Part 13 of 17 in The Engaged Indian Teen
I’ve been reflecting on how the past month of intentional family learning has been both challenging and transformative. It all started with a simple observation at home: my kids were coming back from school with stories that sounded like echoes of my own school days — rote memorization, rankings, and a disconnect between what they learned and their everyday lives. I realized that while I’ve been actively involved in the world of angel investing and IVF, perhaps I hadn’t been as deliberate in my approach to their education.
One evening, as we sat around the dinner table, I asked my children about their day. Initially, their responses were the usual “It was fine” or “Just school stuff.” But I wanted more than that. I wanted insight into the modes that dominated their school day. So, we started a little experiment. Each evening for the first three days, we independently noted down these modes. It was revealing. My son, for instance, often felt the pressure of competition, while my daughter was more concerned with social interactions. We didn’t debate the observations; rather, we began building a shared language around them. And with language comes control — a principle I find invaluable whether in patient consultations or startup pitches.
As the week progressed, we moved into what I called the “Repair the Talk” phase. We banned ranking sentences and practiced asking one invitational question a day. It was surprisingly difficult. The tendency to nag or slip into corrective mode was strong. But this exercise wasn’t about perfection; it was about repair. A lesson I learned from both medicine and investment is that acknowledging missteps is crucial for genuine progress.
By the second week, we introduced “Retrieval Week.” Choosing a single subject, my children were tasked with speaking about it for three minutes without notes. The catch was that they had to identify one uncertainty and use an AI tutor to explore it further. Now, I am no stranger to the debate on AI in education. In fact, I’ve written extensively on why I refuse to let AI dictate my kids’ learning. But here, AI was a tool, not a crutch. It was about interrogating the unknown, not spoon-feeding answers.
The following days were dedicated to “Relevance Week.” Each subject had to touch our lives tangibly — be it a bill, a recipe, or a bus route. This exercise was profound. My son’s math lesson suddenly made sense when he calculated the ingredients’ cost for a family recipe. My daughter found history fascinating when linked to her grandparent’s stories. The connections were simple yet powerful, embodying the belief that learning need not be expensive but deeply integrated into our lives.
One of the more challenging phases was the “Struggle Window.” We agreed on a ten-minute no-rescue rule. During this time, they could struggle with a problem without immediate assistance. It’s similar to the patience required in the startup world, where founders must grapple with challenges before seeking external advice. When the timer ended, my role was to ask questions, not provide solutions. This approach instilled resilience and problem-solving skills that are invaluable, not just in academics but in life.
As we moved into “Teach-back,” the children were tasked with teaching a concept to someone at home. We recorded these sessions, and listening back was a ruthless yet effective tutor. It reminded me of the early days of mentoring founders — you only truly understand something when you can teach it to someone else.
The penultimate phase was about “Risk.” My son, the Achiever, tackled a task he wasn’t sure he’d succeed in. My daughter, the Passenger, chose the order of her study blocks. And we encouraged open discussions about real obstacles without fear of punishment. This was perhaps the most liberating part of the month, echoing the risks and rewards I navigate daily in the investment world.
Finally, we ended with a review. We wrote a family note summarizing what modes appeared most, which conversations worked, and which tools became crutches. This note, now on our fridge, is more than a reflection; it’s a testament to a journey that standardized tests cannot measure.
This month has reinforced my conviction that education, like any worthwhile endeavor, is about practice, not perfection. It’s about creating environments where children can thrive by learning from their experiences, just as founders learn from their failures. The discomfort was useful; it pushed us to confront the real costs of passive learning and provided a way out through active engagement.
In the end, this isn’t just about my kids’ education. It’s about a broader vision of what learning should be — interconnected, intentional, and, above all, human. And while books and theories have their place, real change happens in practice. I invite you, as a fellow traveler on this journey, to consider what practices you might adopt in your own family or community.
Change begins at home, and from what I’ve observed, that’s where the most profound learning happens.