𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 — 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆
- Madhukar Dama
- 15 minutes ago
- 13 min read
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𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒
From the moment you open your eyes, someone begins teaching you.
How to eat, how to walk, how to speak, how to behave.
They say it’s for your good, but it begins a subtle training — the art of forgetting your own intelligence.
You don’t need anyone to teach you curiosity. You are born with it.
A child learns to stand by falling, not by attending a lecture on balance.
A bird doesn’t attend a flying course.
But humans invented “teachers” — professional guides who convince you that your seeing is incomplete.
That’s where stupidity begins — not as ignorance, but as belief in your helplessness.
Once that idea enters, the rest follows naturally — classrooms, sermons, degrees, gurus, courses, influencers.
Each promising knowledge.
Each selling your insecurity back to you, packaged as wisdom.
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𝟏. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐍, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐑
Long before schools, there was fear.
Thunder, death, darkness, hunger.
And one man among the tribe said, “I know why it happens.”
That was the first teacher.
His knowledge wasn’t understanding — it was control through mystery.
He created dependence.
He told people they couldn’t know truth without his words.
From then on, humanity stopped looking at the sky and started listening to a man.
Examples of how stupidity began:
A tribe fears thunder; one man claims he can talk to gods. They stop observing clouds.
A healer says only his chant can cure sickness. The villagers stop listening to their bodies.
A priest lights the first sacred fire and declares, “Only I can light it again.”
Dreams become messages, but only he can interpret them.
The tribe begins to obey mystery instead of exploring it.
Thus began teaching — and thus began stupidity.
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𝟐. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆’𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄
When tribes became kingdoms, the priest became the royal advisor.
He taught the king “virtue” — but virtue meant obedience.
He taught citizens “duty” — but duty meant submission.
And he called this structure civilisation.
The teacher no longer sold mystery. He now sold order.
And for the first time, stupidity became patriotic.
How teaching produced obedience:
A prince learns that loyalty is nobler than truth.
A soldier learns to kill, not to question.
A thinker in the king’s court is punished for asking “why.”
The code of morality is written to protect power, not people.
Fear of hell becomes law; love of truth becomes treason.
The earliest schools of morality were designed not to awaken minds, but to tame them.
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𝟑. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍, 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄
When fear alone stopped working, religion added hope.
Heaven became the ultimate product, hell the threat that kept sales alive.
Every religion said, “Follow me — only through my path can you reach truth.”
And people believed. Because fear had already made them feel small.
How religious teachers made stupidity sacred:
A man who felt peace under a tree now feels guilt unless he prays facing a wall.
A woman who once danced in rain now asks permission from a priest.
A villager speaks to the wind; he’s told to speak only through ritual.
The teacher says, “Your desires are sins.” Then sells forgiveness.
Heaven is promised after death — so no one looks at heaven on Earth.
Spiritual slavery is the sweetest kind. It feels noble.
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𝟒. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘
The industrial age needed predictable workers, not wild thinkers.
So it invented schools — the factories of conformity.
The first day of school is the first day of trained stupidity.
The child learns that learning happens in rows, bells, and approvals.
Examples from everywhere:
A child draws a purple cow; the teacher corrects her — “Cows are brown.” Creativity dies.
A boy asks why the moon follows him; the teacher says, “Don’t ask silly questions.” Wonder dies.
A student memorises without understanding — gets rewarded. Reflection dies.
Marks decide worth; curiosity becomes risk.
The school bell decides when to think, when to stop.
Children learn that silence equals respect and noise equals disobedience.
The topper learns pride; the struggler learns shame. Both lose freedom.
By graduation, curiosity has been crushed into politeness.
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𝟓. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐘
Now stupidity wears a gown and calls itself “expertise.”
Knowledge becomes fragmented, measured in citations.
Students learn to defend theories they never experienced.
Every degree becomes proof of dependence on borrowed thinking.
Examples from the modern world:
A student memorises philosophers but never sits in silence.
A researcher studies “happiness” through data while living on pills.
Professors debate footnotes, not life.
Theses are written to be forgotten.
Graduates emerge fluent in jargon but mute in self-understanding.
The intellect is trained, but intuition is amputated.
The educated mind becomes too proud to notice it has lost its natural clarity.
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𝟔. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 — 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊
When knowledge no longer satisfied, the teacher reappeared as a guru.
He traded information for inspiration.
The student, still feeling helpless, rushed toward any promise of awakening.
The guru’s trick was subtle — he said, “You are divine,” but made sure you returned next weekend to hear it again.
Examples of this modern spiritual marketplace:
The meditation camp that sells silence in ten-day packages.
The corporate workshop that teaches “inner peace” with PowerPoint.
The motivational speaker shouting, “You can do it!” — while selling another course.
The devotee who mistakes obedience for enlightenment.
The follower who repeats quotes but forgets to live them.
Hope became a subscription.
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𝟕. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇 — 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄
The teacher now dresses in empathy.
He doesn’t say, “Obey me.” He says, “Tell me how you feel.”
But the structure is the same — dependence disguised as guidance.
You keep talking, but the mirror always points back to the teacher.
Every week, you pay to be told what you already know.
Examples:
A man who once shared pain with a friend now books hourly sessions.
A woman who once cried freely now “processes emotions” in therapy.
A coach teaches “confidence routines” to those who once danced without fear.
Healing becomes identity.
The teacher says, “You’re improving.” But the improvement never ends.
Comfort replaces clarity. Dependence gets rebranded as progress.
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𝟖. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄
The most powerful teacher in history doesn’t have a face.
It has algorithms.
It doesn’t convince you that you’re stupid — it keeps you too distracted to notice.
Every swipe is a lesson in forgetting.
Examples:
You watch five-minute “wisdom videos” while eating dinner.
You scroll through quotes about silence with full volume on.
You watch “how to be happy” tutorials instead of looking at the sky.
You know hundreds of influencers but can’t sit alone for five minutes.
You join ten courses and complete none.
You learn everything except how to stop learning.
This is the final industrial form of stupidity — automated and endless.
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𝟗. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒
The teachers closest to you wear love as their disguise.
They don’t say, “I know better.” They say, “I care for you.”
But care becomes correction.
Affection becomes control.
Examples:
A mother says, “Don’t climb, you’ll fall.” The child learns fear, not balance.
A father says, “Be first in class.” The child learns competition, not curiosity.
A husband says, “Dress like this.” The wife learns compliance, not comfort.
A wife says, “Prove your love.” The man learns performance, not intimacy.
Parents say, “Respect elders.” Children stop respecting themselves.
In the name of love, everyone teaches everyone — and the circle of smallness completes.
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𝟏𝟎. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍
After all these teachers, you become your own.
You carry every voice inside — priest, parent, guru, therapist.
You correct yourself before others do.
You doubt your instincts before acting.
You have memorised obedience so perfectly that no one else needs to control you anymore.
Examples:
You say “I should” more than “I feel.”
You delay joy until you deserve it.
You motivate yourself with guilt.
You think of failure before trying.
You hear all your teachers inside your head — but none of them are real anymore.
This is the final layer of stupidity — self-surveillance.
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𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 — 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒
You were never stupid.
You were only trained to believe so.
The end of teaching is not ignorance — it’s awakening.
To see directly. To learn from what is, not from what is said.
To drop authority — not out of rebellion, but out of recognition that life itself is teaching, constantly, wordlessly.
Look at a tree. It doesn’t attend workshops on growth.
Look at a river. It doesn’t seek direction from gurus.
Look at your own breath — it doesn’t wait for permission to flow.
To live without teachers is to trust life again.
To return to direct seeing, unfiltered learning.
And that — not education, not philosophy, not guidance —
is intelligence.
Everything else was schooling.
---
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𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 — 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 — 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐑. 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐇𝐔𝐊𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐀
---
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆
It is early morning near Yelmadagi, not far from Chimmanchod.
Mist hangs low between the tamarind and neem trees.
The bamboo gate creaks open as Adhya, the elder daughter, welcomes eight visitors one by one — each arriving from a different world.
Anju, her younger sister, brings copper tumblers of warm water.
Their mother, Savitri, is busy brewing Mother Simarouba Kashaya, its bitter smell floating through the still air.
Dr. Madhukar Dama sits cross-legged under a banyan tree, his wooden writing board beside him, a small mat on the earth.
He gestures each visitor to sit in a circle.
No introductions. No instructions. Just silence, birdsong, and the quiet bubbling of Kashaya in the kitchen.
---
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒
1. Mrs. Menon — a retired school principal from Belgaum.
2. Prof. Sundar — a weary literature professor from Dharwad University.
3. Ramesh — a loyal disciple of a well-known spiritual guru.
4. Meena — a young mother from Hubli, anxious about her two children’s education.
5. Arun — a 19-year-old college dropout, unschooled by choice.
6. Dr. Nisha — a therapist from Pune, calm yet visibly tired of “helping.”
7. Basavaraj — a farmer from a nearby village, dark-skinned, barefoot, unhurried.
8. Chaitra — a 12-year-old girl, wide-eyed, carrying a notebook she rarely writes in.
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆
Nobody speaks for a long while.
Adhya pours each of them a small clay cup of Simarouba Kashaya.
They sip, eyes watering at the bitterness.
Dr. Madhukar Dama smiles faintly.
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Good. Let the bitterness stay. That’s the first lesson life teaches without words.”
Silence again.
Birds. A distant bullock cart creaking on the mud road.
---
𝐌𝐑𝐒. 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐍 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑
> Mrs. Menon: “I don’t know where to start. I’ve spent forty years teaching children discipline and values. When I heard the title of your dialogue, I felt insulted. But then… I realised I don’t even remember the faces of the students who truly learned something beyond marks.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “What did you really teach, Mrs. Menon?”
> Mrs. Menon: “Obedience, I think. Order. Clean handwriting. Correct posture. Respect.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “And what did they forget?”
> Mrs. Menon (after a pause): “The joy of discovery.”
She looks down. Her hands tremble slightly.
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “You didn’t create stupidity, Mrs. Menon. You institutionalised fear. That’s what all good teachers are trained to do — make fear look like discipline.”
---
𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅. 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐂
> Prof. Sundar: “I tried to make my students think. I made them read Camus, Nietzsche, Tagore. But they just wanted grades. Now even I read for references, not for insight. The system eats us all.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “The system doesn’t eat. It trains you to chew yourself. You wanted them to think like you. That’s still teaching — not awakening.”
> Prof. Sundar: “So what do I do now?”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Stop quoting, start seeing. When you read again, read as a man, not as a teacher.”
Prof. Sundar nods slowly, looking toward the sun rising over the fields.
---
𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐇 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄
> Ramesh: “My guru says knowledge is illusion, but he still gives daily discourses. I feel peace in his presence, but I also feel small.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Peace that depends on presence is another prison. If you can’t be still without him, he has not freed you — he has only replaced your anxiety with him.”
> Ramesh: “So, should I leave my guru?”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Don’t leave him. See him. See how he feeds your helplessness. When you truly see, you won’t need to leave — dependence will fall by itself.”
---
𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐀 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑
> Meena: “My children hate studying. I scold them because I want them to have a better life. I didn’t have one.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “You are repeating what was done to you — thinking it is love. The need to ‘make your child better’ is the same need that once convinced you that you were not good enough.”
She lowers her head, voice breaking.
> Meena: “Then what should I do?”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Let them see you learn. Not from teachers — from life. Cook with them, garden with them, make mistakes with them. Let them see failure without fear. That’s education.”
---
𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐍 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐓
> Arun: “Everyone calls me wasted potential. But I left college because every class felt like being trained to forget myself.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Good. You left the factory. Now don’t build another one inside your head.”
> Arun: “Sometimes I feel lost without direction.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Being lost is not dangerous. Believing you need to be found is. Stay lost long enough and you’ll see that the path is made of your own footprints.”
---
𝐃𝐑. 𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐓
> Dr. Nisha: “I listen to people for a living. Their pain, their trauma, their stories. I feel I help them, but at the end of the day, I’m still heavy. Maybe I’ve only taught them to cope better.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Coping is the art of dying slowly. Healing begins when you stop helping them. Just listen without trying to fix. When you stop being their teacher, they’ll start seeing their own intelligence.”
> Dr. Nisha: “But then what’s my role?”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “A witness, not a guide.”
---
𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐉 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑
Basavaraj has been quiet all along, tracing circles in the dust with a twig.
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “You haven’t spoken, Basavaraj.”
> Basavaraj: “I never went to school, sir. My land taught me everything — when to sow, when to rest, when to burn weeds. My son goes to college now. He says my work is dirty. He won’t touch the soil.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “He was taught shame in the name of education. Every system that separates man from the earth calls itself progress.”
Basavaraj nods silently, eyes moist.
---
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐀 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “What about you, Chaitra?”
> Chaitra (hesitant): “I like drawing in mud. But my teacher says it’s dirty.”
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Do you still draw?”
> Chaitra: “Yes. When no one’s watching.”
He smiles softly.
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Never stop that. The day you draw only when they approve, you’ll forget how to see.”
The adults look at her in silence. Every face mirrors the same wound — the moment they stopped doing what they loved because someone “taught” them better.
---
𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆
Savitri walks out with a basket of guavas and a jar of cold-pressed castor oil.
Adhya and Anju hand them to each visitor.
No money is exchanged.
> Dr. Madhukar Dama: “Take this as a reminder — healing comes from what grows, not from what is taught.”
He looks at the group, his voice calm but firm:
> “Stop eating milk, maida, sugar, refined oil. Avoid pills for every discomfort. Eat what grows locally. Sweat daily. Sleep early. Fast on Ekadashi. Don’t store food in a fridge — store wisdom in your own experience.
And most of all, stop teaching.
Start living — that’s how life teaches.”
The sun rises fully now.
The visitors sit quietly, each holding the bitter taste of Simarouba still on their tongues — and the faint sweetness of truth in their hearts.
---
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𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃
---
they start early
with a smile, a chalk, a rule.
you are three and the first thing they do
is make you sit still.
they say,
listen.
follow.
repeat.
copy.
good boy.
and you do.
your legs want to run,
but they tie your attention to a desk.
your mind wants to ask,
but they feed you answers
like lentils mashed for a baby.
you learn quickly
that silence wins approval.
that fear wears the face of respect.
that a gold star feels warmer
than your own thought.
they call it learning.
you call it school.
---
years pass,
and your brain grows
into the shape of their corridors.
you learn that truth is graded,
creativity is an elective,
and obedience is compulsory.
someone writes a formula,
someone else explains God,
someone else sells peace,
and you buy them all
thinking one day it will all add up
to a real education.
but all it adds up to
is a resume,
a boss,
a temple,
a therapist,
a YouTube playlist of gurus
talking about detachment
from the latest iPhone.
---
you meet teachers everywhere.
in jobs,
in marriages,
in relationships,
in every conversation
where someone says,
“you should.”
you begin to collect teachers
like old receipts,
all faded but none thrown away.
they tell you how to talk,
how to love,
how to eat,
how to heal,
how to die gracefully.
and you obey,
out of habit,
because that’s the only thing
education ever really taught you —
how to obey beautifully.
---
there’s a man at the temple
selling shortcuts to heaven.
there’s a coach online
selling shortcuts to success.
there’s a nutritionist
telling you how to breathe.
there’s a motivational speaker
screaming about silence.
there’s a therapist
charging by the minute to listen
to the sound of your own mind.
and you believe each one,
because you were raised to think
that the truth always comes
from outside your skin.
---
sometimes you look at a child
playing in mud,
hair wild,
face full of dust,
and for a second
you remember what it felt like
to be uneducated in the right way.
then you say,
“don’t get dirty,”
and the circle completes.
---
there are no chains on your wrists
but your thoughts walk in circles
like cows around a temple tree.
you call it routine,
but it’s just obedience
with good lighting.
you have a smartphone,
you have news,
you have podcasts,
you have everything
except the courage
to close your eyes
without someone telling you how.
---
the teacher has multiplied.
he’s no longer a person,
he’s the system inside your head
that keeps whispering,
you don’t know enough.
you’re not ready yet.
you must learn more.
and you listen
because the voice sounds like your own.
---
the teacher wins
when you forget
that life was never a syllabus.
that hunger teaches better than theory.
that falling teaches balance.
that failure teaches grace.
that silence teaches everything.
---
one morning,
you wake up early.
the air smells of rain and earth.
you drink bitter Kashaya
that burns your tongue,
and suddenly it hits you —
the bitterness is education too,
the kind that doesn’t need a teacher.
you walk barefoot to the field,
and no one is there
to tell you how to walk.
you realize this —
the teacher is not outside,
he’s inside,
and he’s scared.
you laugh,
and the laughter sounds new,
like the first time you ever learned something
without being taught.
---
no degrees,
no sermons,
no diplomas.
just the smell of wet soil
and the relief of being untaught.
---
later that day,
someone asks you for advice.
you say,
don’t listen to me.
watch.
taste.
fall.
fail.
wake up.
try again.
that’s it.
and they call you wise,
but you’re not.
you’re just free.
---
— by 𝐃𝐫. 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐡𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐚
---
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