At the very threshold of my professional life, a few tender faces altered the course of my thinking in ways I could not have anticipated. Those children—living embodiments of innocence—continue to inhabit my inner world even after two decades, lingering as gentle, enduring impressions within the landscape of memory.
My appointment as a primary school teacher in a remote, forest-fringe village of Wayanad district was not received with unqualified enthusiasm. Armed with the distinction of a first rank in postgraduate studies and a Bachelor of Education degree, I had envisioned a trajectory shaped by higher academic pursuits and broader intellectual engagements. Yet, confronted with the immediacy and allure of a first government appointment, such aspirations were momentarily set aside. I entered the profession with little clarity regarding how to engage meaningfully with young children at the primary level.


