By Tynshain K Lyngdoh
As a father, I sent my daughter to one of Meghalaya’s most reputed colleges believing she would receive a quality education from dedicated, committed teachers.
Today, I watch with growing fear and frustration as her professors vanish not because they left teaching, but because their contracts were not renewed, or because they finally found permanent jobs elsewhere. Either way, the result is the same: another teacher gone, another relationship broken, another mentor lost.
For my child, it is a cycle of disruption, new faces every semester, new voices, new expectations. She is left unsettled, disconnected, and forced to start over.
Frequent changes in teachers create uncertainty, forcing students to constantly adapt to new personalities and teaching styles.
This instability does not just affect academics; it takes a toll on their psychological well-being. It undermines their sense of belonging, weakens their academic self-concept, and steals the very motivation that learning depends on.
This is not just a loss of academic continuity; it is a system that thrives on instability, where dedication is not rewarded or retained, but discarded and replaced. And once again, it is our children who pay the price.
There was a time when my daughter dreamed of becoming a teacher. As a child, she would line up her stuffed toys and teach them with a chalkboard no bigger than a notebook, her voice full of joy and purpose.
She believed teaching was one of the noblest callings a way to shape minds and change lives. But now, after seeing how her own teachers are treated underpaid, undervalued, and discarded at convenience she looks at me and says, “I do not think I want to be a teacher anymore. Who would want this life?”
That broke my heart. Not just because of her lost dream, but because it revealed the deeper cost of our broken system: we are not only failing teachers, we are discouraging the next generation from ever becoming one.
Thankfully, the Meghalaya Cabinet has taken a long-overdue step approving a proposal to frame SOPs and grant one-time age relaxation for the regularization of ad-hoc government appointees who have served since December 31, 2007.
This is a move toward justice. I see it not just as policy, but as a promise. But if the government can recognize service in other departments, why not in education?
Contractual teachers and guest teachers in government-aided and non-government schools and colleges perform the same duties as their permanent counterparts. They have no security, no stability, and no respect, yet they remain essential to our classrooms.
In colleges that proudly display their NAAC rankings like trophies, teaching has become a revolving door. Contractual appointments are no longer the exception they are the norm.
Yet these same institutions claim excellence, boast of quality education, and celebrate high scores on parameters like “faculty qualifications” and “student-teacher engagement.”
Without stable, committed teachers, aren’t these claims of excellence built on empty promises? If accreditation is meant to reflect educational integrity, then what does it say about a system that rewards institutions for ensuring success on paper while ignoring the real sacrifices of those who deliver it.
When professors are hired on short-term contracts, paid poverty wages, and denied permanence, those NAAC stars on a college gate begin to look less like symbols of excellence and more like badges of hypocrisy.
I see the impact in my daughter. She no longer tries to connect with her teachers. “What’s the point?” she asks. “They won’t be here next semester.”
And who can blame her? When educators are paid a mere ₹30,000 sometimes less and live in constant fear of losing their jobs, how can they focus on teaching? How can they invest in their students’ growth when they are too busy surviving, too busy hunting for the next contract?
The painful truth is that these are not unqualified or underperforming teachers. They are highly trained professionals, many with advanced degrees and years of experience, treated like disposable labor.
Why pay a living wage or offer security when you can treat human dedication like a whiteboard marker used until it dries up, then casually tossed away, and replaced?
We forget that consistent, positive teacher-student relationships foster emotional security, build trust, and strengthen a student’s sense of belonging and motivation.
These bonds are not optional luxuries. They are foundational to learning, shaping how students see themselves, their potential, and their place in the classroom. When they are broken semester after semester, students do not just lose knowledge they also lose confidence, connection, and care.
The Supreme Court has reminded us that teachers are the backbone of the nation. Then why are we breaking them? Why do some of Meghalaya’s most “reputed” colleges continue this shameful practice hiding behind “temporary” appointments while doing permanent damage to our children’s education?
The Cabinet’s recent decision offers a glimmer of hope. But it must not stop at clerical or administrative posts. The same fairness must extend to our educators.
For my daughter’s sake and for every child who deserves teachers who stay, who care, and who are valued, this moment must not be wasted. We must turn this approval into meaningful action and make permanence possible, because education should never be built on temporary people.
Our students deserve stability – the kind that comes from knowing their teachers will be there not just for a few months or one semester, but for the long run.
They need consistency, connection, and the quiet assurance that someone believes in them beyond a contract.
Our teachers, in turn, deserve dignity, fair recognition, job security, and respect for the profound role they play in shaping minds and futures.
And Meghalaya, a state that prides itself on education deserves an education system that reflects these values, one that stops treating educators as expendable and starts building a future where both students and teachers can grow, stay, and thrive together.