I joined Meri Pathshala in its founding year because I believed every child could learn if only we found the right way to reach them. I was an engineering student then, comfortable with equations, patterns and neat solutions. But nothing prepared me for the complex beauty of teaching children. They did not behave like formulas. They surprised you. They challenged you. And sometimes, they showed you new ways of seeing the world.
One of the first students I worked with was Manoj, a quiet boy who did not understand numbers but understood colours with remarkable clarity. If I asked, “What is two plus one,” he stared at me as if I were speaking another language. But the moment I placed red bottle caps and blue bottle caps in front of him, his eyes lit up. He pushed them together and said, “This becomes green.”
It made no sense at first. Then I realised he was using combinations from a colour game he played at home.
He was not confused. He was thinking differently.
So I made a decision that changed both of us.
If colours were the language he understood, then maths would also be taught in colours.
Every math lesson became a colour sum.
Red and yellow became sun colour.
Blue and blue became deep blue.
Bottle caps, crayons and scraps of cloth became teaching tools.
Slowly, the fear that once tightened his face began to fade.
The day he solved his first addition problem correctly, he did a tiny hop and asked, “Now can we do a harder colour sum?”
That moment taught me something profound. Maths is not about numbers. It is about meaning.
Children do not fail to learn. They fail to connect.
From next month I will be creating two separate lesson plans for my group. One for children like Manoj who learn visually and need colours, objects and patterns. Another for children who are ready for paper and pencil work. My goal is to help them reach the same learning outcome through different paths.
If Manoj taught me anything, it is this. A child’s mind is never wrong. Sometimes it simply speaks a different language.
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