Part 25 of 29 in Helping Your Children Learn: What Parents Need to Know← Part 24Part 26 →
I’ve been thinking a lot about play lately. Not just as a recreational activity but as a fundamental way of learning and engaging with the world. It’s a conviction that has grown stronger each time I observe children in their natural element. Watching them invent games, bending the rules to fit their whims, I’m reminded of something profound: play is not a break from learning. It is learning itself.
Consider this: Indian adults have a particular way of dealing with play. We are polite about it, yet we schedule it to death. “Go play” often means “leave the room.” In schools, “playtime” is marked by the ringing of a bell, followed by a monitored courtyard activity. Even at birthday parties, we’ve outsourced play to a hired uncle with a microphone. This approach sterilizes what should be a fertile ground for creativity and growth. We’ve forgotten that play is the work.
I recall John Holt’s observations about children’s play. He saw children getting into the world through play, not resting from learning but actively engaging in it. This is a crucial distinction. When children play, they are not just amusing themselves; they are experimenting, negotiating, and developing cognitive skills in a way that does not require an audience. It’s an organic process that is both joyful and educational.
Take a moment to watch a game that children have invented before an adult steps in to “improve” it. The rules are fluid. Perhaps someone is too small and is given two lives. Maybe someone cheats and is tried by the lane. A cushion can transform from being a wicket to a baby, then to a shop counter. This isn’t a break from cognitive work. It is cognitive work with joy attached, which is why it lasts. The moment an adult declares “let’s make this educational,” the joy often checks out, leaving behind a performance rather than genuine learning.
There’s something to be said for keeping a game child-owned. Join if you’re invited, but don’t arrive with coaching points. If you’re a better carrom player, consider playing a little worse or let them beat you by a rule they’ve invented. Both are fine. But a lecture on angles is not.
I’ve seen the same pattern in entrepreneurship. Often, when a young founder comes to me, bursting with ideas and enthusiasm, I find myself having to resist the urge to “improve” their plans immediately. Instead, I remind myself that their venture is their game. My role is not to take over but to gently guide, ensuring they have the freedom to learn from both success and failure. Just like in play, the joy of entrepreneurship is in the discovery, not the destination.
Leave a card game, a ball, or a kitchen set where it can be found. Do not store it as a reward for finishing homework. When a game becomes a reward, it turns into another performance, stripped of its intrinsic value. Protect one weekly game with other children, even if you have to host it in a small hall. Solitary screen play is not a full substitute for the negotiation of a group. Fantasy is allowed to be dark, silly, or repetitive. A child staging the same wedding or the same rescue is not stuck. She is varying one variable, which is what experimenters do.
A composite from a Nagpur housing society comes to mind: four children were banned from playing cricket in the parking bay after a cracked tail-light incident. Families responded by enrolling them in a reasoning class on Sundays. But one mother did something smaller yet immensely impactful. She asked the watchman which wall could take a tennis ball, and she stood there for three Sundays so the game could exist. The children invented a rule about avoiding parked scooters. No projects were filed. Yet, on Monday, one child explained “full toss” to a younger cousin with a clarity his science answers never had. The concept had been used, not performed.
In the world of startups, I’ve observed a similar dichotomy. Founders often feel compelled to stick to a rigid structure, perhaps because that’s what the business world expects. But the most successful ones are those who allow themselves the flexibility to change the rules as they go along. They learn, adapt, and pivot, much like children in a game. It’s a form of play that drives innovation and growth, fostering an environment where failures are not setbacks but steps toward success.
This brings me to a question I find myself sitting with: When did you last play a game your child invented, by her rules, without improving it? It’s a question that applies equally to how we approach business, education, and even personal relationships. The tendency to impose structure and order is strong, yet there is immense value in letting things unfold naturally.
In my IVF practice, I’ve seen how rigid protocols can sometimes overshadow the individual needs of patients. Medicine, much like play, is not one-size-fits-all. Patients are not just cases; they are individuals navigating complex emotional landscapes. The most rewarding outcomes often come from allowing room for personal stories and unique needs to shape the treatment journey. It’s a delicate balance between scientific rigor and empathetic flexibility.
In both parenting and investing, I’ve learned that supporting the process is often more important than dictating the outcome. Whether it’s a child discovering the world through play or a founder exploring the market landscape, the journey is where the real work happens. And that work, often disguised as play, is where the magic lies.
So, as we go about our busy lives, let’s remember that play is not a luxury—it’s a necessity. It’s where we learn to negotiate, adapt, and innovate. It’s where we find joy in the journey rather than just the destination. And above all, it’s where we learn to trust ourselves and the process, whether we’re playing a child’s game or navigating the complexities of adult life.