Musings Of A Schoolmaster

April in Nepal is more than just the advent of a new academic session in schools; it is a season of quiet upheavals. Classrooms are rearranged, registers renewed, and, quite often, teachers find themselves at the crossroads of continuity and change. In a country where the government sector alone cannot absorb the workforce, a significant number of educators serve in private institutions, each carrying their own saga of perseverance, aspiration, and transition.

I stand as one among them. There was a time, not too long ago, when I, too, switched schools after dedicating nearly a decade to one institution. The decision, though pragmatic, stirred a tempest of emotions within me. Old memories began to dart about in my mind with a persistence that would not let me be. It was as though my consciousness demanded a moment of pause—to reminisce, to relive, and perhaps to reconcile. 

Time, however, has an uncanny way of nudging us forward. The show must go on, after all.  Leaving my previous school was no ordinary departure. I have resigned myself to never seeing my jovial colleagues, with whom I had created tonnes of memories. Additionally, the departure meant kissing goodbye to the daily banter with my chatty students, where the clamorous ambiance of the school bus often served as the background score to my typical mornings. The very fabric of my professional identity was composed of those fleeting interactions with my unassuming, lovely students. 

Life, in its quiet way, led me into a new professional setting. It took me a while to come to terms with the naturally unsettling feelings of leaving behind the edifice of memories. New colleagues, novel working procedures, unfamiliar hallways and lobbies, and a fresh batch of students, whose names and dispositions I was expected to be familiar with, sounded daunting at first. I could still recall with striking clarity the faces and mannerisms of my former students, even though my current professional setup leaves little room for indulgence in the past. Gradually, I have found myself acclimatising and forming new bonds.  As the renewed sense of exuberance has started to find its way in me, new stories have begun to unfold.  What once felt like a rupture has started to resemble a continuum—different in form, yet similar in essence. 

The time revolving around April is evocative of the shifting of teachers in private schools, and this reflects an innate aspect of human nature. Humans, by instinct, resist change because the cosiness of the familiar keeps us anchored, often blinding us to the beckons of new and rewarding opportunities. Indeed, in order for us to grow, we have no other option but to embrace change. Whether a situation is pleasant or difficult, life never stands still. It moves on, often without waiting for our consent. And therein lies its beauty. 

Rather than shying away from the unknown, we might as well welcome it; it is unpredictability that infuses vitality into our otherwise mundane routines, preventing life from going stale. The real mark of grit lies in finding possibility within change while preserving one's values and sense of self. 

In retrospect, my roles at my previous institution gave me much to be thankful for, yet the present one holds its own distinct promise. Had I clung to the past, I would have overlooked the growth unfolding now. This period of transition is there to remind me that moving ahead doesn't amount to wiping away the past, but to growing into the person you are becoming.