Variants of such comments are commonly heard in school canteens and playgrounds. Do teachers’ children really have it so easy because of their parents? Don’t they have to work hard at their studies or follow disciplinary rules? And what about the teacher as parent? How does that double role play out in real life? The wearer knows where the shoe pinches, goes the old saying. We interacted with a few teachers’ children and teachers themselves, and found that their situation is quite contrary to the kind of popular beliefs mentioned above. It is tough being a teacher’s child, and the challenges are numerous.

Sharmila and Shantharam (Shanthu) are siblings who studied at Madhava Kripa School at Manipal, Karnataka. Their mother Shyla Rao taught at the same school. “My mother was not very different at school. She was strict and used to hit me at the drop of a hat at home; she did the same at school. I was not let off the hook at all. In fact, she used to be extra strict with me to avoid being accused of nepotism. My friends felt quite sorry for me,” says Sharmila.

Sreevidya Surendran, who studied at the Gulf Indian School in Kuwait, says that her mother Anuradha was always very conscious of the fact that she was teaching her children – Sreevidya and her brother Shreejith. “Amma could not be too comfortable, since that could have been taken as favouritism. One is always a little tough on one’s own children than the rest. In my mum’s class, I was never allowed to slacken. ”

Sharmila’s mother Shyla agrees that as a teacher, she had to make a conscious effort not only to avoid any partial feelings towards her children, but nip them in the bud. At home, she was amma; at school, she was Shyla teacher. She recalls how her son once called out to her as, “Teacher! Teacher!” when at home and immediately added, “Oh God! I forgot this isn’t school!” She taught her daughter for five months, and her son for two and a half years. Shyla says that it was not difficult for her to balance the roles of teacher and parent, because she is a practical person.

“When a ball thrown by Shanthu was lost, the other kids were wondering if he would escape the fine. But I bought a new ball the next day, and made him give it to the headmaster. Once he was part of a gang that had misbehaved, and all the children were to be punished. Shanthu was the first to receive the punishment,” recalls Shyla. She would refuse to judge events that her children participated in. When her son was in Class III, his friends said that he was lucky to be a teacher’s child, since he could peep into the question paper and score full marks. When Shanthu didn’t make the expected mark, the loose talk died down. “This built up my reputation as one of the most fair and impartial teachers in school,” says Shyla. Once in a while, she does wonder if her overzealous efforts to be perceived as impartial put her children at a disadvantage. This is a reality that teachers’ children often have to live with.

Anuradha says that she had cautioned her children never to do anything that would make the teachers complain. She recognises that the children must have felt pressurised and even irritated when they were expected to be more meticulous than other students especially in terms of uniform, hairstyle, etc. Anuradha adds, “My colleagues did talk to me about my children. I expected them to anyway. Thankfully, their comments were not in anger or irritation but as timely warnings or helpful suggestions when my children slipped up.” Anuradha thinks that a parent who is a teacher has the advantage of knowing where her child stands in terms of aptitude and interests; and one also feels less guilty about leaving the children unattended or in the care of domestic help as other working mothers have to do. Her children’s school time and holidays coincided with her own, and Anuradha saw that was a huge advantage.

Meenaa Sampat taught at Jamnabai Narsee School in Mumbai while her daughter studied there and a little after that. She used to work as a designer with an export firm, but became a teacher so that she could be with her daughter Dhvaani and attend to the child’s needs in her formative years. “In the early years of schooling, it is good to have one’s parent around. I agree that the advantage was more on my side. I would immediately know if my daughter had faltered,” says Meenaa. “It was really nice to have my mother as a teacher in my school. I could travel with her, and I always had her at hand,” Dhvaani says in agreement.

Both Meenaa and Dhvaani admit that things change as the child grows older though. Teenagers are in the process of developing a self-identity, and there is often a felt need to break away from parental supervision. “Teenagers want their freedom. They don’t like parents being around all the time,” says Meenaa. Her daughter confesses to the same. Dhvaani remembers getting quite troubled by the burden of expectations thrust upon her. She says, “Other teachers would threaten to complain to my mother. They would say ‘How can you behave like this?’ even when it was not a big deal. It felt like I was being monitored all the time. I wasn’t this prim and proper girl, but I was expected to be perfect. I was supposed to set an example.” Meenaa adds that her daughter was told that she ought to know how to behave; that was the baggage that came with being a teacher’s child. Every little mistake of Dhvaani’s was magnifi ed, even things that would have been overlooked if done by another child. Sharmila and Shantharam faced the same problem; so did Sreevidya.

Sreevidya was taught not only by her mother, but her aunt and uncle as well – all at the same school. While talking to her, I realise that teachers’ children perhaps miss out on all the fun and mischief that is an integral part of school life for many children. “I was very conscious of being a teacher’s child. I had certain extra responsibilities. I had to be a good student. I could never be lax about my studies. Else, people would go – Oh my God! She’s a teacher’s child… Look at her! I could never slip up. It was like having 20 mothers and fathers, everyone making a special effort to pick on me,” she says. Anuradha points out that her daughter Sreevidya had few friends in school and probably missed a lot of fun because she lived up to the standards of being a teacher’s child.

Sreevidya could not bring herself to do the fun things that bind students – like copying homework or tests, making fun of teachers, etc. However, Sreevidya’s brother Shreejith who studied in the same school has many friends, and Anuradha is surprised how. “My son does not copy, but he doesn’t get great marks either. He imitates most of his teachers even in front of them and gets away with it. While my daughter probably understood my ideas and behaved suitably, my son never considered such caution necessary. He would behave just like he did at home, showing the same intimacy and familiarity. I suppose I let him and got used to it myself. It happened also because he was similarly informal with all his other teachers as well. Perhaps after seeing my elder child’s plight, I didn’t set such high standards for him,” says Anuradha.

Being a teacher’s child can turn into a label that the child just cannot shrug off, however hard he or she may try. This can be very frustrating. It is almost as if being a teacher’s child is the only form of recognition that the child can ever get; and that he or she is incapable of doing anything worthwhile on his or her own merit. Sharmila shares a personal experience. Even when she shifted schools, and got admitted to a place where she did not have her mother to turn to, her Mathematics teacher kept insisting that Sharmila performed well only because her mother Shyla taught her at home. Sharmila resented this because her mother never taught her at home. Anuradha also mentions that a teacher’s child is sometimes exposed to unfair treatment by classmates, even when the child wins prizes or scores higher marks.

Despite the challenges faced by teachers and children, there is sometimes a bright side to look at. Sreevidya says that a teacher’s child has the advantage of knowing what teachers go through. When her friends talked about the teachers they disliked and why they did so, Sreevidya was not able to participate. She, therefore, found it difficult to connect with her peer group.

“When someone condemned a teacher, I would say – She is working so hard for you. Why are you being so ungrateful? I knew those teachers as persons. I knew they were really nice people… In any case, it’s a good life being a teacher’s child. It makes you richer. You can be nutty and completely mad, but you retain a core of seriousness that brings out the mature side in you.”

While the answers to these questions are complex, the search for clear answers must not delay or limit our effort to respond. How can we, as professionals who deal with young people, who are in a position to influence attitudes and to some extent, behaviors, do something about it? Aman Kachru, the student victim of this most recent headline-worthy report of ragging, apparently irked the seniors to an extreme because he refused to submit to the indignities and he protested. The point of ragging is to “initiate” new members into a closed society, a process by which designated outsiders become accepted insiders. Even without the process of ragging children – and all people – have a sense of being in or out of a group, of a community, or a society. Perhaps as teachers and vigilant adults we need to watch out for early signs of “groupism” that goes beyond certain limits. We need to talk about such incidents and get children to recognize that seemingly innocent “fun” such as teasing and gentler initiation routines/traditions can sometimes get out of hand.

While group identity and belonging may be a necessary part of life, it is important to keep in mind that not belonging is also okay, and it is a right that we must protect, for ourselves and for others.