An apartheid system prevails in academia here, with permanent vs contractual divides poisoning learning. There is a need to reclaim the dignity of teachers and the sanctity of teaching.
Dr Rameez Ahmad
Teaching has always been regarded as a noble, divine, and prophetic profession. Across all religions and civilisations, the teacher occupies the most sacred position—guiding humanity towards truthfulness, kindness, humility, justice, and the courage to resist oppression, inequality, and deceit.
As Allama Iqbal (RA) has rightly said,
Sabaq Phir Padh Sadaqat Ka, Adalat Ka, Shuja’at Ka;
Liya Jaayega Tujh Se Kaam, Duniya Ki Imamat Ka.”
(Re-learn the lesson of truth, justice, and courage; from you shall be taken the task of leading the world)
In Hinduism, the Guru is revered as an Avtaar of God; in Buddhism, Buddha (teacher) is one showing the truth, and in Islam, the Prophet (PBUH) himself is the supreme teacher of mankind. Truly, teachers are the builders of nations. As the Kothari Commission rightly said, “The destiny of India is being shaped in her classrooms.”
The Qur’an itself began with a command that sanctified knowledge: “Read in the name of your Lord who created.” (96:1). Angel Jibreel (AS) taught the Prophet (PBUH), who in turn guided his Companions–just as prophets, saints, and sages across traditions taught their followers the values of compassion, reason, and wisdom. Hazrat Ali (RA) beautifully emphasised this dignity when he said, “He who has taught me a single word has made me his servant.” Throughout history, teachers were honoured with gifts, lands, and deep respect. Kings and princes bowed before them, acknowledging their moral superiority. For instance, the Abbasid Caliph Haroon al-Rashid’s sons used to respectfully place their teachers’ shoes in their proper place, considering it a great honour. Such reverence reminds us of the sacred bond between teacher and student.
Yet, these lofty ideals remain more of a dream than a reality in our flawed educational system. On Teacher’s Day, we often flood social media with posts glorifying our “Gurus,” but this tradition often feels hollow, resting on socially fabricated norms rather than genuine practice. Based on my five years of teaching experience in HED J&K and IGNOU, I must honestly confess that what I have witnessed within our system is far removed from those ideals.
Many so-called teachers, assistant professors, and officials indulge in nepotism, favouritism, and exclusionary practices. Contractual lecturers are often sidelined from seminars and programs, internal evaluations lack uniformity, attendance protocols are ignored, and casteist-hierarchical attitudes still persist. I have seen unhealthy gender mixing without academic purpose, biased favouritism damaging the careers of brilliant students, and some principals instructing permanent staff to avoid interaction with contractual faculty—as if academic positions were private property rather than public trust. Truly, it’s a shame; contract-based lecturers in Kashmir are treated as second-class professionals. Despite handling the maximum workload, their contributions are barely acknowledged. Some permanent staff see them not as colleagues but as stopgaps-useful only for covering classes. This constant undermining creates a culture of insecurity where quality teaching suffers.
Moreover, I have also observed many teachers-both permanent and contractual—freely mixing with students beyond what is academically necessary. While a teacher must indeed be approachable and friendly within the classroom, outside the classroom, over-familiarity risks devaluing the dignity of the profession. Shaking hands or hugging students may look awkward, and maintaining a respectful gap is essential. No doubt, there are always some decent students; yet, when boundaries blur, others often misuse the opportunity—cracking unnecessary jokes, attempting over-casual gestures, or even putting their arms around teachers’ shoulders. Such behaviour must be objected to, for it undermines the sacred teacher-student relationship that should always rest on respect, not casual familiarity.
The pain of these realities is best reflected in the voices of those at the receiving end.
One Academic Arrangement (AA) lecturer shared: “When I was teaching in Bemina and Sopore, I would often learn about college seminars only through my students. Some even told me, ‘Sir, perhaps you are not allowed to attend.’ I felt ashamed hearing this.”
Another AA lecturer recounted: “Some principals direct permanent staff not to visit contractual staff rooms or maintain friendly interaction with us. Many permanent teachers treat their academic position as a personal privilege rather than a public trust.”
A third lecturer, from Baramulla, added: “Discriminatory behaviour often manifests in humiliating ways: AA lecturers being taunted before students, asked to maintain registers on behalf of permanent staff, or denied access to the library and forced to stay idle in the department after delivering classes. Attendance is rarely taken seriously, with many teachers hardly maintaining records-yet grading students arbitrarily. During exams, favouritism becomes glaring when some teachers casually converse with their ‘special’ students inside exam halls or openly demand leniency for their relatives in internal exams. These practices do not merely erode academic ethics; they poison the very soul of education.”
These testimonies expose how deeply exclusionary attitudes and unethical practices are embedded within the system.
This culture of hierarchy and favouritism has inevitably trickled down to the student body. Increasingly, students prefer to skip classes, finding little motivation in a system where attendance is poorly monitored and marks are randomly allocated, where it takes months to recruit contractual faculty again and again, year after year. Many prefer leisure over learning-spending time in parks making reels rather than attending classrooms. Such indifference, however, is not just the fault of students-it reflects systemic failures and a toxic culture that have disillusioned both learners and teachers alike.
In contrast, my experiences outside Kashmir—at AMU, JMI, JNU, UOH, and at academic conferences-were refreshingly different. Professors there were approachable, humble, and encouraging of questions. They welcomed dialogue, valued younger faculty, and treated teaching as a shared mission rather than a personal fiefdom. Such examples remind us that change is possible.
It is high time we overhauled our educational system. Respect for teachers must not be confined to empty greetings on Teacher’s Day but should be built into the very structure of our institutions. Scholars-especially those who contribute through research, publications, and intellectual mentorship – deserve recognition, dignity, and equality. The practice of labelling teachers with demeaning titles like “need-based” must end. Even addressing contractual lecturers respectfully as Assistant Professors would be a small but meaningful step. Renaming alone cannot transform roles, but restoring dignity is the first step toward reform. Their services must be formally acknowledged and fairly compensated. Decent UGC-based salaries, full-year employment, or regularisation of services can be positive steps. Those who hold regular PhDs from reputed universities without leave (based on UGC Regulations 2016), while also serving for more than three or four years of teaching, can be considered for the upcoming regularisation drive (having more than seven years of experience). This will not only open doors of employment for meritorious PhD holders but also help the government effectively fill long-term faculty vacancies in J&K’s higher education sector. Moreover, teachers must be judged on the basis of honesty, truthfulness, ethical accountability, fairness, and integrity—not on the contractual-permanent dichotomy. Students must be encouraged to provide honest feedback, and contractual faculty should also be considered for rewards just like permanent ones.
Furthermore, principals and permanent faculty must refrain from addressing contractual lecturers in ways that demean their dignity during student interactions, public gatherings, or college programs. What may appear to be a harmless word or label often leaves deep scars, subtly eroding the sacred stature of teachers—whether permanent or contractual. If we truly believe that teachers are “nation-builders,” such distinctions must vanish from our public discourse. Our colleges should also cultivate an atmosphere of reverence by adorning their walls with thoughtful quotations and reminders that teaching is not merely a job, but a sacred trust. Phrases like “Teachers are divine, an Avtaar of God,” “A teacher is never just a teacher; he is the bridge to all that is eternal,” or “He who has taught me a single word has made me his servant,” can serve as daily beacons of respect, inspiring both students and faculty to uphold the sanctity of this noble calling.
To honour Teacher’s Day truly, we must restore teaching to its sacred pedestal—where no teacher feels humiliated, no student feels cheated, and no institution tolerates injustice in the name of hierarchy. This day should not be reduced to ritualistic praise; it must become an open forum for debate and critique—where the focus is not merely on celebrating positives, but on courageously confronting the failures and faults that urgently demand attention. Only by doing so can we prevent our education system from sinking further into decay and corruption, and instead set it on the path of renewal.
The time has come to bridge the gap between reverence and reality. Teachers’ Day should no longer be an annual celebration of ideals; it must be a turning point for transformation. Only then can we ensure that the light of teaching-passed from Socrates to Radhakrishnan, from the Prophet (PBUH) to today’s classrooms-does not flicker in the shadows of neglect. Teachers deserve more than words; they deserve justice.
The writer is a former Senior Research Fellow in Sociology from Aligarh Muslim University
ra*********@***il.com