On a rainy Mumbai morning, in a classroom, I noticed Sangeeta. She was there for Sampoorna Shiksha’s teacher training program, which I was facilitating for community centre teachers from Stri Mukti Sanghatna. While most participants were engaged in a session on how to use flashcards to teach language, Sangeeta kept slipping in and out of the classroom, phone pressed to her ear.
At first, I assumed she was distracted. But I later learnt she was helping one of her students' families, rushing to secure a government hospital bed for a sick child.
When she returned, slightly worried, she sat down and picked up right where she had left off, sharing examples, asking sharp questions, laughing with her peers. The juxtaposition struck me: this woman, expected to "help with homework," was navigating public health systems, safeguarding her community, and still showing up as a curious learner eager to improve her teaching.
Sangeeta is not an exception. She is one of thousands of women across India who are the invisible scaffolding of education.
The true job description
According to the Annual Status of Education Report (ASER) 2023, less than half of Grade 3 children in India can read a Grade 2-level text. Policymakers often call this a "schooling crisis", but in low-income neighbourhoods, the crisis has always been bigger than schools alone. Here, education happens in community halls, under tin roofs, or in one-room centres run by local women like Sangeeta.
Their job description may not seem impactful, but the reality is far more layered. They are:
Caregivers, ensuring children are safe until parents return from work.
First responders, connecting families with government services and local networks in times of crisis.
Cultural custodians, weaving local stories and practices into learning.
Social anchors, building trust with families who might otherwise feel alienated by formal schooling systems.
Yet, because their role is not formally recognised, they remain underpaid, undertrained, and largely invisible in education discourse.
When community teachers are undervalued, children lose out. Their classrooms shrink into homework drills instead of spaces for play and exploration.
Think back to Sangeeta - to call her a “homework helper” is not just inaccurate, it’s unjust. What’s framed as “supplementary” work is actually the first line of defence against dropouts, disengagement, and alienation. Recognising their role is not charity, but it’s a strategy.
The National Education Policy (NEP) 2020 calls for joyful, experiential, and inclusive education, delivered in the child’s mother tongue. Who is better placed to embody this than women from the same community who are already fluent in the local language, culture, and realities?
What would it take to unlock their potential?
The answer is not at all complicated; it lies in the everyday realities of their work.
Clarity of role: Community teachers need to know they are more than homework supervisors. When expectations are reframed to you are an educator, a mentor, and a cultural guide, their practice will begin to shift.
A seat at the table: Too often, decisions about education bypass those closest to the children. Inviting community teachers into school meetings, parent gatherings, or local education forums signals that their voice matters, and once they are seen as part of the system, their authority grows.
Training/Professional development: What they need is not high-cost technology or long lectures, but practical, ongoing training. Bite-sized strategies they can try immediately, repeat, and adapt.
Cultivating awareness among parents & families: Families, too, must begin to see them as teachers. When parents recognise that their neighbour is not just keeping kids busy, but actively shaping their growth, the teacher’s influence multiplies.
The ripple effect
Supporting community teachers isn’t only about boosting test scores. The ripple effects are wider:
Girls witness role models who expand what women in their neighbourhoods can aspire to.
Parents build faith in education when a trusted neighbour bridges the gap between home and school.
Communities cultivate leaders who hold space for care, dialogue, and problem-solving.
When Sangeeta stepped out of training to help a child’s family find a hospital bed, she wasn’t just being "helpful". She was exercising leadership, empathy, and advocacy, the very qualities we claim are essential for 21st-century learning.
I still remember something she said quietly during a break: “Bachchon ko sirf padhana nahin hai, unka saath bhi dena hai” (It’s not just about teaching children, it’s about standing by them). That, to me, is the essence of education.
To dismiss community centre teachers as "homework helpers" is to misunderstand what education truly requires. To recognise them as educators is to expand our imagination of who gets to teach and what teaching looks like on the ground.
The truth is simple: Sangeeta is already a teacher. The question is, when will we start calling her one?
[Ruchika Thakkar is a Teach for India alum. Views expressed are personal]
