Reena Mehta, the HR coordinator, laughed and said, “Oh no, don’t let such people in.” So many people come in every day. Some say they’re former teachers. Some say they’ve come to donate. They’re all just excuses.” Then he looked at Sunita and asked, “Ma’am, what year were you here?” Sunita replied softly. “In 1998, when this school was just opening.” Reena smiled and said, “Oh, back then, it must have been just two rooms. Now, it’s an International Board school, Ma’am. And we don’t keep old records.” Sunita replied, “Maybe not records, but some memories must still be in the walls here.” Reena said with a cold look, “Look, you can’t go in without an appointment. If you have any work, please send an email.” Meanwhile, some parents were entering from behind. A woman whispered, “It seems some poor woman has come asking for a job.” “Yes,” the other said, “Look at your clothes. Such people still try to enter schools. Aren’t you ashamed?” Sunita said nothing. She just clutched her old bag tighter. There was no anger or contempt on her face, just an unspoken pain. She turned and slowly walked out of the gate. The guard behind her laughed and said, “Everyone’s obsessed with teaching now.” As she turned onto the main road, a car stopped, and a little boy got out. Same school uniform, same badge, Suryanagar International. He bent down and touched Sunita’s feet. “Hello, Sharma Ma’am. Sunita Chowki. Who are you?” the boy smiled. “I’m Aarav, Ma’am. You used to teach me math in eighth grade. Do you remember when I was scared of the table?” Sunita’s eyes filled with tears. “Aarav, you’ve grown so much now?” he smiled. “Yes, Ma’am, I no longer teach at this school, but I’m the new vice principal.” Reena and the guard stood there, watching all this. Their faces turned pale. The crowd quieted. It was over. And the elderly teacher who had just been humiliated and thrown out was now the one without whom the foundation of this school was incomplete. Silence fell over the crowd. The shock was evident on Reena’s face. She wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in her throat. The guard who had been blocking the way a few minutes earlier was now standing with his head bowed. Aarav stepped forward, bent down, and took Sunita Sharma’s hand. “Ma’am, why didn’t you come in?” The guard told her there was no appointment to see you. If I had recognized you, I would have come out and escorted you myself.” Sunita smiled and said, “Son, I’m no longer entitled to any appointment. I just felt like seeing the place where I once taught, where the voices of my children used to echo.” Aarav’s eyes were moist. “Ma’am, you were the one who first taught me the meaning of education. You told me to become a good person, not just good marks.” Perhaps

From that day on, my life changed direction. Sunita laughed softly. “I remember you used to get zeros on every test and say, ‘Ma’am, I can’t do math.’” Aarav smiled. “Yes, but now I’m the vice principal of this school, and whatever I am, it’s because of you.” Reena slowly came forward and hesitated, “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t recognize you. I thought you couldn’t finish that sentence.” Sunita stopped her and said, “It’s okay, daughter. The mistake isn’t in recognition, it’s in vision. Time changes, and with it, vision.” Aarav said, “Ma’am, now come with me. This school will welcome you today, just as you once welcomed your own children.” He took her by the hand and led her inside the school. The guard who had been blocking the way moments earlier was now standing with a salute, and some parents who had been laughing at Sunita were now silent. There was regret in their eyes and shame on their faces. Sunita’s eyes lit up as she stepped inside the school. It was the same corridor where she had taught the children to walk in rows of two. It was the same walls she had spoken to them about. Every mistake taught a new lesson. The classroom doors were open. New technology, smart boards, etc., but to her it was all just noise. Her gaze drifted to the old noticeboard, where in a corner her handwritten sentence still lay blurred. “One who works honestly never loses,” she said softly. “It’s been so many years, but the fragrance is the same.” Aarav said from behind, “Ma’am, this fragrance has returned today. You know, the first day I joined this school, I told the principal, ‘If my teacher ever returns to this school, give him a place in your heart, not a chair.’” Sunita smiled. “Son, I don’t want a chair. Just the respect every teacher deserves.” Just then, the school principal, Mrs. Anjali Thakur, emerged. Her face was filled with surprise and emotion. “Sunita, it’s you. We heard you had gone to the village.” “Yes,” Sunita said, “I started teaching some children in the village, but today I thought I’d come and see the place where I once devoted 20 years of my life.” Anjali said, “You were a teacher in the first batch of this school. I remember when this school used to run in two rooms. You were the one who took the first class.” Sunita said with a smile, “Yes. Back then, this school had blackboards, not smart boards, and memorizing the children’s names was the biggest task.” All the teachers and staff gathered around. Reena bowed her head and said, “Ma’am, today you taught us that true identity is determined by actions, not by clothes.” Aarav softly asked, “Ma’am, do you know what day you’re here today?” Sunita replied, “No, dear. Today is Teachers’ Day.” Sunita remained silent for a moment. Her eyes filled with tears. “Perhaps God sent me to remind you that the seed I sowed is now bearing fruit.” The next morning, the auditorium of Surya Nagari International School was unusually crowded. The stage was decorated with flowers, and in the center, in large letters, was written, “Teachers’ Day Celebration. Gurus Who Inspire Generations.” Every child, every teacher, and every staff member was present. But the atmosphere of the event was different today. There was a strange peace and emotional energy in the air. Aarav came to the stage, took the microphone, and said, “The teacher we are honoring today didn’t just teach us, she taught us to be human. She is a teacher without whom this school would never be able to stand.” Everyone’s eyes turned to the stage stairs. Slowly, the same elderly teacher, Sunita Sharma, was making her way to the stage. Her faded sari, her simple face, and her old leather bag still in her hand. A whisper spread through the crowd: ‘This is the teacher!’ Many bowed their heads in reverence. When Sunita reached the stage, Aarav knelt down and touched her feet. The entire hall erupted in applause. Principal Anjali Thakur presented her with a bouquet and said, “Ma’am, the echoes of your hard work still resonate within the walls of this school.” Sunita took the microphone and remained silent for a few moments. Then, in a soft voice, she spoke, “Today, after so many years, I am standing on this stage. Where once it was my duty to make the children stand. Times have changed.” Buildings have grown larger, but the value of a teacher seems to be diminishing. The entire hall was silent. Her every word resonated deeply. She continued, “Yesterday, when I came here, someone refused to recognize me because of my clothes. I thought it was my fault that I came in old clothes. But then I realized that clothes may be old, but not their value. A teacher is not recognized by their clothes, but by the children they teach.” Some parents sitting in the front row were moved to tears. Many teachers listened with their heads bowed. Sunita lowered her voice further. “I taught in this school for 20 years. Then I returned to the village. Now I teach those children there.”

I teach those who can’t afford the fees. Sometimes they come in torn clothes. But I know one of them will become the next doctor, police officer, or teacher. The crowd erupted in applause. Aarav’s eyes filled with tears. He said, “Ma’am, we’re all here today because of you. You taught us that when society starts judging people by their clothes, education is the only solution that can change that mindset.” The principal stepped forward and said, “Ma’am, the school’s governing committee has unanimously decided that from this year, the school’s library hall will be named the Sunita Sharma Knowledge Center.” The entire auditorium stood up. Everyone’s eyes were moist with the thunderous applause. Sunita bowed her head and said simply, “If my books help any child today, consider me the biggest salary I’ve ever received.” After the program, students began approaching her one by one. Some touched her feet, some asked for photos, some said, “Ma’am, meeting you feels like a blessing from God.”