“From Chalk Dust to Star Dust: The Many Hats I Wore”What are

“From Chalk Dust to Star Dust: The Many Hats I Wore”

What are jobs, really? Are they mere ways to earn bread, or are they the crucibles where our character is forged, our beliefs tested, and our essence revealed? If life were a theatre, then I have played roles of every shade — sometimes the lead actor, sometimes the director, and often the humble stagehand whose name may not be known, but without whom the curtain wouldn’t rise.

My journey through professions was not a neatly planned ascent but a winding path—lined with stones of learning, lit by lamps of kindness, and at times, shadowed by self-doubt and solitude.

The White Chalk Years

My earliest and longest-held post was that of a teacher — first by chance, later by choice, and finally, by conviction. I began humbly, standing before a blackboard smeared with yesterday’s chalk dreams. Physics was my subject, but life was my lesson. Each class became a cosmos, each student a star. The chalk I held became a wand—sometimes etching equations, at other times sketching possibilities.

In those formative years, I discovered that teaching wasn’t just a job. It was a silent revolution. It meant believing in minds yet to bloom, holding torches for those lost in the fog, and planting thoughts in soil you may never revisit.

The Principal’s Chair: Crown of Thorns and Garland of Grace

Ascending to the role of a Principal felt like being handed both a sceptre and a crucifix. The responsibilities were weighty, the expectations towering. It demanded not just administration, but adjudication; not just policies, but philosophies.

I was no longer merely teaching — I was shaping cultures, soothing conflicts, and standing firm in storms that didn’t appear in the job description. My office turned into a court, a sanctuary, a workshop, and sometimes, a confession box. Leadership, I realised, was less about commanding and more about listening. It was less about wielding power and more about surrendering ego.

The Consultant’s Compass

After retiring from formal corridors, I stepped into the flexible yet uncertain terrain of consultancy. Here, I wasn’t anyone’s boss — I was everyone’s adviser. Schools called upon me to steer their ships, to fix broken compasses, or simply to remind them where the North Star lay.

This phase was quieter, almost monastic. It lacked the bustle of bells and assemblies but compensated with deep conversations, strategic puzzles, and the joy of relevance even in the after-hours of one’s career. Like a retired lighthouse still guiding lost vessels, I found purpose in echoing wisdom gained the hard way.

Jobs That Weren’t on Paper

There were other roles too — unofficial, unpaid, yet unforgettable. I was a mentor to the troubled, a listener to the lonely, and a cheerleader to the timid. These weren’t titles you print on cards, but they were sacred in their own right.

Evenings were spent preparing speeches, writing circulars that inspired rather than instructed, and coaching both the brilliant and the bewildered. I carried more invisible roles than visible ones, and perhaps those were the most transformative.

A Poetic Pause

I’ve swept floors of egos and climbed ladders of praise,
Brewed morning hope and stayed for twilight’s haze.
Wore ties of tact and cloaks of care,
In rooms where silence was heavier than air.

Jobs, they say, come and go,
But what you become — is the true show.

Philosophy of the Path

Each job I held was a stepping stone — not to success, but to selfhood. There was never a role too small to teach me something profound, nor a position too high to spare me from humility. What I gathered were not just accolades, but anecdotes; not just promotions, but perspectives.

In this journey, I have been moulded by both applause and absence. My resume may mention posts and periods, but my soul retains the impact, the intent, and the indelible imprint of every moment.

So, if you ask me, “What jobs have you had?” — I might smile and say, “All of them, and none.” For in the grand ledger of existence, what matters is not the titles we held, but the truths we lived.