Greatness Is a Myth

By Kalpana Kumari

A letter to our children

When we grow up, we often look back to our school days- our friends, the small victories, the silly mistakes, the days that made us feel seen.

One such memory many of us share is of being praised by a “Chief Guest” on an important day  like an Annual Day, Independence Day, or any event when the whole school came together to welcome someone “important.”

You might remember the excitement; teachers rushing, classrooms being cleaned, flower pots suddenly appearing, colourful charts going up on the walls. Everyone wanted the school to look its best. For some of us, those were the moments we waited for all year; to be chosen to perform, to speak, or even to hand a bouquet.

I remember it clearly. Sometimes the Chief Guest would be someone well-known person; an officer, a local celebrity, a professional of some unique kind. And sometimes, at the last moment, it would be the Principal himself, which would disappoint us a little. We wanted someone new. Someone “bigger.” It was never only about the event; it was about being seen by someone who mattered.

But when I look back now, I realise something strange. I don’t remember a single name or face of any of those Chief Guests. Not one.

At that age, we didn’t understand hierarchy. We only knew that when teachers said someone was “important,” we believed them. Children take adults on faith. Teachers, for us, were the highest authority outside home. So, when they said the Chief Guest was special, we felt honored even before the person arrived.

That’s how the idea of greatness begins.

We grow up learning that people in certain chairs, with certain titles, deserve more respect; even before we know why. Slowly, we learn to measure worth in positions, not in persons.

As a child, I thought the Chief Guest knew better. I believed their praise carried some secret truth about us. That if they said something, it would be really special and truer than the truth.

Now, as an adult who sometimes sits on the other side, occasionally invited to schools as the “Chief Guest”, I see that stage differently. And it makes me a little sad.

Most of the time, it isn’t special. It’s a routine. The guest often arrives tired, sometimes late, reads a note prepared by someone else, says a few kind words, claps, smiles, leaves. There are exceptions, but often it’s just another duty.

Meanwhile, the children pour their hearts into that one performance, that one moment, believing someone important is watching, someone whose words will stay with them.

But the truth is, the children care much more than the guest does. Their effort is real. Their joy is pure. But the system teaches them too early to look for validation in the eyes of someone sitting on a stage, on a big chair.

That’s why I say, greatness is a myth.

The people we grow up calling “great” are often ordinary people in powerful places. Greatness, as the world defines it, comes from hierarchy, not from heart. And if you learn to respect titles before people, you’ll spend your life chasing recognition instead of meaning.

That doesn’t mean everyone with a title is unworthy. It only means you must learn to see for yourself who truly deserves your respect.

When I look back, I wish someone had told me this as a child; that the greatest people in your life are not the ones on the dais, but those who stand quietly in the background. A friend who stays, a teacher who sees you beyond your marks, a caregiver who senses your feelings before you can name them.

So, dear children, the young ones and the grown-ups too, remember this: greatness isn’t something you wait for someone to announce. It isn’t sitting in a chair above you. It’s something you see in sincerity, honesty and kindness. It is in someone who can really see a child for how much efforts they put in the little performance on the stage. 

If school must teach one thing, it should be this: not obedience, but understanding. Not how to impress power, but how to recognise truth.

Most systems won’t teach you that. But you can still learn it on your own.

Respect people, not positions. Listen to sincerity, not volume. And don’t wait for a Chief Guest to tell you that you’ve done well.

You already are enough.

With affection,

Someone who once waited for the Chief Guest too.

By Kalpana Kumari