In March 2021, the South District Education Office of Sikkim organised a landmark No-cost/Low-cost TLM development competition for teachers of primary classes.
The idea of organising a No-Cost/Low-Cost
Teaching-Learning Material (TLM) Development Competition for teachers didn’t
emerge out of the blue. It was shaped over time, rooted in the deep systemic
and contextual challenges that had long defined Sikkim’s education landscape.
In the years following Sikkim’s merger with India,
many of the previously community-managed schools were brought under government
recognition. This transition led to a rapid expansion in the number of
government schools, often staffed with untrained teachers. However, the
administrative machinery responsible for supporting and supervising these
schools did not expand at the same pace.
A small number of officials were tasked with
managing an ever-growing system, often juggling multiple responsibilities. As a
result, much of the daily functioning and management of schools was left to
headteachers and teachers, many of whom were themselves untrained and
navigating their roles through trial and error.
There was, in the early 1980s, a
sincere attempt by the Education Department to cultivate a sense of shared
mission by organising seminars involving headteachers, district officers, and
state officials. Unfortunately, these seminars remained infrequent and, more
often than not, the resolutions passed in those meetings dissolved into
silence, never making their way into practice. As a result, schools began to
drift into a kind of isolation, both from the public they were meant to serve
and from one another. Rigid rules crept into school life, and institutions
started behaving more like exclusive enclosures than places of learning open to
all.
Students who missed school on fixed
dates were denied entry without formal re-admission. Absentees were fined
instead of being encouraged to attend regularly. Rules for rustication were
enforced arbitrarily, as were criteria for detention and promotion. In one
school, a student might be promoted despite failing two subjects, while in
another, a similar student would be held back. During exam season, it was
common to hear staff boast, “This time we made the pass criteria strict,”
as if severity itself were a virtue. Each school had its own set of rules - often
lacking compassion and always inconsistent.
As a student and a teacher during this
period, I remember vividly the atmosphere that prevailed in our government
schools - the indifference to student experience, the pride in syllabus
completion, the absence of reflection on whether children had actually
understood what we taught. We rarely paused to consider how students perceived
our teaching methods, our rules, or our treatment of them. The burden of
failure was laid entirely on their young shoulders; if they didn’t understand a
lesson, it was assumed they simply hadn’t tried hard enough.
It was against this backdrop that the
Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan Mission undertook a household survey in 2003–04. One
section of the survey sought to understand the reasons behind school dropouts
and non-enrolment. The responses from children were telling. Many described
schools as “boring” and “uninteresting.” Others, who had dropped
out, cited repeated failure or rustication, or ill-treatment by teachers as
reasons. Even those who had never enrolled stated simply, “not interested.”
I often wondered what more they might have said had the survey offered
open-ended questions. Still, even in their brevity, the children’s responses
painted a sobering picture of our schools - a system so out of touch with the
learner’s experience that it inadvertently pushed them away.
Looking back, it was a painful
awakening. The voices of those children - small, silenced, yet profoundly
truthful - still echo in my memory. Their simple words laid bare the
uncomfortable reality of a school system that had slowly drifted away from its
core purpose: to nurture, to inspire, and to educate.
That realisation stirred something deep
within me. I often find myself regretting that I had not fully understood the
extent of students’ hardships before leaving my role as a teacher in 1998 to
take up responsibilities at the system level. In hindsight, I wish I had paid
closer attention to the silent struggles playing out in our classrooms. It was
only later that I began to reflect more deeply on what children truly meant
when they described their schools as “boring.” To me, it pointed
unmistakably to the classroom experience - the dull routines, rigid methods,
and lack of meaningful engagement. I came to see that our teaching practices, predominantly
lecture-based and heavily teacher-centred, were stifling rather than
stimulating. We were failing to spark their curiosity, let alone ignite their
imagination.
It was from this growing understanding
that I began to seriously think about how classrooms could be made more
engaging, meaningful, and student-friendly. One strategy that took shape in my
mind was the consistent and creative use of Teaching-Learning Materials (TLMs)
as part of everyday classroom practice. I believed that well-designed TLMs had
the potential to break the monotony of routine instruction, offer visual and
hands-on experiences, and turn abstract concepts into tangible, relatable
learning moments for children.
While most schools did have some
teaching aids, charts and equipment supplied by the government, many of these
were either damaged, torn, or simply outdated. And even when they were usable,
they were rarely sufficient or well-matched to the specific needs of teachers
across different subjects and grades. It became clear to me that if we truly
wanted to enrich classroom learning, we needed to move beyond reliance on
external supply and tap into the creativity of teachers themselves.
I started encouraging schools to create
TLMs using locally available resources - both to make the initiative
sustainable and to root it in the children’s own context. Whenever I travelled
to schools in other Indian states and UTs for departmental meetings or
workshops, I made it a point to inquire about the TLMs that teachers there had
developed. I was eager to learn, to observe, and to bring back insights that
could be adapted in our schools in Sikkim.
My conviction grew stronger with time:
the more we relied solely on chalk-and-talk methods, the more we distanced
ourselves from the learners. Children were tired of being passive spectators in
their own education - sitting quietly, watching the teacher, listening without
being invited to participate. If we wanted our students to stay in school and
to love learning, we had to rethink how we taught them. The use of TLMs, I
believed, was a small but significant step toward rekindling their interest and
reclaiming the classroom as a space of joy and discovery.
Prior to the implementation of the
Right to Education (RTE) Act, the condition of government schools in Sikkim
reflected significant pedagogical limitations. One of the key challenges was
the acute shortage of professionally qualified teachers. Classroom teaching was
largely characterised by a culture of authoritarianism, often described as a "reign
of terror," which inhibited learner-centred pedagogical practices.
Textbooks were, for the most part, the
only teaching - learning material we relied upon. When they failed to arrive on
time, as they often did, classroom instruction would quietly grind to a halt,
leaving long stretches of learning suspended in uncertainty. Teaching, in those
days, leaned heavily on the spoken word. The classroom was dominated by
lectures, with little beyond the chalkboard to support understanding.
What troubled me, even then, was that
this practice cut across qualifications. Teachers who held professional
credentials like TTI, B.Ed., or Basic Training largely followed the same
traditional path. The idea of creating or using additional teaching–learning
materials rarely took root. TLMs were seen not as extensions of pedagogy, but
as extra effort and personal expense - an investment many were unwilling, or
perhaps unable, to make. Looking back now, I realise how much learning remained
confined within the covers of a textbook, and how many possibilities waited
quietly beyond them, untouched and unexplored.
During my time as a schoolteacher
before 1998 CE, I noticed that my colleagues with a B.Ed. qualification rarely use
any form of TLMs in their classrooms. Teacher education institutions offering
B.Ed. and Diploma in Elementary Education (D.El.Ed.) courses were established
in Sikkim only in the early 1990s, quite late compared to other parts of India.
Until then, most professionally qualified teachers had received their training
from institutions in West Bengal. The non-local teachers appointed from outside
Sikkim held degrees from their respective states.
This is not to suggest that the use of
self-prepared TLMs was absent in the state. It was occasionally visible,
especially during the practice teaching sessions (now referred to as the School
Internship Programme - SIP) conducted by pre-service teachers from B.Ed.
colleges and teacher training institutes. These student-teachers commonly used
chart-paper-based materials. However, after being appointed to schools, many of
these same teachers rarely continued the practice. During my school visits in
the 2000s, I personally inquired about this shift. Several teachers confided
that they were discouraged by senior colleagues from continuing the innovative
practices they had employed during their training.
A limited understanding of TLMs persisted among teachers, many of whom associated them solely with chart-paper posters. Even the TLMs created during in-service training programs were mainly chart-based. A major turning point occurred in 2008 when the Human Resource Development Department (HRDD), South District, organised a 10-day-long teacher training program at Namchi Community Hall, Namchi, under the SSA initiative. On the final day, a TLM exhibition was held in the presence of the then HRDD Minister. For the first time, the display included a few non-chart-paper-based TLMs, signalling a gradual yet promising shift in pedagogical awareness. For more details and photographic documentation of these early TLM efforts, readers can refer to the Annual Report of Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan 2009–10.
Before
all this, back in 2007, the State Project Office of Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan,
Sikkim, made a quiet yet significant effort to shift our thinking. A TLM
development training was organised at the HRDD Conference Hall at the Education
Head Office, and selected teachers from across the state were invited to
participate. I still remember the sense of anticipation in that hall as we
gathered, drawn from different corners of Sikkim, united by a shared curiosity
about doing things differently. The sessions were led by Mr L. N. Koirala, a practising
teacher from Lingee School - someone from within the system, speaking from
experience rather than theory. In many ways, that training felt like a small
but important turning point, planting early seeds of possibility about what
teaching could become beyond the textbook.
That experience also held up a mirror
to us. It revealed how limited our exposure was to diverse forms of teaching
and learning materials, and how uncertain we were in aligning them meaningfully
with the curriculum. More than a gap in resources, it exposed a gap in
preparation. It became clear that innovation could not survive on enthusiasm
alone; it needed sustained professional support, structured guidance, and
opportunities for teachers to learn, unlearn, and relearn within their own
contexts.
These reflections found a wider echo a
year later. In late 2008, during the preparation of the Annual Work Plan and
Budget under Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan, the Human Resource Development Department
of the Government of Sikkim took a landmark step. For the first time, the state
framed a comprehensive Quality Education Plan for the academic year 2009–10. It
was more than a document - it was a statement of intent. Quality was no longer
an abstract aspiration; it was being named, structured, and woven into the system.
The plan attempted to look at education
in its fullness. It spoke of vision, curriculum, teacher effectiveness,
teaching–learning materials, changes in classroom processes and learning
outcomes, academic support and monitoring, minimum enabling conditions, and the
vital partnership between schools, communities, and civil society. As the
planner entrusted with shaping and coordinating these quality-focused
interventions, I felt both the weight and the privilege of responsibility. I
was determined that classroom practices would not remain untouched by policy
language and that teacher professional development, especially in pedagogy, would
occupy a central place.
Those priorities did not emerge in
isolation. They were shaped by the growing pedagogical awareness I could sense
among teachers themselves - an awakening that had begun quietly in training
halls and staff rooms, in hesitant experiments and shared conversations. In
hindsight, those years feel like the slow turning of a wheel - deliberate,
sometimes uncertain, yet steadily moving us toward a more thoughtful and humane
vision of schooling.
At the heart of that Quality Education
Plan was a quiet but firm resolve - to change what actually happened inside
classrooms. One of its strongest thrusts was the promotion of activity-based
pedagogy in language, mathematics, and science, carried forward through
carefully designed in-service teacher training programmes. The intention was
never to discard textbooks, but to loosen our dependence on them gently. We
wanted teachers to feel confident stepping beyond the familiar comfort of
prescribed texts and chart paper, and to explore richer, more engaging ways of
helping children make sense of ideas. Learning, we believed, had to be touched,
questioned, tried, and lived - not merely copied from the blackboard.
This shift called for a broader palette
of teaching aids and strategies - simple, locally available materials,
thoughtful activities, and classroom practices that invited curiosity rather
than compliance. The hope was that such approaches would lead children toward
deeper conceptual understanding, allowing them to ask why, not just remember
what. For many teachers, this represented both excitement and uncertainty, but
it also opened a door to rediscovering the joy of teaching itself.
Under the Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan
framework, a standardised in-service training programme was put in place for
elementary school teachers - ten days in duration, shortened from the earlier
twenty, yet sharpened in focus. These trainings revolved around the three
subject pedagogies that mattered most at that stage: language, mathematics, and
science. To prepare the ground properly, a three-day state-level workshop of
Key Resource Persons was planned for July 2009. I still recall the intensity of
those preparatory days, as we worked to develop training modules rooted in
Sikkim’s realities - its classrooms, its children, its constraints, and its
possibilities. According to the training calendar embedded in the Annual Plan,
the ten-day teacher training was scheduled for August 2009, a month that would
quietly carry these ideas into schools across the state.
For readers who wish to look beyond
memory and sentiment and examine the architecture behind these early efforts,
the training framework and planning documents remain preserved. An archived
copy of the 2009–10 SSA Annual Work Plan and Budget is available at the
Education Department Headquarters - a record of a moment when aspiration,
policy, and classroom practice briefly leaned toward one another, trying to
walk the same path.
As the work moved forward under Sarva
Shiksha Abhiyan, more training programmes followed, each carefully designed
with a clear intention - to deepen pedagogical awareness through
subject-specific, activity-based approaches. There was no shortage of ideas or
goodwill. We knew, and often reminded ourselves, that meaningful reform does
not take root through one-time interventions. It requires patient nurturing -
consistent follow-up, reinforcement, and a system that supports teachers as
they try new teaching methods. Yet, despite our intentions, the system
struggled to provide that sustained support at the level it demanded.
Gradually, a quiet gap began to surface
- one that was easy to overlook but hard to bridge. Many school heads remained
unaware of what their teachers had actually experienced during these trainings.
Without a clear understanding of the content or the spirit of the programmes,
headteachers found it difficult to guide, encourage, or even recognise the
changes teachers were attempting to bring into their classrooms. Leadership, in
such moments, became detached from practice, and good ideas often returned to
schools without an anchor.
Time and again, we offered what felt
like the simplest of remedies: that teachers, on returning from training, sit
down with their colleagues and their school heads and share what they had seen,
heard, and learned. These moments of sharing were meant to stitch individual
learning into a collective fabric - to create a shared understanding and a
common language of change within each school. In a handful of places, this
happened quietly and with genuine intent, and one could sense the difference it
made.
But across the system, it never quite
took root. Because it was not issued as a formal directive, the practice
remained optional, easily set aside once teachers were absorbed again by the
rhythms and demands of everyday school life. The energy of the training room
often thinned out as it met the weight of routine. At times, it felt as though
the system itself failed to listen to what the moment truly required - especially
when decisions and directions were shaped by hands unfamiliar with the academic
pulse of schools.
The
challenge was further compounded by the fact that many monitoring and
supervisory officials were themselves not fully oriented to the pedagogical
shifts being promoted. Without that shared understanding, classroom
observations and academic support could not always align with the reform’s
intent. What was meant to encourage innovation sometimes felt, to teachers,
like mixed signals.
Looking back, it is also important to
remember the context of those years. Digital spaces that later became powerful
tools for professional dialogue and peer learning were still largely absent
from our educational landscape. Platforms like Facebook, which would eventually
serve as informal staff rooms beyond school walls, were not meaningfully used
for educational engagement until around 2014. In those earlier years, teachers
worked mostly in isolation, carrying new ideas quietly, often without a community
to lean on.
In hindsight, these were not failures
of intent, but reminders of how fragile change can be - how easily it can
falter without shared understanding, steady guidance, and spaces where teachers
feel seen, supported, and heard.
Taken together, these limitations
quietly slowed the pace at which the pedagogical reforms we had envisioned
could truly take root. Nowhere was this more evident than in the development
and classroom use of content- and context-specific Teaching–Learning Materials.
The idea was sound, the intent sincere, yet without sustained support and
shared ownership, TLMs often remained an aspiration rather than a lived
classroom practice.
Unable to let that concern rest, I felt
compelled to widen the conversation beyond training halls and official
meetings. In 2013, I turned to the local newspapers, hoping that the written
word might travel where formal directives could not. I authored two articles - “Active
Learning: A New Path for Classroom Teaching” and “Teacher Support
Activities for Active Learning.” They were written not as prescriptions,
but as invitations - an attempt to speak directly to teachers and educational
administrators alike, to reflect on what active learning truly demanded, and to
argue gently but firmly for stronger, more sustained systems of teacher
support. It was my way of keeping the dialogue alive, of ensuring that the
spark we had kindled did not fade into silence.
A few years later, in 2017, when I was
posted to the District Office and entrusted with overseeing the Namthang
Educational Zone, those earlier concerns resurfaced with renewed urgency. Being
closer once again to schools and teachers stirred something familiar in me - the
need to engage not just in planning, but in practice. I found myself drawn back
to the heart of the matter: how teachers could be supported to create
meaningful Teaching–Learning Materials with their own hands, shaped by their
own classrooms and communities.
It was in this spirit that the project
titled CLAIM - Comprehensive Learning Approach through Interactive Materials
was initiated, an idea already touched upon earlier under the theme “Spend
Less, Produce More.” CLAIM was not born out of abundance, but out of
necessity and belief - the belief that even within limited means, teachers
could create rich learning experiences if they were trusted, guided, and
encouraged. For me, it felt less like starting something new, and more like
returning to an unfinished conversation - one that had begun years earlier, in
quiet training rooms, reflective articles, and classrooms waiting patiently for
change.
My years in administration were never
spent at a distance from education itself. Having been shaped by the classroom,
I carried a deep conviction that educational leadership must remain alert and
restless - constantly searching for ways to respond to the realities of
children and teachers. With that belief close to my heart, I often found myself
initiating parallel, self-driven efforts to strengthen classroom practices and
enrich instructional resources. Many of these endeavours had begun much earlier
in my career, and over time, they grew, quietly merging with newer
interventions, forming an unbroken thread of pedagogical pursuit.
I am aware that to those unfamiliar
with the fragility and volatility of educational reform, such reflections may
sound like self-congratulation. But those who have lived within the system know
how easily good intentions can dissolve, how quickly momentum can be lost. What
sustained me was not the desire for recognition, but an acute awareness of how
much was at stake—how deeply the consequences of inaction were felt by children
and by society at large.
I devoted every available moment to
these efforts, often working in the margins of official time. Then came the
COVID-19 pandemic, bringing with it an abrupt and unsettling pause. The
nationwide lockdown disrupted not only academic routines but also the rhythm of
institutional life itself. For me, it arrived at a particularly poignant moment
- coinciding with the final phase of my professional journey. The sudden
stillness, after years of constant engagement, left me with a growing sense of
urgency and a quiet inner unrest, born of watching systems remain inactive
while learning stood suspended, waiting.
By the middle of the 2020 academic
session, the long spell of uncertainty finally began to loosen its grip. Around
this time, I was entrusted with the responsibility of serving as the District
Head of the Education Department - a role that came not as an added burden, but
as a renewed call to decide and act with the full authority required to lead a
district. Even as government offices continued with alternate staff attendance
and the echoes of the pandemic still shaped our days, my mind kept returning to
a single, persistent question: what could still be done - meaningfully,
decisively, and systemically - for the education sector of Sikkim?
As the COVID crisis gradually subsided
in early 2021, time suddenly felt both scarce and precious. With barely three
months remaining before my retirement, a quiet resolve took hold within me. I
wanted to leave behind not a file or a circular, but an experience - something
inclusive, practical, and rooted in classrooms. From that urgency emerged the
idea of a District-Level No-Cost and Low-Cost Teaching–Learning Material
Development Competition, designed especially for government primary school
teachers.
The intention was simple yet deeply
felt: to rekindle creativity, to encourage innovation drawn from local
contexts, and to reaffirm teachers as thoughtful designers of learning within
their own classrooms. In those final months of service, the initiative felt
like a closing circle - returning once again to the belief that had guided me
from the beginning: that meaningful change in education always begins with
trusting teachers and placing learning back into their hands.
The event I was imagining was no
ordinary one. It demanded more than enthusiasm; it called for academic
partnership, shared belief, and - most crucially - support that extended beyond
the walls of the district office. Every meaningful idea I have learned needs a
first listener. With that in mind, during the first week of January, I sought
out an informal, exploratory meeting with Mr Ganesh Dahal, then Principal of
the District Institute of Education and Training (DIET), South Sikkim.
Sitting together, away from formal
files and fixed agendas, I shared an idea that even to my own ears sounded
ambitious - perhaps even improbable at that moment: a district-level
Teaching–Learning Material Development Competition. It was not a polished
proposal, but a thought shaped by years of watching teachers struggle,
improvise, and quietly innovate in isolation.
What followed has remained with me ever
since. Where I half-expected caution, Mr Dahal responded with a warmth that
surprised and steadied me. With quiet conviction, he said, “Sir, if you
truly believe and are confident that the teachers of the district will come
forward at your call, then this event can be organised on a scale worthy of
their potential.”
His words felt less like a condition
and more like an act of trust. Strengthened by that faith, I gave my own
assurance in return - that if DIET would serve as the academic guide and
judging body for the competition, I would take it upon myself to reach out to
every corner of the district and bring our teachers together for the cause.
We parted that day without any formal
resolution, yet with something far more valuable: shared conviction. That brief
conversation, unremarkable on the surface, quietly laid the foundation for what
would soon grow into a collective effort - rooted in trust, purpose, and a
belief in teachers’ creative strength.
With that initial faith secured, I
turned inward to the system that would have to carry the idea forward. I
convened a consultative meeting with the senior officers of the District
Education Office, fully aware that without their coordination and shared ownership,
the initiative would remain only a well-meaning thought. I spoke to them not
merely as colleagues, but as partners in a moment that demanded belief as much
as planning. Their support came generously, and with that reassurance, I moved
a step closer to action.
Soon after, I began informal
conversations with the Block Education Officers, listening carefully to their
assessments of ground realities. I wanted to know—not from files, but from
voices—whether schools were ready, whether teachers would respond, and whether
the idea could breathe at the grassroots level. As these conversations
unfolded, a quiet consensus emerged. Once I sensed that shared commitment
taking shape, I initiated formal correspondence with the District
Administration, seeking the necessary clearances and logistical support,
mindful that COVID-related restrictions were still very much a part of our
daily functioning.
At the same time, I reached out to the
then Additional Political Secretary to the Hon’ble Chief Minister of Sikkim,
who was stationed at the South District Office, to explore the possibility of
inviting a Chief Guest for the occasion. This too was done with care, for I
wished the event to carry not just administrative approval, but public
affirmation of teachers’ efforts. By the end of January, a response arrived
that felt both encouraging and affirming. Mr Indra Hang Subba, then serving as
a Member of the Lok Sabha from Sikkim, graciously consented to attend the
programme as Chief Guest.
The date he proposed, 11th March 2021, was
promptly accepted. As I noted it down, I felt a quiet sense of alignment, as
though scattered intentions were finally settling into place. What had begun as
a fragile idea, spoken softly in an informal meeting, was now stepping into
form - carried by collective trust, careful coordination, and a shared hope
that something meaningful could still be accomplished, even in uncertain times.
By the last week of January, the contours of the effort had begun to take shape, and a core organising team quietly came together. On the 5th of February, I formally convened a planning meeting - one that, in hindsight, felt like a threshold moment. Around the table sat the district and block education officers, the Principal of DIET, the District Accounts Officer, and the head of the establishment section. It was a rare gathering where administration and academics met not over routine compliance, but over shared purpose.
That day, I laid out a detailed
proposal, carefully walking the team through the vision, the modalities, and
the step-by-step roadmap for organising the TLM Development Competition. I
spoke not just of logistics, but of intent - of why this initiative mattered,
and what it could mean for teachers who had long been creating in isolation. To
ensure that no school felt left out and that teacher participation reached
every corner of the district, I suggested an additional dimension: extending
the competition to the block level as well.
Under this expanded framework, the
blocks themselves would become partners in the effort. The top three blocks
would be recognised, not merely for numbers, but on two meaningful measures - the
breadth of teacher participation and the pedagogical relevance and contextual
appropriateness of the Teaching–Learning Materials developed. It was a way of
encouraging collective ownership, of turning participation into pride.
The proposal was discussed at length,
weighed from multiple angles, and refined through shared deliberation. When the
room finally settled into agreement, the approval was unanimous. In that
moment, I felt a quiet assurance: what had begun as an idea carried by a few
had now become a shared commitment, ready to move from paper into practice.
An excerpt from the official minutes of
the meeting is provided below to illustrate the collective vision and
commitment with which the event was planned.
1. The event will be named as “District
Level No-Cost/Low-Cost TLM Development Competition for Government School
Primary Teachers of South Sikkim District”.
2. The specifications of TLMs for
Competition will be class-specific, subject-specific, and the targeted Learning
Outcomes to achieve.
3. The Best three blocks and the Best
three TLM Developer Teachers will be adjudged as 1st, 2nd,
and 3rd.
4. The position holder blocks and teachers
will be awarded Trophies, Mementoes, and Certificates
5. Every school will have to participate
mandatorily with Class and Subject-specific 26 entries as under:
a. Class I – 2 (two) entries for
Mathematics and 2 (two) entries for Languages (Any language including English)
[Total entries = 04]
b. Class II - 2 (two) entries for
Mathematics and 2 (two) entries for Languages (Any language including English)
[Total entries = 04]
c.
Class
III - 2 (two) entries for Environmental Studies, 2 (two) entries for
Mathematics, and 2 (two) entries for Languages (Any language including English)
[Total entries = 06]
d. Class IV - 2 (two) entries for
Environmental Studies, 2 (two) entries for Mathematics, and 2 (two) entries for
Languages (Any language including English) [Total entries = 06]
e.
Class
V - 2 (two) entries for Environmental Studies, 2 (two) entries for Mathematics,
and 2 (two) entries for Languages (Any language including English) [Total
entries = 06]
6. Entries in chart papers with drawings
and paintings will not be accepted.
7. All participating teachers (other than
position holder teachers) will be awarded the Certificate of Participation
8. List of participating teachers with
designation (General/ Language/ Monastic/ AEI/ PEI/ WEI) and place of postings
should reach the District Education Office by 04.03.2021
9. All the schools will take the
responsibility to participate in the competition in consultation with the
respective Block Heads
10. The Block will take responsibility for
providing lunch to the participants of their respective blocks
11. The District Education Office will take
responsibility for stalls, block-wise banners, programme banner, certificates,
trophies, prizes, mementoes, sound system, invitation, guest hospitality, video
display, and all miscellaneous activities.
12. Shri Ganesh Chandra Dahal, Principal
DIET South, committed to sponsor a trophy to an extraordinary TLM from 5928
(expected) entries of TLM with the Title EUREKA.
13. DIET South will act as whole sole
judging agency of the competition.
14. The house decided the Namchi Bazar
Central Park as the programme venue and 11th March 2021 as the
programme date.
15. Process of making entry and display –
a. The TLM Developer Teacher will prepare
a short write-up mentioning the Class, Subject, how the TLM can be used, and
what the targeted learning outcomes are to achieve.
b. The schools will bring TLM to the
programme venue on 11.03.2021 and set up each TLM with a write-up before 9.30
am in their respective block stalls.
c.
The
teacher also needs to make a short 540p video (maximum 4 minutes) about how the
TLM can be used and submit it to the respective Block Heads on or before
08.03.2021. It would be better if it is submitted before the given date.
d. The Block Offices will bring the videos
to the DEO on or before 09.03.2021 for mixing and editing. It would be better
if it is submitted before the given date.
e.
The
videos will be screened whole day in the programme venue through a projector
screen.
16. The District Education Office will work
in close coordination with the District Administration.
At the heart of the
competition lay a simple yet deeply held conviction: every primary school
teacher needed to be part of the journey. It was never a question of motivation
- teachers in Sikkim have always carried that in abundance. What they often
lacked was not the will, but the opportunity to develop the conceptual clarity
and technical confidence required to create Teaching–Learning Materials that
truly belonged to their classrooms - materials that were rooted in local
contexts, aligned with curricular intent, attuned to grade-level expectations,
and sound in pedagogy.
I often thought back to that
first TLM development training in 2007, which had been conceived with precisely
this gap in mind. Even then, it was clear to me that TLM development, though it
may appear simple on the surface, demands deep pedagogical understanding. It
requires a teacher to think carefully about the learner - about age, readiness,
curiosity, and cognitive growth - and to weave curriculum content and learning
objectives into something tangible, meaningful, and alive. It is intellectual
labour of a quiet but demanding kind.
The competition was therefore
designed not as a showcase, but as a learning experience. The intention was to
place tools back into teachers’ hands and allow them to engage, firsthand, in
the process of creating materials shaped by their own classrooms and the
children sitting before them each day. To ensure that this engagement was
genuine and sustained, it was decided that every participating teacher would
submit two entries for each subject and class level.
We knew what this would mean -
an overwhelming number of submissions, models, games, and handmade resources,
and the logistical challenge of space, display, and evaluation. Yet, we
accepted this willingly. The scale was not excessive; it was a necessity. If
teachers were to truly learn by doing, there could be no shortcuts. And so, it
was decided that every hall of the District Institute of Education and Training
would be opened up for the purpose, transforming the campus into a living
gallery of teachers’ thought, effort, and imagination.
Just when everything seemed carefully aligned, the schedule shifted unexpectedly. The Chief Guest advanced the date of the event by six days, rescheduling it for the 5th of March 2021. The change came abruptly, and with it a wave of pressure washed over both the academic team at DIET and the organising machinery of the District Education Office. The program calendar we had painstakingly finalised during earlier meetings was suddenly rendered obsolete.
There was no time for hesitation. Word
had to travel fast. All blocks were immediately informed of the revised
timelines. Teaching–Learning Material entries, along with the lists of
participating teachers and the supporting video documentation, now had to reach
DIET between the 28th of February and the 3rd of March. The judging process
itself had to be compressed and reimagined - organised in shifts, with two
blocks evaluated each day. The halls of DIET, which had only just begun to
fill, now buzzed with heightened urgency and quiet determination.
Anticipating the demands ahead,
multiple committees were constituted nearly a fortnight before the event, each
entrusted with a specific responsibility. We consciously decided that the
programme would be organised largely through voluntary contributions from the
staff of the South District Education Department and Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan. It
was our way of nurturing convergence - not merely between schemes and offices,
but among people working toward a shared purpose.
Financially, we chose to tread
carefully and creatively. Expenses for prizes, mementoes, certificate printing,
half the cost of setting up eight stalls and a stage at Central Park, and lunch
for twenty invited dignitaries on the day of the programme were met through SSA
funds. The remaining requirements were planned to be covered through sponsorships,
a leap of faith that reflected both constraint and confidence.
What carried us through those
compressed days was not an abundance of time or resources, but a collective
resolve. Across committees and offices, people stepped forward willingly,
giving more than was asked, working late, and holding the vision steady. In
that shared effort, the event began to feel less like an administrative task
and more like a communal undertaking - driven by belief, cooperation, and the
quiet determination to see something meaningful through to the end.
As the head of the office, I felt it
was only right that I step beyond files and formalities and begin reaching out
personally to local stakeholders and small entrepreneurs. By then, the event
had ceased to feel like a routine official programme; it had grown into a
shared mission, one that called for goodwill as much as organisation. We
decided that the ten finest Teaching–Learning Materials from each block would
be showcased in dedicated stalls, arranged block-wise, while the remaining
entries would be displayed in the open space around them. With eight blocks
participating, eight stalls were planned, making the construction of stalls and
a stage for the guests our most pressing expenses.
One moment from those days continues to
warm my heart. I reached out to Mr Palden Lepcha, a young entrepreneur from
Bikmat village, well known locally for setting up pandals. I explained our
situation and the purpose behind the event, unsure of what response I might
receive. Without hesitation, he agreed to support us at half the usual cost - simply
on my request. His gesture was more than financial relief; it felt like a quiet
affirmation that the cause itself had touched a chord.
Support flowed in from many directions
after that. Namchi New Secondary School and Namchi Senior Secondary School
generously offered plastic chairs and more than five hundred tables to display
the Teaching–Learning Materials at Central Park. DIET, Namchi, along with local
residents, stepped forward to provide furniture for the stage. The Block
Education Officers willingly took responsibility for sponsoring lunch for
teachers from their respective blocks. Even the DIET trainees joined in,
becoming our young brigade of volunteers, guiding and ushering participating
teachers with an energy that lifted everyone’s spirits.
Looking back, what stands out is not
the logistics we managed, but the spirit with which people came together. Each
contribution, small or large, carried a sense of ownership. It was as if the
event no longer belonged to an office or an officer, but to a community that
believed, collectively, in celebrating teachers and the quiet craft of
teaching.
What moved me most, and still lingers
in my heart, was the quiet yet unwavering dedication of the teachers
themselves. Headteachers and teachers from every corner of the South District
did not merely attend the event - they owned it. There was no provision for TA
or DA, and yet they came willingly, bearing their own expenses, some arriving
as early as five or six days before the programme began.
They came not out of obligation, but
out of belief. Their presence carried a rare sincerity, a sense that this was our
collective effort, not someone else’s directive. That voluntary spirit - so
natural, so unspoken - infused the entire event with warmth and purpose. For
me, it became the true heart of the programme, a living reminder of what
educators can achieve when they gather not for incentives, but for meaning,
dignity, and shared commitment.
As scheduled, the first lot of
Teaching–Learning Materials (TLMs) began arriving at the DIET hall on February
28th-two blocks delivered their bundles that day, followed by
another two the next. Soon, the halls we had reserved for the collection began
to overflow. What we had initially imagined as a modest gathering of resources
had grown into a flood of creativity.
By the third day, the truth could no
longer be ignored - the DIET halls had reached their limit. Tables were full,
corners were crowded, and still the Teaching–Learning Materials kept arriving,
bundle after bundle, carried in with care and quiet pride. There was simply no
more room to breathe. We needed space, and we needed it immediately.
Without a moment to spare, I called the
Headmistress of Namchi New Secondary School, knowing its auditorium could hold
what DIET no longer could. She agreed without hesitation. I still remember
standing there later, in that wide hall, watching the steady procession of
charts, models, games, and handmade tools being laid out. Each piece told a
story - of late evenings, borrowed materials, and a teacher’s determination to
make learning visible.
I felt overwhelmed, yes - but also
deeply moved. This was not a problem of shortage; it was a problem of plenty.
And in public education, such moments are rare. They carry a quiet beauty of
their own, reminding us that when teachers are trusted and invited to create,
they respond not in halves, but in abundance.
The Principal of DIET entrusted the
immense responsibility of judging to four spirited and committed lady lecturers
- Ms Parumita Rai, Ms Bandana Chettri, Ms Martha Lepcha, and Ms Passang Lhamu
Bhutia. I can still picture their expressions when they first stood before the
sea of Teaching–Learning Materials laid out before them. There was a moment of
silence, where anxiety and resolve quietly met.
To choose “the best” from among
thousands of entries - many crafted around the same content, the same grade,
and the same learning objectives - was no ordinary assignment. Each TLM carried
the unmistakable imprint of its maker: hours of reflection, careful design, and
a teacher’s earnest desire to make learning real for children. As I watched the
judges move thoughtfully from table to table, I could not help but wonder how
one could ever quantify such dedication, or place ranks upon the labour of
hearts so deeply invested in their craft.
Yet the judges took the challenge
head-on. They worked tirelessly, day and night, segregating, sorting, and
cross-checking as per the selection guidelines. I still recall the voice
messages they sent me around midnight - voices weary, yet alive with resolve: “Sir,
we need your suggestion… should we proceed this way, or perhaps adjust the
criteria slightly?” Beneath their exhaustion, there was a spark, a quiet
pride in shouldering a task that seemed impossible at the start.
I know for certain they hardly slept
for four nights. Their tired laughter, their persistence, and their refusal to
compromise on fairness - all remain etched in my memory. Even today, when I
think back, I feel the weight of the pain they endured and, at the same time,
the warmth of their dedication. It was their invisible labour, their
uncelebrated resolve, that turned this event into a grand success.
The 5th March, the day of the event, unfolded like a vibrant festival of learning; unlike anything we had ever seen before. Namchi’s Central Park, nestled in the heart of South Sikkim’s district headquarters, transformed into a living classroom, alive with colour, creativity, and conversation. Every corner of the park was adorned with vivid and imaginative TLMs, each representing diverse subjects and curriculum themes. The air buzzed with educational chatter - joyful, purposeful, and rhythmic, echoing the spirit of primary classes' pedagogy.
Teachers
from schools of every category and location mingled freely, sharing ideas,
explaining their creations, and proudly discussing the learning outcomes they
hoped to achieve. Judges moved from stall to stall for the final-round
judgement, listening intently, posing questions, nodding thoughtfully - or at
times, shaking their heads in polite disagreement. A sense of anticipation
lingered as the clock neared 11 a.m. - the scheduled arrival of the chief
guest. The welcome committee stood poised, alert to every movement.
Suddenly, a surge of last-minute TLMs
began pouring in from the halls where they had been kept for first-round judgment
- an unexpected wave of creativity that seemed unstoppable. Within moments, the
extra tables brought in by trucks vanished beneath the ever-growing piles of
models and hand-crafted teaching tools. The stall and stage committees, who had
been working with steady confidence, now found themselves breathless,
scrambling to cope with the sheer volume.
Teachers, unwilling to let their
efforts go unseen, began to improvise. Some spread their exhibits carefully
along the tiled floor of the park; others carved out makeshift aisles in
corners no one had planned for, turning every available space into a miniature
classroom of imagination. What had started as a structured exhibition quickly
blossomed into something organic, spontaneous, alive.
By the time it all settled, Namchi
Central Park had been utterly transformed. Every corner was alive with colour -
origami fluttering gently in the breeze, models stacked with care, simple
no-cost/low-cost materials elevated into tools of learning. The park, usually a
place of leisure, now stood as a living museum of creativity, a festival ground
of teacherly dedication.
It was exactly 11 a.m. when the chief
guest arrived. Other dignitaries, including the Education Secretary, the
Director of SCERT, and officers from the Education Department's Head Office,
were already on the stage to welcome the chief guest. The rows of chairs neatly
arranged in the open space of Namchi Central Park fell silent as I stood to
deliver the welcome address. Standing before the honourable Member of
Parliament and many other dignitaries seated under the clear sky, I experienced
a strange mix of pride and poignancy. This was not just another formal speech -
it was, in many ways, my farewell note.
I began by reminding the audience that
this was the last month of my paid career as an educational worker. I spoke of
the initiatives that had shaped my journey - some begun out of sheer
conviction, some carried forward with a team of like-minded colleagues, and
some made possible through the responsibilities of the posts I held. Many of
these efforts, though meaningful, had never found their way into government programs.
Then, with a candid heart, I admitted
that after March I would no longer be able to shoulder these responsibilities
in the same way. Retirement, I said, would give me time to follow certain
unfulfilled dreams long set aside. But the initiatives I had nurtured with
passion and belief could not be left to fade away - they needed stronger
shoulders now, the firm support of the government, to grow and endure.
Looking out at the gathering, I urged
that the time had come for the state to claim these efforts as its own, to institutionalise
them as policy, and to carry them forward with renewed strength. Only then
could Sikkim truly rise in educational quality.
This TLM Development Competition was, in every sense, unprecedented. As the chief guest began touring the stalls, dozens of displays were still being arranged. Yet the enthusiasm never wavered. Amid the swirl of it all, the Hon’ble Member of Parliament leaned toward me and whispered, astonished:
“How did you pull this off? I couldn’t
even gather a modest crowd in MG Marg during the last book fair in Gangtok.”
Civil
society, too, had turned up in large numbers, and their astonishment was
palpable - over 6,000 TLMs were spread across the park, each one a testament to
the imagination and dedication of government schoolteachers. At one point
during the event, someone quietly shared with me a comment overheard from the
crowd: “Can government teachers also make this kind of teaching material?
Until now, we had only seen them with chalk and textbooks.”
That moment stayed with me. It wasn’t
just surprise - it was recognition. And as I stood there, absorbing the energy
and pride of the day, I suddenly remembered the date, March 5th, 2021, my 26th
day in the countdown to retirement after a long journey in educational service.
The realisation sent a ripple through me. Goosebumps. What a way to mark the
nearing end of a career - with a beginning of belief in what teachers are truly
capable of.
It was already late in the afternoon
when the moment everyone had been waiting for finally arrived. A quiet
electricity hung in the air as names were announced - of teachers and of blocks
that had carried the spirit of this month-long journey to its fullest
expression, transforming weeks of patient work into a shared moment of
recognition and pride.
The master of ceremonies, Mr Suraj Rai,
Deputy Director of Education, sensing the mood, paused thoughtfully before
speaking, allowing the suspense to grow among the crowd. One by one, the names
rang out:
“First Position - Mr Lewan Sharma,
Graduate Teacher, Tinik Chisopani Government Junior High School.
Second Position - Mr Nim Sangay Sherpa,
Primary Teacher, Tingrithang Government Junior High School.
Third Position - Ms Yamuna Poudyal,
Primary Teacher, Upper Tanak Government Junior High School.”
The response was immediate. A roar of
applause broke through, warm and unrestrained, as friends and colleagues
celebrated not just individual victories but the collective triumph of teachers
who had dared to innovate.
Then came the most awaited moment of
the day - a special prize for the overall best-performing TLM, carrying the
symbolic title Eureka. Sponsored by the principal of Namchi DIET, the
announcement was delivered with a flourish:
“And lastly, the Eureka prize goes to -
Mr Gay Tshering Bhutia, primary teacher, Namchi New Government Secondary
School!”
The crowd erupted once more, their
cheers echoing like a wave across the open ground of Central Park.
On that occasion, DIET Namchi and the
four tireless lady judges were also felicitated with letters of appreciation - a
gesture of gratitude that, though sincere, still felt inadequate compared to
the depth of their dedication.
Trophies were presented, mementoes
offered, and in that moment of shared pride, the event felt larger than the sum
of its parts. It was not just about prizes - it was about recognition, about
affirming the quiet labour of teachers and the collective spirit of entire
blocks. That afternoon, under the fading light, it felt as if teaching itself
had been given its rightful celebration.
Yet, beyond the awards and recognition,
what truly stood out was the joy radiating from every participating teacher.
Though prizes were symbolic - given that all teachers had, in essence, already
won - they expressed deep gratitude for the opportunity to step out of the
confines of their classrooms and bring their pedagogical creativity into the
public eye. For many, it was not just a competition but a moment of validation,
pride, and renewed purpose as educators.
The program ended with a vote of thanks
by Mr D.B. Rai, Deputy Director of Education.
What troubled me most was not what had
been celebrated, but what we could not afford to do. We had no certificates of
participation for the many teachers who had given their time, effort, and
imagination to this historic endeavour. A single sheet of paper—something
modest, something they could take home and preserve - felt like the bare
minimum of acknowledgement. Yet even that remained beyond our reach.
More painful still was the silence that
followed the contributions of the five exceptional TLM developers from each
block. Their creations had illuminated the stalls that day, drawing attention,
curiosity, and admiration. And yet, when the moment passed, they left without
any formal word of recognition.
Their work spoke loudly; our inability
to honour it spoke even louder to me. It was a sorrow I carried quietly - a
reminder that while ideas and creativity can flourish against all odds,
recognition too requires resources, and sometimes, those absences leave the
deepest wounds.
Just then, in that cloud of quiet
despair, something unexpected happened. As the Hon’ble Member of Parliament was
stepping down from the stage, he turned to me and silently handed me an
envelope. I thanked him, accompanied him to his vehicle parked near Central
Park, and after he drove away, I stood for a moment, unsure. Then, with
trembling fingers, I opened the envelope. Inside was a neatly stacked bundle of
₹500 notes - an unspoken gesture that
carried more meaning than words ever could.
Later that evening, after we had
wrapped up the final tasks and the crowd had dispersed, we found a quiet moment
to sit on a bench in Central Park. The place that had been so alive just hours
before now looked pale and deserted - no colours, no laughter, no buzz. It felt
as if the life had been drained from it, like a village plundered and left in
silence.
I counted the money - ₹50,000 tucked inside the envelope. It
was enough.
Enough to print commendation
certificates for the top five TLM developers from each block. Enough to prepare
participation certificates for every teacher who had contributed to the event
with such passion. Enough to formally felicitate the heads of Namchi New
Secondary School and Namchi Boys’ Senior Secondary School, whose unwavering
support had been instrumental. Enough to organise a modest yet meaningful
ceremony to honour the most outstanding among them.
Accordingly, a brief meeting was
convened the following day to discuss the proposal. The team welcomed the idea
with unanimous approval and further resolved that each of the top five TLM
developer teachers would be honoured with a framed commendation certificate. I
then handed over the envelope containing ₹50,000 to the budget management
committee to initiate the necessary arrangements.
Meanwhile, it was the final month of my
service, and I had several pending assignments to finish. I was also thinking
about hosting a Thanksgiving get-together for my office staff and the DIET
faculty to thank them for their untiring support, which had contributed to the
TLM Development Competition's great success and made it truly memorable.
Taking into account the limited time
and the logistical requirements for printing and preparations, it was decided
to hold the certificate ceremony on 5th April 2021. The Thanksgiving
get-together was scheduled for the same evening - an evening of gratitude,
laughter, and gentle goodbyes.
March 2021 felt like the shortest month
of my entire career. Before I could even grasp the moment, my official last day
had quietly come and gone. Yet, I found myself still walking through the
familiar doors of the office - unofficially, without any formal role, position,
or title, but with a heart that wasn’t quite ready to let go.
Much had taken root during my time as head - initiatives underway, plans still unfolding, files waiting to be carried forward. I returned not from obligation, but from care - a quiet sense of responsibility to ensure the handover was thoughtful, the transition smooth. I spent those days updating and supporting the officer who had stepped into my place, hoping to leave behind not just files, but clarity.
Questions continued to come - some from
above, some from below. I was still needed, even if only in the margins, and I
was glad to serve one last time. Amidst this, the certificate ceremony and the
Thanksgiving evening unfolded beautifully - simple, heartfelt closures to a
chapter that had meant so much.
The certificate ceremony took place in
the auditorium of Namchi Government Senior Secondary School. During the
ceremony, teachers and blocks who had secured positions in the District-level
No-cost/Low-cost TLM Development Competition were formally recognised with
certificates. Alongside them, the top five TLM developer teachers at the block
level were also honoured with appreciation certificates, a gesture that
celebrated not just winners, but the spirit of innovation and effort that had
carried the program forward.
That day, the heads of two schools, true
pillars of support, were invited to the stage: Mrs Indu Gyaltshen Gurung,
Principal-in-charge of Namchi Government Senior Secondary School, and Mrs Mamta
Subba, Headmistress of Namchi New Government Secondary School. Their steady and
unwavering support had quietly sustained the program at every step, and when
the moment came to felicitate them, it felt not only appropriate but profoundly
deserved.
The occasion was further enriched when
certificates of nomination for the National Teacher Award were conferred upon
Mrs Archana Mukhia, Principal of Jorethang Government Senior Secondary School,
and Mr Sura Kumar Sharma, Headmaster of Lingi Payong Secondary School. Their
recognition added a note of pride and inspiration to the occasion, reminding
everyone present of the heights that dedication to teaching could reach.
By now, I imagine readers may be
curious to know the names of those teachers who were conferred with
appreciation certificates during the ceremony. Their names deserve to be
written here, for they represent the quiet creativity and dedication that
shaped the very spirit of the program.
From Namchi Block:
·
Mr D.R.
Thapa, Primary Teacher, Goam Government Junior High School
·
Mr Tarun
Rai, Primary Teacher, Singithang Government Junior High School
·
Mrs Usha
Devi Rai, Primary Teacher, Salleybong Government Junior High School
From Namthang Block:
·
Mr Deepak
Sharma, Laboratory Attendant, Burul Government Secondary School
· Mrs
Chandra Kumari Gurung, Graduate Teacher (Gurung Language), Tingley Government
Secondary School
·
Miss
Ashika Gurung, Primary Teacher, Lower Perbing Government Junior High School
· Mr Sunil
Gurung, Primary Teacher, Rateypani Tilak Pradhan Memorial Government Senior
Secondary School
· Mr
Chentheo D. Lepcha, Primary Teacher (Lepcha Language), Politam Government
Primary School
From Poklok Nandugaon Block:
·
Mr Passang
Tshering Lepcha, Primary Teacher (Lepcha Language), Dhargaon Government Primary
School
·
Mrs Rekha
Subba, Headmistress, Barbotay Government Primary School
·
Mrs Sujata
Rai, Headmistress, Dhargaon Government Primary School
·
Mr Prakash
Chettri, Headmaster, Dong Ambotay Government Junior High School
From Ravangla Block (possibly
Ralong–CMR cluster, if I’m not mistaken):
·
Mr Dinesh
Rai, Primary Teacher, Ralong Lungsing Government Primary School
·
Miss
Albina Rai, Primary Teacher, CMR Jarrong Government Secondary School
· Mr Karma
Tshering Bhutia, Primary Teacher (Bhutia Language), CMR Jarrong Government
Secondary School
·
Mr R.D.
Rai, Primary Teacher, CMR Jarrong Government Secondary School
From Sikip Block:
·
Miss
Deepika Sharma, Primary Teacher, Lingyong Government Junior High School
·
Mr Laxuman
Rai, Primary Teacher, Gumpadara Government Primary School
·
Mr Abel
Gayom Targain, Primary Teacher, NTL Vok Government Senior Secondary School
·
Mr Sonam
Tshering Lepcha, Primary Teacher, NTL Vok Government Senior Secondary School
From Sumbuk Block:
· Mr Nim
Tshering Lama, Primary Teacher (Tamang Language), Melli Gumpa Government Senior
Secondary School
·
Miss
Jaycinth Lepcha, Primary Teacher, Ramabong Government Primary School
·
Mr Bhuwan
Singh Rai, Headmaster, Rolu Manpur Government Primary School
·
Mrs Junu
Bai Sharma, Primary Teacher, Begyani Government Primary School
·
Mr Indra
Bahadur Pradhan, Primary Teacher, Kartikay Government Junior High School
From Temi Tarku Block:
·
Mrs
Tseryeu D. Wangchuk, Primary Teacher, Ben Government Senior Secondary School
·
Mr Shiva
Kumar Pradhan, Primary Teacher, Amalay Government Junior High School
·
Mr Ugen
Palzor Bhutia, Primary Teacher, Temi Government Senior Secondary School
·
Miss
Anusha Sarki, Primary Teacher, Bermiok Passi Government Primary School
And finally, from Yangang Block:
·
Mr Rohit
Kumar Acharya, Primary Teacher, Lingi Payong Government Secondary School
·
Mr Ongdup
Lepcha, Primary Teacher (Lepcha Language), Badamtam Government Primary School
·
Mr Dawa
Pintso Lepcha, Primary Teacher, Badamtam Government Junior High School
·
Mr Phurba
Chopel Lepcha, Upper Satam Government Junior High School
- Miss Roma Sharma, Primary Teacher, Badamtam Government Junior High School
That day, as each name was called out,
the Namchi Senior Secondary School auditorium filled with applause. It was more
than the sound of hands meeting; it was an acknowledgement of the hours of
effort, the patience, and the spark of creativity poured into crafting teaching
materials from almost nothing. Each name carried weight - spoken aloud,
remembered, and cherished - as a symbol of the quiet revolution being led by
teachers at the grassroots. The chief guest of the day, Mr Bipin Chandra Rai, former
Deputy Director of Education, warmly congratulated the teachers present at the
certificate ceremony. Having retired only in January 2021, Mr Rai had already
stepped seamlessly into a new role - as one of the backbone volunteers in organising
the District-level No-cost/Low-cost TLM Development Competition. His presence
that day carried both the authority of his long service and the generosity of
his continued commitment.
To ensure that no one was overlooked,
the certificates, carefully signed, were sent to every school in the district
through their respective block heads. In the days that followed, photographs
began to arrive: teachers standing in their staffrooms and school corridors,
certificates held with quiet pride. Those images, shared by the schools
themselves, felt like the most fitting conclusion of all - a reminder that
recognition, when extended generously, travels far beyond the stage and settles
gently into everyday school life.
By now, my readers will have sensed how
the historic District-level No-Cost/Low-Cost TLM Development Competition came
into being - how it was first imagined, then carefully planned, and finally
brought to life through collective effort. They will also have noticed the care
taken to acknowledge every teacher, every contributor, and every well-wisher
who stood with us from beyond the District Education Office, lending their
time, trust, and encouragement.
Yet, as I turn these pages, I become
aware of a silence of my own making. I have not spoken enough about those who
formed the true backbone of this endeavour - my officer colleagues and staff,
who stood beside me at every step as ideas slowly moved from paper into action.
I had little to offer them in return. There were no trophies to hand out, no
formal citations, not even words sufficient to carry the weight of my
gratitude. In many ways, I found myself at a loss, humbled and quietly
speechless.
And so, in this space, I choose to do
the one thing that still feels honest and necessary. I wish to place on record
the names of those who organised and sustained the TLM Development Competition.
Their dedication, their quiet readiness to step into unfamiliar and pioneering
roles, and their unwavering commitment turned what could have been a simple
programme into something deeply meaningful.
I hope that readers will pause here and
take a moment to recognise these generous individuals from within the Education
Department - people who worked not for recognition, but from conviction; not
out of obligation, but with purpose; and above all, with an abiding belief that
change in education is always possible when people choose to stand together.
The team that stood behind the
District-level No-Cost/Low-Cost TLM Development Competition was never merely a
committee assembled through orders. Over time, it became something far deeper
and far more human - a circle of colleagues who slowly grew into a family,
bound not by designation or hierarchy, but by belief. What united us was a
shared conviction that something meaningful could be created if we trusted one
another and worked with sincerity. Their energy, imagination, and quiet
readiness to take responsibility breathed life into what had begun as a fragile
idea, transforming it into a collective effort that would leave a lasting
imprint on the educational journey of the district. As I write this now, I feel
a deep moral obligation to place their names on record, for they deserve to be
remembered not only for what they did, but for the spirit with which they did
it.
At the heart of this endeavour stood
the Core Committee - a group that carried vision and responsibility with rare
grace and steadiness. It comprised Mr B.C. Rai (Retired DDE), Mrs Mamta Subba
(Retired ADE), myself as Group Leader, Mr D.B. Rai (DDE), Mr Suraj Rai (DDE),
Mrs Indra Rai (ADE), Mrs Sunita Pradhan (ADE), Mrs Angella Chingapa
(Headmistress attached to the DEO), Mrs Rukmani Rai (Headmistress attached to
the DEO), Mrs Anjoo Subba (Accounts Officer), and Mrs Niruta Rai (Office
Superintendent). Each brought something unique to the table - wisdom earned
through years of service, administrative clarity, and, above all, a quiet faith
in the purpose we were pursuing. Beyond this core, the entire staff of the
District Education Office rose to the occasion whenever called upon, reminding
me that when work is guided by collective ownership, no task is too small and
no role insignificant.
The practical backbone of the programme,
its finances, was managed with remarkable care and precision by Mrs Anjoo
Subba, who served as Group Leader for budget management, ably supported by Ms
Brinda Gazmer, Accountant. Their diligence ensured that every decision
reflected the ethos of the initiative: simplicity, transparency, and trust. The
steady flow of communication, so vital to holding such an effort together, was
sustained by the Correspondence Committee under the leadership of Mr Mohan
Chettri (ADE), supported by Mr Bompu Bhutia (Headmaster attached to the DEO),
Mr Bikash Rai (AEI), Mr Dilip Chettri (LDC), and Mr Laxuman Manger (Office
Assistant). Their work, though largely unseen, stitched together the many
moving parts into a coherent whole.
The vibrancy and visible life of the
event found expression through the Stalls and Stage Committee, guided by Mr
Hemant Dhungel (Additional Project Coordinator). With him worked Mr Dikendra
Tamang (LDC), Mr Bikash Rai (AEI), Mr Mani Ch. Rai (Office Assistant), Mr
Soloman Rai (Driver), and Mr Thup Tshering Lepcha (Driver). Together, they
transformed ordinary spaces into welcoming arenas of creativity and exchange.
Equally vital was the warmth that greeted every guest - a warmth sustained by
the Reception, Tea, and Snacks Committee led by Mrs Kamala Rai, with Mrs Sonam
Ongmu Lepcha (Office Superintendent), Ms Nirmala Rai (HA), Mr Sawandeep Rai
(LDC), Mrs Esha Rai (LDC), and Mr Amardeep Manger (Office Assistant). Their
quiet hospitality reminded everyone present that care and courtesy are as
essential to education as ideas and innovation.
The programme’s technical strength
rested with the Sound System and Video Screening Committee, comprising Mr
Roshan Rai (MIS), Mr Prakash Chettri (LDC), and Mr Ashit Subba (LDC), who
ensured that every voice was heard and every moment shared. The Press and Media
Committee carried the spirit of the event beyond the confines of the venue,
allowing it to speak to a wider public. This committee was led by Mr Udai Subba
(Teacher attached to the Accounts Section), supported by Mr C.P. Ghimirey, Mr
S.M. Tamang, and Mr Kailash Rai, all Accountants, who understood that such
efforts deserve to be seen, acknowledged, and remembered.
One of the most joyous moments of the
day, the distribution of prizes, was organised with great care and sensitivity
by the Prize Distribution Committee under the guidance of Mrs Kamala Tamang
(AEO). She was supported by Mrs Seden Sonam (AEO), Mrs Angila Bhutia (BRC), Ms
Jyoti Rai (LDC), Mrs Senshila Rai (Accountant), Mrs Mokshika Rai (LDC), and Mrs
Pema Lhamu Bhutia (Resource Teacher). Their work ensured that recognition was
offered not merely as a reward, but as an affirmation. Public outreach and
visibility were further strengthened by the Publicity and Advertisement
Committee, once again steered by Mr Hemant Dhungel, with Mr Sangey Dorjee
Bhutia (Computer Operator) and Mr Roshan Rai lending their expertise. Finally,
the fleeting moments of that remarkable event were preserved for posterity by
the Videography Team, led by Mr Hemant Dhungel and supported by Mr Sangey
Dorjee Bhutia.
The organisation of the
No-Cost/Low-Cost TLM Development Competition came to mark an unprecedented
moment in the history of school education in Sikkim. For me, it remains my
final - and perhaps boldest - professional act: a conscious decision to step
beyond the familiar comfort of government policies and prescribed programmes,
and to enter a space where conviction had to walk ahead of certainty, where
courage mattered as much as compliance, and where creativity was trusted to
find its own way.
What began outwardly as a competition
soon revealed itself to be something far larger and far more alive. It became a
quiet yet powerful reminder to civil society that educational administrators
are not meant to remain confined to cautious recommendations or safe
suggestions framed within rigid systems. There are moments when they, too, must
step forward - accept responsibility, act with clarity of intent, and lead not
from behind files and notes, but from the front, with faith in people and
purpose.
In truth, this initiative was never
merely about teaching - learning materials. At its core, it was about belief - belief
in teachers as thinkers and creators, belief in collective effort, and belief
in the transformative power of trust. It was a bold stroke on the evolving
canvas of education in Sikkim, a chalk line drawn not only to signal
innovation, but to affirm the quiet strength of leadership: the strength to
reimagine what might be possible, to act even when certainty is absent, and to
invite others to walk forward together with shared resolve.
Looking back now, I realise that what
made this initiative truly historic was not its scale, nor its novelty, but the
collective heart that sustained it. The names recorded here in gratitude
represent more than roles or responsibilities. They stand for a shared moment
in time - when conviction met cooperation, when quiet leadership found its voice,
and when together we drew a meaningful chalk line on the wall of Sikkim’s
educational history.
&
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