By Dr Mushtaq Rather

I teach English at HSS Salia, a school set among the orchards about twenty minutes from Anantnag town. Most of our students walk in from villages you won't find on many maps, including Hapatnar, Vail Nagbal, Halwan and Pethgoo.

On some winter mornings, it takes them close to two hours. The mud freezes stiff, the wind feels sharp, and they still keep walking.

Six years ago, the school was only holding on. The pass rate hovered around sixty-five. Many benches emptied out after Class 8, especially for the girls. Teachers finished their classes, locked the rooms and went home.

Then Zahida Ma'am arrived.

She was soft-spoken, always in a cream shawl, and she looked like someone who should have been resting instead of running a school. She had health issues she rarely mentioned, though it was clear some days were tougher than others.

Even then, she reached by eight, greeted Ghulam Hassan the sweeper first, and then the rest of us.

At her first staff meeting, she placed a blank sheet of paper on the table and asked,“What do we need to make this place feel like home?”

We thought she was joking. Government schools don't usually talk that way.

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