Seema joined The Valley School in 2023 and teaches a mixed-age group in junior school. Her association with The Valley School began through an outreach programme, and thus she is still passionate about such programmes. Her love for craft has inspired many young people as well as adults.
When I think back to my school years, one teacher stands out with extraordinary clarity—my class teacher, Ms. Baby Saju Joseph. She was not someone who was loud or commanded attention with authority. Her presence was quiet but steady, and she made you feel safe by simply being there.
I still remember the day when I was struggling with an assignment that everyone else seemed to find easy. My paper remained blank for longer than it should have, and I felt a familiar knot of fear tightening in my chest—the fear of being noticed, of being called out, of being made to feel small. Ms. Joseph walked over to me, and instead of pointing out my slowness or urging me to hurry, she simply rested her hand lightly on my desk and said, ‘It’s alright. Take your time. I’ll wait’. She did not move on quickly or hover impatiently; she truly waited. In that silence, something shifted. I felt seen, not judged. I felt trusted, not measured against anyone else. And in that quiet space she created, I found the courage to begin. That moment never left me. It taught me that learning is not about racing forward but about finding your own rhythm.
There were other voices too that left their mark in a very different way. I remember confiding in a teacher that I wanted to become a teacher. I was met with sharp dismissal. I was told that only those who had no capacity to be anything else chose teaching. At that age, the words stung deeply, planting seeds of doubt and shame about a dream that felt so natural to me. Over time, I realized that this moment was as impactful as the one with Ms. Joseph—though in quite the opposite way. Instead of presence and patience, this teacher showed me how words can wound and diminish a child’s sense of possibility. Both experiences stayed with me. One taught me what to become; the other, what never to be.
Now, when I sit with the children in my own class, I carry both memories. I remember how it felt to be given space and trust, and I try to pass that forward. And I also remember how it felt to have my dream dismissed, and I make a quiet promise to myself never to do that to a child. Every word, every look, every silence holds weight. Teachers shape more than minds; they shape self-belief.
In many ways, I am who I am today because of both kinds of teachers— the one who believed in me, and the one who did not. Between them, they showed me the full measure of a teacher’s power, and I chose which part of that experience to carry forward.