A journey called life

Journey.

It is an interesting word.

We usually imagine a journey as something that has a destination. A beginning, a route, a few milestones and eventually, a place we are trying to reach.

Life does not work that way.

There is no fixed destination. 

The route keeps changing. 

People come into our lives and leave them. Some stay for years, some for a season. Some change the course of our lives. Some leave quietly.

Circumstances change. The world around us changes.

And we change with it.

Yet through every beginning, every ending and every transformation, there is one person who remains present through the entire journey: ourselves.

Perhaps that is why the foundation we begin with matters so much.

For me, that foundation was my parents.

Growing up in a home where my choices were not constantly questioned, where my place in my parents’ lives was never in doubt, and where I was allowed to make mistakes, learn, grow and find my own path shaped my life in ways I can never fully put into words.

It gave me something more valuable than certainty.

It gave me the freedom to be myself.

And this Teachers’ Day, when I think of the many teachers and gurus who have guided me through school, college, my master’s degrees and beyond, one person inevitably stands apart.

My mother, Mrs. Rajalakshmi Kannan.

My high school Chemistry teacher.

My teacher in so many other things.

My lifelong guide.

She taught me to believe in myself. To believe in the goodness in the world. To face disappointment and challenges with grace. To spread hope and positivity by living those values rather than simply talking about them.

She set a standard so high that simply trying to live by those ideals makes a person more refined, more gracious and, hopefully, a little more classy.

I have a particularly fond memory of Teachers’ Day from school.

We had a tradition where the 10th standard students would wear sarees and take classes for the day. Each of us would be assigned a teacher whose classes we would handle.

For most teachers, I imagine, it was probably a lovely opportunity to let the students have some fun, manage the class for a day and perhaps enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee in the staff room while the students took over.

My mother had other ideas.

She gave me her lesson plan.

She gave me her syllabus.

And she expected me to actually teach it.

So there I was, in a saree, standing in front of her 8th standard class, teaching aluminium extraction and balancing equations, while she watched from the window.

What stayed with me was not the saree or even the Chemistry.

It was the seriousness with which she trusted me.

She did not give me a simplified version because I was a student. She believed I could take her class, follow her lesson plan and do the job properly.

That confidence stayed with me.

Perhaps that is why I always give my best even when nobody is watching.

When you take something upon yourself, you do it with integrity.

You do it with care and precision.

I think that is one of the most valuable lessons she ever taught me.

Today, I wish she were here.

I wish she could read my books, listen to my thoughts, add her perspective, challenge me, enrich my ideas and perhaps even write her own books.

There is so much I would still like to share with her.

But she is still part of my journey.

In the way I think.

In the values I try to live by.

In the strength with which I face disappointments.

In the hope I try to pass on.

And in the lives of the many students she taught, who went on to accomplish so much.

Some teachers teach a subject.

Some teach us lessons.

And some become part of the person we spend our entire journey becoming.

I was fortunate enough to have one of those.

Happy Teachers’ Day, Amma. ❤️