Ananda has had a long association with the Krishnamurti schools—first as a student at the Nachiket School, and in Rajghat Besant School, and then as a teacher at the Rajghat Besant School and later at The Valley School for the past decade. He teaches in the junior and middle schools. Ananda is a musician too and plays many instruments. In his words, his journey as a student made returning to education a choiceless flow—he came back to join the Krishnamurti schools to learn more, and teaching simply happened.
Lifelong learner
The teacher who made the deepest difference in my life—and the one who left me with no choice but to become an educator myself — was an integral part of my growing years. From the age of seven to seventeen, I lived and learned with her. In those ten years, my life was transformed; I moved from the rugged, treeless mountains of Ladakh to a green haven by the seaside city of Madras. Living and learning flowed seamlessly into one another. Looking back now, I realize that her passion for education, play and life itself was so intense that I absorbed it without even knowing it. As an adult, I find myself drawn to the same way of living—learning as a way of being. Today, as I write and reflect, there are certain qualities in her that shine through—precious traits of a teacher who taught simply by being who she was.
Keeping the child alive
The child in my teacher was always alive and tenderly nurtured. She was playful, curious and open to wonder, and that quality is what I think made her such a powerful educator. She approached each day with freshness, eager to explore and try new things. That spirit of curiosity was contagious.
A passionate learner
She was constantly learning. Her enthusiasm to learn and share was endless and because she was learning all the time, she was always teaching. She was not just a subject teacher: she was our music teacher, dance teacher, theatre teacher, art and craft teacher, land work teacher, and even our baking teacher! She taught us everything from mask-making and needlework to origami and glass painting. None of this came from formal training. It came from a fearless joy of learning. And that, more than anything, shaped my own understanding of what it means to teach.
Learning as a living process
Her classroom was never bound by four walls. Learning happened everywhere—in the garden, under a tree, by the sea. She was deeply aware of life’s movements: the natural world around us, the changing interests of children, the festivals and rhythms of the villages nearby, and even the events unfolding in the world beyond.
A timetable existed, but it was flexible. There was space for spontaneity, for learning that arose naturally, out of curiosity or a moment of discovery.
The mouth organ story
I remember one such moment vividly. I was fascinated while listening to a song whose tune was played on the mouth organ. My teacher happened to have one lying around, and when I asked if I could try learning it, she said, ‘Of course, go ahead!’
It was close to the school holidays, and she encouraged me to keep it with me. My goal was to learn just that tune, but with all the time and leisure that I had in the holidays and the mouth organ always by my side, I began to experiment. By the end of the break, I had learnt not just one tune, but several! For years I thought I was self-taught. But later I realized I was not. The space, trust and opportunity that allowed me to teach myself, that came from a teacher.
Carrying it forward
Now, as a teacher myself, I see how much of her has found its way into my own practice. I find myself unafraid to bring new things into the classroom, alert to the world of my students, and alive to those magic moments when learning happens unexpectedly. The child in her helped the child in me stay alive and that, I believe, is the most beautiful gift a teacher can give.