Lessons That Books Don’t Teach

A simple yet profound secret to happiness, one I truly learnt from the children at the Ashram school.

When nostalgia strikes you, it’s one of the most beautiful sensations you can experience. I recently felt this wave when we were assigned a project on legal awareness.

The story begins in our college library. One of us broke the silence: “Guys, aren’t we supposed to be working on our project?” Our short-term memory kicked in, and the blame game began—we all shared responsibility for the missed deadline.

The project aimed to create legal awareness in schools, colleges, villages, and any public space, helping people understand the law and their rights and duties.

Without thinking twice, I blurted out, “Let’s go to Padgha!”, a village in Taluka Bhiwandi in the District of Thane. My friends stared at me, puzzled. I rushed to explain, “So, there’s an Aashram School (Hermitage) for underprivileged, tribal children. They receive education up to 7th grade, along with food, clothing, and shelter—all provided by the government. I’ve known this place since childhood. About 15-17 years ago, my grandparents’ house and the Aashram school were on the same premises. My cousins and I would visit often. Back then, there were 50-60 kids. The area was filled with tall, diverse trees, birds chirping like melodies, and snakes casually slithering by under clear skies and perfect weather.”

I paused, sensing their attention slipping. After some discussion, we settled on Padgha—largely due to my stubbornness and lack of alternatives. With permissions secured, we treated the project as a short trip and visited the ashram school.

Excited, we split topics among ourselves—POCSO (good and bad touch), fundamental rights and duties, child labour, right to education, and more—and set off the next day.

We entered the ashram school, dressed in black-and-white formals of VPM’s TMC Law College, Thane. Nostalgia hit me—I pictured my 10-year-old cousins and me running carefree, our voices echoing. I took a deep breath, thinking about how much fun life was back then. That brief time travel felt truly heartfelt.

Reality hit: fewer trees, replaced by houses. My grandparents’ once-warm home felt eerie. Birdsong gave way to 250 children, and the jungle had become a vibrant school with a hostel.

Inside the school, the staff welcomed us warmly, ensuring we felt at ease. Students from classes 5 to 7 were assigned to us for the activity.

Our challenge was explaining legal concepts in a way children could grasp. Though well-versed in law, making it kid-friendly was a new game.

As students settled in the hall, their discipline impressed us. They walked in perfect lines, hands behind their backs, sitting with unmatched composure. Our excitement faded into awe at their calm focus.

We soon gathered ourselves and began introductions—names, purpose, agenda, and an overview of the law. To our surprise, the kids were engaged and eager to learn. Our structured approach held their attention, filling us with pride.

The staff listened attentively and encouraged us, but the kids stole the show with their rhythmic clapping—clap, clap, clap… Its infectious beat left us clapping like three-year-olds.

While one of us spoke, he asked who wanted to join the army. A shy 5th-standard boy raised his hand, and we clapped to encourage him. Proud, he beamed—and to our surprise, we clapped in perfect sync, as if his courage had rubbed off on us.

Nearing the end, a boy asked, “Why did you pursue LLB?” Caught off guard, we paused, impressed by his depth, and answered in a kid-friendly way.

As we concluded, a friend suggested ending with Vande Mataram. I had never felt such goosebumps—the children’s voices, perfectly in sync, left us speechless.

The project was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Seeing children live with so little, yet so joyfully, made us reflect on life. Everyone should visit an Aashram school to witness such happiness.

We often live in constant expectation, rarely giving, and when things go wrong, we blame everyone but ourselves. Others’ choices may not match our wishes, and we quickly overlook their goodness, judging them for slight disagreements.

But this is human nature. To live happily, we must let go of others’ mistakes, focus on their positives, expect nothing, and let everyone live on their own terms.

A simple yet profound secret to happiness, one I truly learnt from the children at the Aashram school.

I thank Principal Mr Sapale and the staff for their warm welcome and encouragement to visit with new topics. Special thanks to my friends for making this trip memorable. We returned home with lasting lessons and cherished memories!

On that note, I’d like to say,

“Zindagi wahi jo dusre ke chehre par muskan laye!”

(The writer is a student of CA and Law. Views personal.)