I. The Heavy Trunk and the Heavier Heart
The story of every Navodayan begins with a heavy trunk and a heavier heart. I still
remember the sight of a small boy in Grade 6, standing by the dormitory gate, clutching his
mother’s saree as if it were a lifeline. His mother looked at me, her eyes wet with a silent
plea. I didn’t say anything; I simply took the boy’s hand.
Lights were off. Silence had settled. But in one corner, that same small boy sat quietly,
holding his pillow close, trying hard not to cry. His eyes were searching for his mother in
the darkness. He didn’t speak. He didn’t complain. He only whispered, “Sir, will I get used
to this place?” I smiled and said, “Yes… very soon. This place will become your second
home.”
II. The Geometry of Brotherhood
In the quiet corridors of a Navodaya campus, time doesn’t move in hours; it moves in bells.
The morning milk bell, the academic bell, and the long, haunting whistle of the night
warden. As a teacher here, I don’t just observe students; I observe a family built by choice,
not by blood.
My favorite view isn’t the chalkboard; it’s the sight of the mess hall at 9:30 AM. I see a
senior tying the tie of a frantic sixth-grader who hasn’t quite mastered the knot yet. I see a
group of girls huddled over a single steel plate, sharing a “secret” stash of homemade
pickles brought from home, giggling as if they’ve discovered gold. These aren’t just
students; they are keepers of each other’s homesickness.
III. The Warmth of a Borrowed Blazer
It was a January morning, the kind where the mist is so thick you can’t see the basketball
hoop from the track. I was standing in the line-up, my hands tucked deep into my sleeves,
shivering uncontrollably. Beside me stood a junior, his eyes red from a lack of sleep and
perhaps a few hidden tears for his mother.
He didn’t have a sweater; he had lost it the day before. Without a word, the House Captain
—usually the strictest boy in the hostel—stepped out of line. He took off his own blazer and
draped it over the boy’s shoulders. “Run fast,” the Captain whispered, “the blood warms up
when you move for someone else.” In that biting cold, I realized that Navodaya doesn’t just
teach us to compete; it teaches us to shield one another.