There was a time when classrooms felt alive in the simplest of ways — the faint smell of chalk dust in the air, the creak of wooden desks, and that big blackboard standing tall at the front. Everything we learned, dreamed, and feared seemed to begin there.
I can still picture it clearly — the first few minutes before class began, when the blackboard was perfectly clean and smooth. It never stayed that way for long. The moment Miss Rashida walked in, the chalk would start its dance. She was my Maths teacher — sharp, quick, and very strict. She wore neatly pressed salwar suits, carried herself with quiet authority, and her eyes could silence an entire classroom in seconds. There was no space for excuses with her. Every line had to be straight, every number correct. At the time, her seriousness terrified me; I would hold my breath when she asked a question, praying she wouldn’t call my name. But now, when I look back, I realise that her firmness taught me focus and precision. She expected the best from us — and she somehow drew it out, even from the most distracted of minds.
Then came Hindi class with Mrs. Bhargava — equally strict, but in a different way. Her words carried a weight that made us sit upright and listen. She had a habit of writing slowly, almost thoughtfully, on the blackboard, as if each word mattered. And it did. She insisted on proper pronunciation, neat handwriting, and correct grammar. We grumbled, of course, but somewhere between her stern corrections and endless dictations, I found myself falling in love with language. Her insistence on perfection made me see the beauty of words — their rhythm, their power.
The blackboard was the heart of it all — the place where their worlds met ours. It saw everything: the fear before a surprise test, the joy when an answer was right, and the relief when the bell finally rang. It was where our lessons came alive — written, erased, and rewritten, just like our mistakes. The duster never cleaned it completely; faint traces of old chalk always lingered — a quiet reminder that learning was an ongoing process.
I sometimes wonder if children today will ever know what that felt like — to sit in a classroom where everything depended on that one board. There were no screens to distract us, no slides to rush through. Just a teacher, a piece of chalk, and a room full of students hanging on to every word.
Going back to the blackboard doesn’t mean stepping away from technology. It simply means remembering the essence of learning — the human connection, the patience, and the discipline it nurtured. The blackboard didn’t just teach us subjects; it taught us values. It taught us to pay attention, to think before we spoke, to work hard, and to never give up.
Even now, when I pass by an old classroom and catch a glimpse of a blackboard, my heart fills with nostalgia. I can almost hear the chalk tapping, feel the quiet tension before a test, and see those two teachers — one shaping my mind with numbers, the other shaping my heart with words.
Miss Rashida and Mrs. Bhargava — strict, demanding, unforgettable. Together, they taught me that true learning doesn’t need fancy tools. It only needs dedication, curiosity, and a blackboard waiting to be filled.
After all, I strongly believe that the best lessons are written in chalk.
Author’s Note
Some memories never fade. Writing ‘Back to the Blackboard’ took me on a nostalgic journey to my own school days — to those classrooms where learning felt pure and personal.
This piece is my tribute to two remarkable women — Miss Rashida and Mrs. Bhargava — whose lessons went far beyond textbooks.
In a world where everything has turned digital, I still find comfort in the simplicity of those days — when a stick of chalk could turn silence into understanding, and a clean board felt like the promise of a new beginning.
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If you liked my blog, leave your comments below — I’d love to hear your classroom memories too.
— Dr. Arwa Saifi
About the Writer
Dr. Arwa Saifi is an acclaimed Career Writer with over 18 years of experience in the literary and education space. Honoured with an Honorary Doctorate in Literature, she is also an Amazon #1 Bestselling Author. Her career includes contributions to Education Times, a supplement of The Times of India, where she brought her expertise to one of the country’s leading newspapers.
Dr. Saifi has served as the editor of several prestigious school and college magazines in Mumbai, shaping young voices and nurturing a culture of expression. She is the author of 10 published books and has collaborated as a co-author in more than 40 anthologies. Her work reflects a deep commitment to storytelling, education, and empowering aspiring writers.
