Ah, schools—the hallowed grounds where minds blossom, friendships flourish, and futures are forged. But beneath the façade of academic glory often lurks a neglected underbelly: the washroom. Yes, the unsung—and usually unseen—hero of any great institution. Imagine stepping into a school that screams excellence in its hallways but whispers negligence in its washrooms. It’s like dining at a Michelin-star restaurant only to find the restroom looks like it’s competing in an apocalypse-themed escape room challenge.
Over the years, my journey across countless educational institutions—as a trainer, career counselor, or consultant—has taught me to decode a school’s personality through its principal’s office. A room laden with trophies? A shrine to achievement. Stacks of books? An ode to intellectual rigour. Décor in inviting hues? A welcoming space. My instincts about a school’s ethos rarely failed. Yet, I shamefully admit, I often overlooked the washrooms. They were, after all, not part of the grand tour. Guests are whisked past shiny corridors under the ancient Indian hospitality mantra “Atithi Devo Bhav”—“The guest is God”—but no one thought to offer divine access to the loo.
That changed one fateful day. Touring a renowned institution in Rewari, I was prepared for the usual—a red-carpet reception, smiling students chirping “Good Morning, Ma’am,” and the immaculate veneer of a school aiming to impress. But this time, the itinerary veered into uncharted territory: the student washroom. My confidence in the school’s reputation quickly dissolved faster than a paper towel in a clogged sink.
What greeted me wasn’t a beacon of hygiene but a monument to mismanagement. The tiles looked like they had secrets to hide; the air carried an aroma you wouldn’t bottle, and the bacteria? They seemed to be throwing a housewarming party. It was less “international school” and more “international waters after a shipwreck.”
As I stood there contemplating whether to brave the space or file it under “Horrors of Hospitality,” a thought struck me—how had I missed this critical litmus test for so long? A washroom isn’t just a functional corner; it’s the school’s unfiltered truth. The gleaming trophies and awards in the principal’s office might bedazzle visitors, but the true measure of a school’s values is found where hygiene meets humility.
I couldn’t resist sharing my concerns with the staff, only to be met with an anxious chorus of whispers: “Madam, please, we are an international brand! Let’s discuss this quietly.” Quietly? Hygiene is not a secret affair, my friends. A clean washroom isn’t a luxury; it’s as fundamental as the alphabet. Yet, judging by the state of some facilities, you’d think I’d asked for golden faucets and silk tissue paper.
The irony is striking—institutions boast of shaping leaders and innovators, yet neglect the basics of health and well-being. How can a school claim to prepare students for the world when its washrooms resemble a survival-of-the-fittest scenario? Leadership begins not in glossy brochures but in the quiet, tiled recesses that demand care, maintenance, and respect.
Washrooms, dear reader, are the soul of a school’s infrastructure. They’re the spaces that tell students, “You matter, even in the smallest moments.” A sparkling restroom signifies not just hygiene but a culture of respect—for students, staff, and the institution itself. Neglecting this space undermines the very lessons schools aim to teach: responsibility, order, and pride in one’s surroundings.
The next time you visit a school, don’t just glance at its awards or marvel at its curriculum. Take a detour to the washroom—it’s the real syllabus for leadership and management. A truly great school doesn’t just excel in academics; it excels in ensuring no student—or guest—has to tiptoe around puddles or pray they packed hand sanitizer.
In the grand architecture of education, let’s elevate the humble washroom from forgotten corner to cornerstone. Because no amount of gold-framed achievements can compensate for a bathroom that looks like it’s been through an earthquake drill. Remember, a “good” school doesn’t just shine in its classrooms; it sparkles in its stalls.