That moment made me reflect on my own journey as a teacher. I have spent thirty-five years in the field of education.

Today, I visited an NGO school where most of the children come from nearby villages. I had gone there with a simple purpose, but I returned with a heart full of thoughts. Sometimes, the most ordinary visits leave behind the most extraordinary impressions. This was one such visit.

The school was simple. There was no grand entrance, no polished marble, no fancy reception area, and no display of luxury. It was a modest place, but there was something warm and peaceful about it. As I entered the building and began climbing the stairs, I noticed something that touched me deeply.

Every child who crossed my path wished me respectfully.

Some smiled and said, “Good morning, Ma’am.” Some folded their hands. Some moved aside politely to give me way. Their greetings were not loud or dramatic. They were gentle, natural, and sincere. There was a softness in their voices and a humility in their eyes.

For a moment, I felt surprised. Then I felt moved.

In that small gesture, I saw something very precious — respect.

The Beauty of a Simple Greeting

A greeting may seem like a small thing, but to a teacher, it means a lot. It tells us that a child has been taught to acknowledge another person. It shows that the child understands kindness, courtesy, and basic human respect.

As I climbed those stairs, I realised that these children were not greeting me because I was important or because someone had instructed them to do so. They were doing it because it was a part of who they were. Their manners came from their upbringing. Their respect came from their values.

There was no pretence in them. No attitude. No arrogance. Just simple, beautiful humility.

And that is what stayed with me.

Looking Back at Thirty-Five Years of Teaching

That moment made me reflect on my own journey as a teacher. I have spent thirty-five years in the field of education. I have taught in well-known, affluent schools where children come from privileged homes. These schools have excellent infrastructure, smart classrooms, trained staff, expensive uniforms, and every modern facility one can imagine.

But over the years, I have often felt that something very important is slowly disappearing from many such spaces.

Manners.

Respect.

Gratitude.

I say this not with anger, but with sadness. In many privileged schools, children are given the best of everything, but they are not always taught the value of simple courtesy. They have confidence, but sometimes no humility. They have exposure, but sometimes no sensitivity. They have freedom, but sometimes no discipline.

Many students walk past teachers without even looking at them. A simple “Good morning” seems too much to expect. Some speak to teachers as if teachers are there only to serve them. The warmth that once existed between a teacher and a student has, in many places, become weak and distant.

When Teachers Are No Longer Seen as Gurus

There was a time when teachers were respected as guides, mentors, and gurus. A teacher was someone who shaped not only the mind of a child, but also the character. Today, in many affluent schools, respect has reduced. Teachers are often treated like service providers. Sometimes, it feels as if they are seen as glorified maids — expected to manage everything, tolerate everything, and still smile through it all.

This thought is painful.

A teacher gives much more than a lesson. A teacher gives patience, time, care, emotional strength, and endless effort. A teacher notices when a child is sad, encourages when a child feels low, corrects when a child goes wrong, and celebrates even the smallest progress. Teaching is not just a job. It is a responsibility carried with love.

Yet, when students do not even offer a basic greeting, it makes one wonder where we are heading.

The Fear of Discipline

What really hits hard is that many so-called affluent and elite schools no longer allow teachers to discipline children in a meaningful way. There is always the fear that parents will come back and complain. Instead of supporting teachers, schools often choose to protect their image and avoid confrontation.

I remember one such incident from the time I was working in one of the most elite schools in the city. I was trying to discipline my class, not harshly, not unfairly, but simply by asking the children to settle down and listen. I was doing what every teacher is expected to do — create an environment where learning could happen.

But instead of being supported, I was rounded up by the management and reprimanded very rudely. I was told that I was always “shushing” the children and that it was unacceptable.

That moment stayed with me.

It made me wonder: if a teacher cannot even ask children to be quiet, how is she expected to teach? If discipline is seen as cruelty, and correction is seen as complaint-worthy, then what message are we giving children? Are we teaching them that every boundary is wrong? Are we telling them that teachers have no authority, no voice, and no dignity?

Children need love, but they also need limits. They need freedom, but they also need guidance. They need encouragement, but they also need corrections. Discipline is not punishment. Discipline is care. It is an invisible structure that helps a child grow into a responsible human being.

When schools take away a teacher’s right to guide and correct, they also take away a child’s opportunity to learn respect.

The Contrast I Could Not Ignore

The children in the NGO school made this contrast very clear to me. They came from village backgrounds. Many of them may not have the luxuries that children in big schools enjoy. Their homes may be simple. Their resources may be limited. Their exposure may be less. But their manners were rich.

The girls were neatly dressed. Their hair was tied properly with ribbons. Their uniforms were simple but clean. They carried themselves with dignity. There was no unnecessary show, no overconfidence, no attempt to look older than their age.

As I watched them, I could not help thinking of some of the girls I had seen in affluent schools — open hair, short skirts, makeup, and a casual attitude that often crossed the line of discipline. Of course, appearance alone does not define a child, but the way children carry themselves does reflect the environment they are growing in.

Here, in this simple school, the girls looked like children. Innocent, humble, and graceful.

Values Do Not Depend on Wealth

That day reminded me of a very important truth: values do not depend on money.

Respect does not come from expensive schools. Humility does not come from branded uniforms. Discipline does not come from air-conditioned classrooms. Good manners do not require luxury.

They come home. They come from upbringing. They come from examples children see around them. They come from parents, teachers, and communities who still believe that character matters.

The village children may not have had much in terms of material comfort, but they had something far more valuable — संस्कार. They had the kind of upbringing that teaches a child to greet elders, respect teachers, speak politely, and remain grounded.

Are We Confusing Schooling with Education?

This visit made me ask myself an important question: Are we confusing schooling with education?

A child may study in a very expensive school. A child may speak fluent English, use the latest gadgets, travel abroad, and have access to every possible facility. But if that child does not know how to respect a teacher, greet an elder, speak kindly, or behave with dignity, then is that child truly educated?

On the other hand, a child from a village may study in a simple school with limited resources. But if that child has respect, humility, discipline, and gratitude, then that child already carries the foundation of true education.

Education is not only about marks, certificates, competitions, or achievements. Education is about becoming a better human being.

What Children Teach Us Without Knowing

As teachers, we often believe that we are the ones teaching children. But sometimes, children teach us without even knowing it.

The children of that NGO school taught me a lesson that day. They reminded me that goodness still exists. Respect still exists. Simplicity still has power. Manners still matter.

Their folded hands and gentle greetings were not small gestures. They were reflections of character. They showed me that even in a world that is becoming fast, modern, and materialistic, there are still children who carry innocence and respect in their hearts.

The Real Measure of a Child

We often measure children by their academic performance. We look at their grades, their handwriting, their reading level, their confidence, and their achievements. But perhaps we also need to measure something deeper.

How does the child speak to others?

Does the child respect the people who help them?

Does the child greet teachers and elders?

Does the child show kindness?

Does the child understand humility?

These are not small things. These are the foundations of life.

A child with good marks but poor manners is incomplete. A child with confidence but no respect is not truly strong. A child with knowledge but no humility has not understood the real purpose of learning.

A Visit I Will Remember

I had gone to the NGO school thinking I was visiting children who needed support. But I came back feeling that they had given me something instead. They gave me hope. They gave me a reminder. They gave me a moment of truth.

They reminded me that true education is not found only in big buildings or expensive institutions. Sometimes, it is found in simple classrooms, in village children, in neatly tied ribbons, in folded hands, and in a respectful “Good morning, Ma’am.”

That day, respect walked up the stairs with me.

And I will remember it for a long time.

A true narration of facts.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

This is why rhetoric like Madani’s troubles me personally! it erases achievements like mine.

India’s prominent Islamic scholar Arshad Madani’s recent claim that Muslims “cannot become Vice-Chancellors in India” and that even if they do, “they will be put in jail,” has triggered substantial debate. His remarks, framed in response to the Al-Falah University investigation, were intended to foreground discrimination faced by Muslims in higher education.

Yet, instead of sparking constructive discussion, his statement amplified communal anxieties and reinforced a narrative of permanent marginalization.

For many, it revived a familiar political tactic — invoking collective helplessness to mobilize community sentiment, while eclipsing real issues such as internal inequalities, socio-economic deprivation, and the lack of investment in education.

What stirred the public reaction was not merely the content of Madani’s statement, but the sweeping finality with which he made it. Instead of critiquing specific institutional failures, he suggested that Indian Muslims, by virtue of their identity, are categorically barred from academic leadership. This framing, as argued in the recent ThePrint column critiquing his rhetoric manufactures a sense of fatalism, almost instructing young Muslims to believe that aspiration itself is futile!

It transforms a complex structural issue into a communal indictment, and in doing so, shifts blame externally while ignoring the reforms needed internally.

Contradictions Between Rhetoric and Reality

Madani’s statement, when examined against historical and contemporary facts, quickly becomes contradictory. India’s educational landscape has not been uniformly inclusive, there is undeniable under-representation of Muslims, especially from marginalized sub-groups like Pasmanda Muslims. But the claim that “no Muslim can become a Vice-Chancellor” is factually untrue.

Muslim scholars have held VC positions across Indian universities. From early examples like Ross Masood of AMU, to contemporary appointments such as Mazhar Asif at Jamia Millia Islamia (2024), the record clearly contradicts Madani’s absolutes. Recent data compiled across central and state universities shows that over the decades, more than 280 Muslims have held Vice-Chancellorships. This number is small in proportion to population share, but it proves possibility, not impossibility.

By ignoring these facts, Madani’s narrative has collapsed into contradiction: on one side, he claims Muslims are entirely excluded; on the other, the evidence shows that despite structural limitations, Muslims have risen within academic leadership.

This contradiction matters because it exposes the underlying flaw in his rhetoric. Instead of highlighting systemic barriers, he paints the system in itself as permanently closed. Instead of empowering young Muslims to aim for academic leadership, he inadvertently discourages them. Instead of demanding reforms, he encourages resignation. A rhetoric meant to defend the community ends up weakening it.

Communal Divisions Are Real, But They Cannot Be the Only Lens

No one can deny that communal divisions persist in India. Biases, sometimes subtle, sometimes overt do influence public perception. Yet, to treat communal identity as the only motive or determinant of success risks flattening the story of Indian Muslims into a permanent victimhood model.

Such a model erases internal diversity within the community, overlooks socio-economic inequalities that often matter more than religion, ignores class privilege among the elites who often deploy the language of victimhood, discourages women and young Muslims from pursuing leadership roles, prevents collaboration and bridge-building with other communities.

Critiques of Madani’s statement emphasize this point precisely: when leaders repeatedly recycle narratives of helplessness, they “kill aspiration before discrimination even gets a chance to operate.” The voice of the ordinary Muslim who wants opportunity, dignity, and progress is overshadowed by a rhetoric that prioritizes grievance over growth.

Muslim Vice-Chancellors: A Factual Rebuttal

To provide clarity, several notable Muslim scholars have served as Vice-Chancellors across major Indian universities. Early figures include Ross Masood, who led Aligarh Muslim University (AMU), followed by Abdul Aleem, who served as AMU’s Vice-Chancellor from 1968 to 1974.

More recent appointments further illustrate this legacy: Mazhar Asif was appointed Vice-Chancellor of Jamia Millia Islamia in 2024, while Mohammad Miyan previously headed Maulana Azad National Urdu University (MANUU). The list also includes distinguished leaders such as Zakir Hussain, who not only served as Vice-Chancellor of Jamia Millia Islamia but went on to become the President of India; Talat Ahmad, who held Vice-Chancellorships at both Jamia Millia Islamia and the University of Kashmir; A.R. Kidwai, another former AMU Vice-Chancellor; and Saqib Raza Khan, who served as Vice-Chancellor of Ranchi University.

This is not an exhaustive list,  it simply illustrates that Madani’s categorical claim is false. Structural under-representation needs reform, but erasing Muslim academic leadership altogether is misleading and harmful.

Despite structural challenges and undeniable gender disparities, Muslim women have also risen to top academic leadership positions, a fact that directly contradicts the narrative that Muslims, or Muslim women in particular, are entirely excluded from India’s higher education leadership.

The most historic example came in 2024, when Prof. Naima Khatoon became the first woman Vice-Chancellor of Aligarh Muslim University (AMU) in its 100-year history. Her appointment was not gestural, rather it reflected long academic experience, administrative capability, and scholarly merit. AMU, an institution often portrayed as conservative or resistant to women’s leadership unanimously endorsed her, signalling a substantive shift in institutional imagination.

Another important name is Prof. Najma Akhtar, who served as the first woman Vice-Chancellor of Jamia Millia Islamia (2019-2024). Under her tenure, Jamia rose among top-ranked Indian universities and secured major research and accreditation milestones. Her leadership demonstrated that Muslim women can shape academic institutions at the highest level, steering them through public scrutiny, political pressure, and administrative complexity.

Though few in number, these Muslim women Vice-Chancellors represent real, powerful precedents. Their achievements stand as evidence that the barriers are not absolute and that Muslim women, given space and opportunity, can lead some of India’s most influential universities.

My Journey as a Muslim Woman in Public Institutions

My own experience stands as quiet proof that institutional spaces in India are not permanently closed to Muslims, nor to Muslim women. Working in the South-India’s Karnataka Legislative Assembly, I witnessed firsthand that entry into governance and public service is possible, attainable, and often shaped more by merit, initiative, and opportunity than by identity.

I was not limited by my hijab, my name, or my background. Instead, I was entrusted with responsibility, seriousness, and professional respect. My experience disrupts the narrative that Muslims, especially Muslim women, cannot enter corridors of power or influence. It demonstrates that while biases exist, they do not define every institution or individual. More importantly, it shows that portraying Muslims exclusively as victims denies the lived realities of those who are breaking barriers every day.

This is why rhetoric like Madani’s troubles me personally! it erases achievements like mine. It tells young Muslim girls that no matter how hard they try, the system will reject them.

The Community Deserves Better Than Recycled Helplessness

Arshad Madani’s statement may hold concerns, but by presenting it as discrimination in absolute, fatalistic terms, it harms rather than helps. It narrows Muslim identity to a single narrative of exclusion, discourages young achievers, and obstructs the introspective reforms the community urgently needs.

The future of Indian Muslims cannot be shaped by grievance alone. It must be shaped by educational upliftment, internal social reform, women’s empowerment, merit-based achievement, and cooperative engagement with the wider society.

We deserve leaders who inspire aspiration, not those who extinguish it.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.