Life is no sugar: A lesson learned over a lifetime
In 1984-85, I was in my final year of school in Delhi, preparing for the board examinations. Of all the subjects, English was my favourite. The teacher who taught it was a young, charming woman with large kohl-lined eyes and a mild demeanour. Having done fairly well in English over the years, I had become something of a favourite student of hers.
One morning, she walked into class with unusual solemnity. Beside her stood a well-dressed, gently stooped gentleman with deeply lined features and thick-rimmed spectacles. She informed us that, as she would be proceeding on extended leave-perhaps leaving the school altogether-due to personal reasons, the gentleman would take over our English classes until the board examinations. I remember feeling crestfallen at the mere thought that this might be the last time I would see her, which, sadly, it turned out to be.
On the next day, when our new elderly teacher stepped into the classroom, the atmosphere was far from welcoming. Still attached to our former teacher, many of us boys responded with the kind of mischief adolescents often mistake for wit. There was hooting, whistling, chalk flying across the room, and the occasional drama. With each passing day, the disruptions grew louder and more brazen.
Weeks passed in this uneasy rhythm, and before we quite realised it, the last day of the session arrived. As we gathered our books and prepared to leave, he raised his hand and asked us to remain seated for a moment. His eyes were moist, and when he spoke, his voice was calm but firm.
“Friends,” he began, “do not think I was unaware of what you were doing behind my back.” He paused briefly before continuing. “In my younger days-as a teacher and later a principal-it would have taken me no time to restore discipline in this class. But with experience, I have come to understand that, at your stage, there are powerful undercurrents of anxiety and stress, camouflaged as brawn and swagger. There is a dichotomy between what you perceive and what the wider world is.”
After another pause, he added quietly: “It is only when you step outside that you will understand what I mean. Remember, life rarely unfolds in neat and predictable ways. It offers many flavours-some sweet, some sour, and others bitter. But one thing is certain: life is no sugar.”
More than four decades have passed since that brief speech-years that have largely coincided with my own professional journey. Like many young graduates who had done well academically, I too began my career with confidence and idealism, believing that hard work, sincerity, and a genuine desire to contribute would naturally lead to success and fulfilment. I also assumed-somewhat naively-that such commitment would carry one steadily up the corporate ladder.
But I was wrong, as reality turned out to be a much more complex script. Now I have realised that effort does not always translate into recognition, and progress often arrives more slowly than expected. Looking back, I sometimes place corporate life alongside the famed fable of the tortoise and the hare, in which the outcome is far less predictable than it first appears. Perhaps that is why the memory of that elderly teacher-and his quiet observation that life is “no sugar”-has stayed with me through the decades. And perhaps that is also what makes its occasional sweetness worth savouring.
The writer is an author and a corporate coach; views are personal
