Being able to finally pen down this essay gives me so much joy! The longing to bring this idea to life has been brewing for the last couple of years, but honestly, the journey started way back when, as a high schooler, I wrote a policy memo to the Ministry of Education, and now more than a decade later, it reflects in the new National Education Policy of 2020.
So, who am I? Born in the 'burbs of Bombay, raised by a banker dad and a veena enthusiast mom who, to pursue their ambition, moved from a quiet little town nestled in south India to the megacity that never sleeps.
I'm an architecture buff with a knack for building digital products, and I care deeply about positive social systems, especially the effect of physical and digital spaces on human behavior and social interactions.
By the way, you can call me Venkata or Venca if you're from East Asia. Venca? Well, it's a funny story — remind me about it when we meet IRL.
Note: The following section is my personal story giving you a glimpse of what motivated me to start ForwardEd. It’s a 20-minute read, so grab a cup of cappuccino or chai latte and read on. But, if you're more interested in knowing what ForwardEd is all about and how you can be a part of this exciting community, feel free to skip and scroll down to the Quick Intro section.
The 'curious' beginnings
To understand my deep passion for positive educational outcomes and its ability to propel the human spirit, allow me to take you on a journey — starting with three individuals who unknowingly shaped my childhood and teenage learning experiences. Think of these stories as a peek into what the next decade in education holds.
Say hello to Arora uncle, Medha ma'am, and my beloved Jagadeesh Mamaiya.
Cut to the late nineties; yours truly is five, and we lived in a gated township in Bombay with hundreds of families of various origins from across the country who called these apartments their new homes.
These ambitious yet neighborly folks left their hometowns filled with hope and brought along with them their value systems, cultural practices, and culinary diversity.
I remember the evenings of my early childhood — buzzing corridors and lively play parks with several dozen kids playing several dozen games, aunties gossiping about the latest episode of their favorite TV series and uncles (or should I call them armchair political geniuses) with their passionate current event debates.
Our common spaces were a great representation of a chirpy third place, and I believe everyone looked forward to spending their evening hours together. We loved being together so much that we just needed excuses to celebrate each others' presence — religion, culture, no bar!
Amma tells me I started walking when I was 7 months old — I guess I didn't want to miss out on the fun!
So, why did I spend the last couple of minutes telling you about my childhood? Well, a safe, joyful environment exposing me to these unique people and experiences was fundamental to my early childhood development that set a solid foundation to foster my innate curiosity.
Act I — The Arora Adventure
Now, back to the story, amongst these wonderful people were the Aroras and my favorite Deepak Chandra Arora — an IIT Kharagpur alum who became known for his engineering chops building probably the best conveyor belts the country has seen.
Although his business office and manufacturing plants were a few miles away, he had set up his home office in the flat right opposite ours.
The five-year-old me never felt that his office was not my home — I would just walk in with my teddy tucked in my arms, spending hours attending business meetings sitting on Arora uncle's lap, staring at massive charts of engineering drawings and business models (tbh, I had no clue what they were back then) and of course, sharing my valuable feedback with deep-red crayons (phew! thank god they were erasable).
The family-like bond that made Arora uncle extend his warmth, letting me hang out and continue my shenanigans, had an unintended consequence — the more time I spent at his office, the more I learned and gained an acumen subconsciously. He would answer all my silly, curious questions with utmost patience and with no expectation in return.
This adventure continued for the next six-odd years until our family moved to a new city.
What I do today has its origins in this pure, innocent relationship we shared, for which I'm ever grateful for.
Act II — Merlin to junior high me
Did I tell ya that my dad's a banker!? — so we ended up switching cities every few years (I've lived in more than half a dozen cities so far), and this time I landed in Hyderabad — the city of pearls, Nawabi lifestyle, and lip-smacking biryani.
Throughout middle school, I was a decent student but lacked deep passion for any of the subjects I learned — until the day I attended Medha mam's class.
The approach to education during my schooling years was primarily focused on fact-based learning and the ability to recall in standardized assessments. It's the way that was widely accepted and not questioned by many — except for a few and among those was Medha mam.
She taught social sciences focusing on civic education with a unique approach for that time — something that we call today the flipped classroom strategy.
She expected her students to be inquisitive, to question the facts and be willing to defend one's opinions openly with logic and rationale. No points for guessing, but this became my favorite class, and I guess I became her favorite student (some might argue that it was both Eshwar and me, but I strongly disagree!)
I would frequently skip sports and yoga periods and end up in the staff room, sitting next to her, reading not just the textbooks but books written by renowned subject-matter experts and having candid conversations while she prepared study plans and evaluated answer sheets. She would give me 'extra' homework’, and I would spend hours in the evening in front of my computer scouring the internet and share my findings with her the next day.
She is the one who introduced me to scientific inquiry for both objective and subjective knowledge — again, as I look back, I owe a good part of my career and the way I lead my life in general to her for nurturing my curiosity and giving me the knowledge of tools to express it.
Thank you, Medha mam, you will always be my favorite and … Eshwar, back off!
Act III — Meeting a superhuman in disguise
So, this time, we time travel to my high school years — yes, we moved again, and it's my parent's hometown, a small coastal city known for its centuries-old temples, flamingo festival and ghee karam dosas.
For someone who has resided in metropolitans all his life, Nellore is a city that feels like it's stuck in a time warp — nothing much has changed since my parents left the city decades ago — this slow-paced city lives in its own microcosm untethered by the rapid progress of the rest of the world around it.
What brings us to Nellore? Well, my Akka decided to pursue her master’s here, and my parents felt it would be a good idea to have both siblings in the same city.
So, Amma, Akka, and I moved from Hyderabad to our 80-year-old ancestral townhouse situated on the busy streets of Nawabpet, a bustling commercial and business center of the city.
What was fascinating about this house was the moment you closed the doors and windows that faced the main street, the street noise magically disappeared, and the calm revealed these intimate, cozy spaces where my mother, along with her six siblings, spent their childhood in.
All seven of 'em born and raised under these beautiful teak-wood ceilings, playing caught-and-escape on the red-oxide flooring of the verandah, star-gazing from the back garden and pestering my grandma impatiently to serve the yum yum delicacies she was world-famous for (well, at least amongst the relatives).
As time passed, they left the nest, one by one, moving away from the city, some even moving to other countries. They built new homes, a new world and this home was left with just sweet memories.
Except for one, who, even though had spent four decades living in more than thirty countries, would always fly back to this home that bought him a sense of calm and true belonging. This was his safe place, his one true home.
And his name was Dr Anumakonda Jagadeesh, my maternal uncle (Mamaiya in my mother tongue Telugu) and a superhuman in disguise.
The world knew him as a distinguished scientist and a celebrated professor known for his contributions in the fields of wind energy and biofuels. An IIT Roorkee alum who was nominated as a Member of the Sigma Xi Society and Fellow of the Royal Meteorological Society; served as a working member at MIT Media Lab Programme and UN Foundation for Sustainable Energy for All, among several other international positions and accolades.
Spending almost all evening hours of my highschool years at his home office, I witnessed the inner workings of this man's exceptional curiosity, relentless grit, and work ethic that made him successful — his innate drive that seemingly made him younger, every passing day.
To me, home offices are such unique spaces to witness as one unleashes one's true self without the facade of aesthetics and self-restraint to host others — it's intimate, it's messy, it's an extension of your mind, it's a symphony that only you understand.
Okay, give me a few more minutes to help you understand why this was such an important phase of my life.
So, it's been about a couple of weeks since we moved to Nellore, and everything feels different. I'm not able to relate to my classmates, be it the cultural differences or the world views; the broadband folks are taking ages to process the connection request — I was feeling a void, unsure of what the next couple of years hold.
Back from school, it's early evening, and I was on our verandah staring at the passing vehicles and street vendors — waiting for the sun to set and prepping my school bag for the next day … #smallcitylife
My mum handed me a cup of hot chocolate and said, "why don't you go upstairs and say hi to your uncle? He returned from the US yesterday". Honestly, I was disinterested (you all know the typical relative talk we all wish to avoid!) and said, "yeah, maybe later".
You see, my mumma knows me well. She took the empty cup from my hands and murmured, "your wish … just to let you know, I think he has internet."
Well, in no time, I, with a gleam in my eyes, was upstairs knocking on his door. His wife, Sarada aunty opened the door — I pointed my fingers up and asked, "Is Mamaiya upstairs?" She nodded and showed me the way to his home office.
I have met Jagadeesh Mamaiya once or twice before, but I was too young to understand what he really did. All I knew he was a scientist and everyone in the family called him 'scooter mamaiya' because he loved going on scooter rides whenever he was back in the city.
As I enter his home office, I see a computer desk overflowing with files and science magazines, walls cocooned with full-length bookshelves, a bed for power naps, and several cartons on the floor filled with more books and more files. Right opposite this room was an open terrace where he had his roof garden and a single outdoor chair to enjoy the serene coastal evenings.
Mamaiya was typing an email and asked me to sit next to him. I pulled the wooden stool and sat down, staring at his computer screen with utmost anticipation — waiting for him to finish his email, getting my hands on the computer, logging into Facebook and chatting with my good 'ol friends from Bombay and Hyderabad. Ooo, what bliss!
You see, the thing is, it was not an email … it was an email list. A list of 500-odd high profile contacts he would regularly send emails to, sharing the latest in the world of science and tech, his research updates and his conference experiences. He had been doing this long before the newsletter economy was even a thing!
He looked at me and said it might take about 40-45 minutes to finish his work. I said, "no problem!" with a big fake smile and, out of boredom, picked up the magazine lying next to me. If I remember correctly, it was the Nature journal.
I started by skimming through the pages — but the more I read, the more I slowed down. I was amazed by the research breakthroughs and all these new inventions and discoveries that no one in school ever mentioned about. By the time Mamaiya finished his work, I was engrossed in the journal — he later told me he saw a spark in my eyes that day, and I'm so glad he did.
Half hour later, he tapped on my shoulder and pointed I could now use the computer. I spent the next hour liking posts and chatting with my friends, and when I was about to leave, I asked if I could borrow the magazine? He nodded, and I spent a good part of the night reading it in awe and amazement that I don't remember feeling before.
The next day, sorry evening (remember, I'm 17, I have school to attend), I showed up at his place again, but the room looked a bit different. The cartons were all gone except for one.
Mamaiya, again in front of his computer, this time on one of his favorite sites, Yale Environment 360, asked me to grab the carton and go through it. There were a bunch of science magazines, memorabilia from his conference visits and a hardbound notebook.
He asked me to read up the magazines, pick a couple of articles that I found interesting and write a small memo summarizing the said articles.
You see, I was the kind of student who never brings homework 'home', and I was mostly free in the evenings … so why not? I was more than happy to try it out.
I picked up the carton, landed in my room and for the next few days, I’M ON AN ADVENTURE! I'm discreetly reading these magazines during school hours, penning down notes in my pocket notebook as I eat my lunch, skipping my favorite TV shows and game nights to write the memo — and finally, a week later, I show up in his room with my writings but this time with a genuine, heartfelt smile.
Of all the stuff I read, I was spellbound by the research and technology breakthroughs in renewable energy and sustainable farming. And guess who was the subject matter expert in these fields — Mamaiya! — I guess it's in the genes man!
I showed him my notes and the memo, and I still vividly remember when he said, "Somehow, I had this feeling that you have a knack for scientific writing. You have a long way to go, but this is a good first memo. How about this? Do you want to join my think tank and work alongside me?"
That moment, that gut feeling, that opportunity, changed my life's trajectory. A seventeen-year-old getting a chance to work with one of the greatest minds, call it luck, fate — I was excited beyond words!
The next fourteen months were a pure adventure. I joined him as a part-time research analyst, and my job was to summarize research publications and write executive memos for the non-scientific audience.
I would tag along with him visiting conferences and award ceremonies — meeting people who were stalwarts in their fields, be it the top researchers, business leaders, UN directors, politicians and observe how all of them came together, bringing different viewpoints and agendas trying to solve a common challenge. It was truly a magical ride for this curious teenager to witness.
With all the work and time away from school, my parents couldn't find a reason to ask me to stop doing this as somehow, I managed to study and still be one of the top students in my class even after spending several all-nighters working on the executive memos and proposals.
But hands-down, the best time I had was working alongside him at his home office — back from school, I would freshen up and quickly rush upstairs to spend the rest of the evening until midnight struck, and my mum would have called for the sixth time, but this time on his landline so that we can't avoid the call, to send me downstairs.
The evening starts with a roof garden walk — he with his filter coffee and I with my hot chocolate — I would share the updates of what I had worked on, and he would be watering the houseplants while sharing feedback on what I can improve.
After a quick 20-minute walk, we are back indoors, and I start working on improving my memos. While writing, I would observe how his mind works through his browser tabs.
Here's how it goes — he comes across a new scientific publication, and within a few seconds, he would recall related publications from the past, sometimes spanning decades ago; multiple new browser tabs pop open of SpringerLink or Google Scholar, he speedreads the papers to understand what has evolved and what shortcomings still persist, share his thoughts with the fellow researchers, make notes for future reference … now, onto the next publication.
Imagine spending all evening doing this, sharing at least half a dozen detailed reviews by midnight and then waking up early in the morning, heading to the university to pursue his own research and guide his grad and PhD students.
What makes this man, in his mid-60s, who had a successful international career with enough accumulated wealth to spend an extremely comfortable retirement, work every day like his life depends on it?
The closest answer I could find when I look back as a young adult was that his curiosity and grit made him feel alive. Challenging himself every day gave him a child-like joy that many of us, as we grow older, tend to stray away from.
There were times I just couldn't write anymore and felt like giving up — call it a brain fog, writer's block — he would sense my frustration and say, "Not in the zone? Go take a break, do something else and then come back. Taking a break is an option, giving up is not."
And it always worked! A few hours (sometimes a few days if it's an important, detailed proposal) away from my work, strolling around the city streets, especially the lovely flower market next to the bus depot and biking through the green patches under the beautiful evening sun rays, just observing, not thinking of anything, just … living the moment. When I returned, I was reinvigorated, and my next set of iterations was always far more superior.
This idea of forcing creativity and innovation out of individuals in constrained, stuffy indoor environments sounds extremely superficial to me — without igniting true curiosity and grit, without acknowledging the deep impact of letting the mind and thoughts wander, not realizing creativity is an outcome of living vivid experiences beyond the pursuit of mastery of just that one thing — without realizing this, the expectation of breakthrough creativity is nothing but a lofty dream.
Mamaiya had varied interests, and this was candidly expressed during the dinnertime — both of us slurping on sambar rice and him sharing his travel stories, childhood mischiefs, and his action-packed life lived over six decades full of unique experiences across continents — facing conflicts, and how his wit and sometimes his charm got him out of messy situations. If you ask me, some of the top shows would find it difficult to beat his stories and narration.
So, your lad is now officially an adult heading to pursue his undergrad. I was torn between pursuing industrial design and science communication but ended up choosing the latter. Back then, there were no undergraduate courses in India offering specialization in science communication/journalism, so Mamaiya suggested that I join a journalism school, and he would help me find opportunities in science journalism.
So, I joined a college in Hyderabad, but I guess life had other plans. In my sophomore year, I had a realization — although I liked writing about scientific and technological breakthroughs, I was more excited about building businesses that made these "breakthroughs" a reality.
This was the beginning of my startup journey. India was going through an agrarian crisis, and I saw an opportunity in making small-scale farms more energy and resource-efficient using smart sensors and predictive analytics.
However, I wanted to validate the problem statement — so to understand the ground realities, I went on an expedition visiting several villages, interacting with hundreds of farmers, merchants, NGOs and state officials to comprehend the problem more holistically.
Ten months later, I founded Avenca. I led a small team, and as we had limited funding, I donned multiple hats — I was responsible for product management, design, finance, marketing, and sales.
I had no formal training in building products or leading a team, but I taught myself what was needed along the way. Although we were not as successful as we intended to be, I was proud of what we achieved as a small team, especially the exceptional product experience and customer retention rate.
Anyhow, on the other end, my conversations with Mamaiya never stopped. We would exchange emails every day, call each other at least once a week, and have hour-long conversations about his research, my startup challenges, what's new in science and tech, and of course, his life adventures that I just couldn't get enough of.
As time passed, I became busier with my new job — although the email exchanges became less frequent, I would still call him every fortnight, and the excitement of hour-long conversations never faded.
Then came the day - May 2, 2021. The second wave of the pandemic was reaching its peak. The medical infrastructure in the country was collapsing — hospitals were out of beds, and a shortage of oxygen cylinders and medical supplies became a nationwide phenomenon.
Early Sunday morning, Mamaiya had a cardiac arrest — the first responders were a little too late to show up — the ambulance was a little too late to arrive — the oxygen in the ambulance ran out — and by the time they arrived at the hospital, Mamaiya … was no more.
There are moments in life when you feel jolted — moments so shocking, so abrupt that you just can't comprehend what has happened, unable to express any emotions.
When the family was grieving, I was blanked out — a void I was unprepared for.
I was not ready for a world where I would email him and not get a response; I was not ready for a world where I would call him and not hear the voice of a joyful man ever excited to share his life stories. I was just not ready for a life … without him.
It took me several months to process this new reality and accept that he was no longer with us. It was months later, when I was staring at my unkempt beard in front of the washroom mirror, a tear trickled, followed by a heavy-hearted groan and then finally … a tearful smile reminding me of memories and life lessons that he left with me.
This is my story, the story of a curious yet confused kid and how these wonderful souls, my teachers from different phases of my life, found a spark inside me, nurtured it and made me who I'm today with no expectations in return.
And this is my reason for starting ForwardEd — to embrace, to appreciate the profound impact a teacher has on their students and to assist them in whatever way possible in achieving their noble pursuit of nurturing the next generation of inquisitive, thoughtful individuals.
Quick Intro
ForwardEd is an invite-only close-knit community of teachers, administrators, and management from schools across the country who come together on a safe, non-judgmental forum to converse about the future of K12 education.
Think of this forum as a support system that helps you navigate the shifting paradigm of K12 education necessitated by the new economy and evolving social constructs. With the introduction of the National Education Policy of 2020, crucial yet radical changes have emerged, challenging how we design and deliver pedagogy and curricula that engages students and helps them achieve meaningful outcomes.
By bringing together a diverse set of K12 educators, the intent is to offer a platform to engage in conversations, including the uncomfortable ones, with the sole purpose of helping you become more resilient to these imminent changes and thrive as education providers.
Here's a glimpse of what the community will offer:
This Week in Ed is where we share interesting developments and trends impacting K12 education. These can be articles, research studies, excerpts from books — basically anything that talks about the shifting landscape of schooling. We can have thoughtful, enlightening conversations, sharing our personal experiences and experiments.
Tea Party Meetups is something I'm super excited about. Once every fortnight, mostly during the weekends, we can all meet on a live video call, sharing our stories and good laughs over some yum yum tea and cookies.
Interesting Finds is where one can share technology tools, software products, education frameworks, basically anything that will enrich the lives of your fellow teachers and administrators in their everyday work.
Need Help? Not sure how to set the evaluation criteria or study plans for a new chapter? Whatever you're stuck on, ask the community, and I'm sure the lovely souls here will be more than willing to help. In case of technical help or anything the community cannot help with, I will make sure to put my resources and connections to use and help you find the answer. Pinky promise!
Mental Wellbeing Safe Space - Thanks to a few friends who have decided to extend their support, consider this your hotline, an ally during those tough times. I'm sure the community would extend its help when needed, but if you wish to seek professional help, just drop a message, and my friends, who are professional therapists, will be more than willing to help. Don't worry about the expenses; it's on me — it's the least I could do. But promise me, you will reach out when you need help, okay?
K12 Job Board is to share the new K12 job opportunities your school has posted or if you come across some through other channels.
So this is it! I just can't wait to host our tea parties and facilitate the thought-provoking conversations. I'm sure, if Mamaiya was around, he would be proud.
Alright, see you soon, byee! :)
Click here to join our invite-only, close-knit community of K12 educators.
PS: Curious about what I do beyond ForwardEd? Learn more about me here.
PPS: A special bear hug to Deepthi Rajan for bringing the essay to life with her phenomenal illustrations — thanks so much for putting in the extra effort to capture my emotions and life experiences so beautifully :)