Every time I stumble upon this line from David Copperfield, it feels like a mirror held up to my heart. It reminds me, achingly, of school. If I were asked to describe my school in a single word, it would be: home. It’s difficult, almost impossible, to write about home, the place that shaped you, sheltered you, raised you. I walked in as a toddler with trembling feet, and when I left after fourteen long years, I left with trembling feet again, but this time, with a heart brimming with memories, wisdom, and love.

As a differently-abled student, I have often felt the weight of the word “different.” But it was my school that redefined that term for me. It taught me that being “differently-abled” was not a limitation, but a lens to perceive the world in richer colours, in deeper dimensions. It taught me how to live with grace, dignity, and self-worth. In 2016, when I was in Class VI and couldn’t walk for a year due to osteoarthritis, my life came to a standstill but learning didn’t. My school didn’t let it. That year, more than ever, I learned that education was not just confined to movement—it was in the spirit, in resilience, in compassion. My school taught me that.

From academics to extra-curriculars, I was never left behind. Whether it was music, writing, anchoring, or scripting, every dream was given space to breathe and bloom. I was always encouraged to try, to fail, to try again. The teachers were never just educators, they were my refuge, especially when mental health storms loomed. I have had my fair share of such days, and on every such day, it was the teacher’s warmth, helped me float again.No one was ever punished into obedience. Instead, we were taught to own our choices. We were given autonomy- to think, to reflect, to decide. It was my school that gave me the courage to take the “rebellious” decision of opting for Humanities. And it was again my school that stood behind that decision, stronger than ever.

Looking back now from college, I realise how deeply the school still lives in me. Its teachings shape every small act of kindness, every decision made with integrity, every moment I choose courage over comfort. Even though I’ve graduated, I still find myself walking back to those familiar corridors, meeting my teachers, soaking in the quiet warmth of my childhood sanctuary.

“Oh, you’re far too attached to your school,” they say. Maybe I am. But that’s because my school attached itself to my soul, like yellow gulmohars pressed in pages, like the hush of morning assemblies, the echo of laughter in corridors, the thrill of school fests, the tears after last exams. My school is not just a memory, it is a heartbeat.

The final years were not easy. There were moments of doubt, restlessness, anxiety. But again,my teachers held me. They’ve been my second set of parents, always there, smiling, approachable, caring. Their unwavering belief in me, even when I doubted myself, has been the greatest gift of all. It’s that belief that has carried me through the darkest of times and pushed me to dream beyond what I thought was possible.I remember the days when, after a long test, I would walk to my English teacher, exhausted but seeking comfort, and she would always be there, unfailingly, lovingly. It was her reassuring presence that taught me what it means to love unconditionally. I often wish I could give back the love and care they have showered upon me, but all I can do is strive to become the person they saw in me when I couldn’t see it myself.

No words will ever be enough to express my gratitude. But with every milestone I cross, with every challenge I overcome, I carry the spirit of my school with me. I pray to make my teachers proud, as their lessons continue to echo in my actions. Their kindness, their wisdom, their courage, these are the treasures I hold closest to my heart. And I pray, may all the yellow flowers keep blooming, may the morning assemblies never lose their mist, and may the school remain the home it has always been, for generations to come.

Eshitha Barua (Batch of 2023)
Student