Teacher standing between the students and the stove
Some beliefs become so deeply ingrained in society that they are accepted as truth beyond question. “A teacher’s job is the most comfortable”—this statement is one such social belief, one that people often repeat without stopping to consider the profound lack of understanding and neglect that lies behind it. The life of a female teacher is the most powerful, yet least heard, counterpoint to this notion.
A female teacher’s day begins not with the sound of an alarm, but with a list of responsibilities. While the rest of the family is still asleep, she’s making tea, packing lunches, waking up the children, and ensuring nothing is left unfinished in the kitchen. For her, morning preparation isn’t just about getting herself ready, but about getting the entire house “ready.” She then leaves the house with her professional face, but her worries don’t stop at the door. Whether the gas is turned off, whether the geyser is switched off—these questions follow her even in the crowded bus or auto-rickshaw.
As soon as she arrives at school, she is expected to completely transform into an “ideal teacher.” Her domestic fatigue, personal conflicts, and emotional pressure—all of which must be left at the school gate. There, she must smile, remain composed, patiently answer children’s questions, and appear composed in every situation. This emotional labour, which is not counted on pay slips or evaluations, is the heaviest and most invisible part of her job.
Ironically, even within schools, claims of equality often prove unfulfilled. Free periods, which should be considered a time for relaxation and self-development, often become a time for stacks of notebooks, record files, and additional responsibilities for female teachers. On the other hand, this same time becomes an opportunity for informal discussions, tea, or relaxation for many male colleagues. This difference is not recorded in any written rules, but is deeply ingrained in practice.
When she returns home in the evening, her second shift begins. She’s no longer a teacher, but a cook, a caregiver, a manager, and a problem solver. With a backpack slung over her shoulder and bags of vegetables in her hands, she’s expected to show no trace of fatigue.
Because if you see fatigue, the taunt is ready –
“I told you, you won’t be able to do it.”
The most painful moment comes when she tries to put her burden into words. “If it’s so difficult, why don’t you quit your job?” This sentence may sound simple, but it conceals a profound devaluation of a woman’s education, ambition, and self-respect. It’s assumed that her job is a choice, a hobby she can give up if she wishes. It’s forgotten that her degrees—M.A., B.Ed., and the nights and nights she’s put in—are not mere decorations, but part of her very being and identity.
Equally important is the question: will a woman’s higher education still be seen as limited to a “good marriage” and “cultured children”? Are her intellectual abilities and professional contributions only valuable insofar as they do not conflict with family expectations? These questions are not just for teachers, but for society as a whole.
In today’s economic realities, a female teacher’s job is no luxury. Amid rising inflation, EMIs, children’s school fees, and health expenses—her salary has become the backbone of her family. She doesn’t work to escape her home, but rather to ensure her home runs with dignity and stability.
Despite this, her earnings are often belittled as “auxiliary income,” as if her contributions are optional.
Her struggles are no less on an emotional level. In her attempt to make time for everyone, she compromises most with herself. Her children’s projects, her students’ notebooks, her family’s needs, and societal expectations—in the midst of all this, her own dreams, her fatigue, and her desires take a back seat. The grey hairs reflected in the mirror and the dark circles under her eyes remind her that the pursuit of perfection has distanced her from herself.
Yet, she would wake up again the next morning as soon as her alarm went off.
This is not just his compulsion; it is also his strength.
But taking this strength for granted is a grave mistake. Society must understand that a female teacher’s patience is not limitless, and her dedication cannot become a basis for exploitation.
This editorial is not the story of a single teacher, but the collective saga of millions of women. It is a call to action—to policymakers, educational institutions, families, and society itself—to not only acknowledge but also respect the labour of women teachers. Supportive policies, equitable work distribution, and, above all, developing a sensitive perspective are essential needs today.
Ultimately, teachers are the foundation on which generations stand.
If that very foundation remains tired, neglected, and unheard, how will the edifice of society be strengthened? It’s time we move on from simply labelling female teachers “dedicated,” but instead understand the realities of their lives—and give them the respect they truly deserve.
