The Centres That Change Everything

When I asked Sister Dorothy about their work, she just smiled and said,

“We try to give people space to grow.”

It was such a simple answer, but it caught me off guard. I had come in all ready with questions — the kind you scribble down after researching an NGO for hours.

But that one line stayed with me way longer than anything else I had planned to ask.

The author of this piece Aman (left), Tanisha who writes the Hindi pieces, and Sister Dorothy (right) during their first interaction at Aashray Abhiyaan.

And after spending the day visiting Aashray Abhiyan’s learning centres in Patna, I started to understand what she meant. Growth isn’t always about big changes or fancy stats.

Sometimes, it just means creating a space where people feel okay to take a breath, try something new, or simply exist without being judged.

When I first reached the centres, I didn’t really know what I’d walk into. I imagined it would be more formal — maybe noticeboards full of rules, a rigid timetable, that kind of thing.

But it wasn’t like that at all. What I found was something much warmer. People were laughing, chatting, working at their own pace.

There was a kind of warmth in the room that I didn’t expect.

And it wasn’t by chance.

You could tell they’d built it that way on purpose — no pressure, no one looking over your shoulder. Just a space where people could be themselves.

As we drove from one centre to another, Mr. Rajesh shared something that really stuck with me: “Yeh jagah sirf padhai ke liye nahi hai, yeh jagah hai apne aap ko samajhne ke liye.”

This place isn’t just for learning — it’s for figuring yourself out.

And once he said it, it clicked.

The entire vibe of the centres made more sense. They weren’t just helping people learn skills or pass exams. They were helping them understand their own worth — giving them the time and space to see who they could be.

The Tripolia centre, quietly placed between a bunch of homes, is easy to miss if you’re just walking by.

But the second I stepped inside, I could feel how alive the space was.

Students weren’t just sitting there because they had to — they were involved. They cared.

The centre’s coordinator, Shahin Khutan, put it beautifully: “Shiksha sirf kitabon ki nahi, jeevan ki honi chahiye.”

Education shouldn’t just be about books — it should prepare you for life.

I spent a while watching the sewing class, where young women were fully focused on their work. Shahin pointed at them and said,

“Jab who apna pehla kapda banakar le jaati hain, toh unki aankhon mein jo garv hota hai, wahi toh asli shiksha hai.”

The way their eyes light up when they take their first stitched piece home — that’s what learning really is.

And you could feel it. It wasn’t just about threading a needle or finishing a task. It was about doing something on their own, about finally feeling like what they were doing mattered.

At the Yadav Colony centre, the shift in pace was even more obvious. Outside, the streets were buzzing with noise and traffic. But inside, the energy was calm — not sleepy, but steady.

Sardha Devi, who’s been teaching there since 2015, brought a sense of calm with her.

She told me,

“Har baccha jo is darwaze se aata hai, who anagint sambhavnayon ka khazana lekar aata hai.”

Every child who walks in brings with them countless possibilities.

She wasn’t just saying it — you could tell she believed it. I watched how she interacted with the students: never rushing, never raising her voice. She gave them space to try, space to not get it right the first time. That kind of patience felt rare, and it made all the difference.

What stayed with me most wasn’t just the way things looked or how the centres functioned — it was how the students talked about themselves. They didn’t sound like they were just learning something. They sounded like they were becoming someone.

Photograph by Aman Kumar

One student told me,

“Pehle main sirf paise maangti thi, ab main kamaana chahti hoon.”

Before, I used to ask for money. Now, I want to earn it.

That sentence floored me. It wasn’t just about financial independence — it was about identity. She saw herself differently now.

Other students talked about starting their own shops, helping their families, going back to school. They had actual plans — not vague dreams, but things they believed they could do.

And the best part? These centres don’t need to be showy or high-tech to make that happen. They’re not filled with gadgets or posters or slogans.

What they have instead is connection — with the people, the community, and the long-term commitment of the staff.

People like Sardha Devi have been part of this for years. And it shows. There’s no sense of things being rushed or temporary. The work is steady, patient, and quietly powerful.

We’re used to measuring success in numbers: test scores, placements, degrees. But here, success looked different. It looked like a girl proudly folding her first stitched dress. It looked like someone stumbling through a sentence but refusing to give up. It looked like someone saying they want to build something of their own.

These aren’t small things. They’re the start of something lasting.

By the time I left, Sister Dorothy’s words meant a lot more than when she first said them.

“We try to give people space to grow.”

And now, I get it. Growth doesn’t always come with applause or visible milestones.

Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it takes time. Sometimes it just means being in the right place, surrounded by people who believe in you.

That’s what Aashray Abhiyan has created — not just a learning centre, but a space where people are reminded they matter. Where they get to choose who they want to be.

Truthfully, that kind of space — where no one’s rushing you, where you’re allowed to take your time — feels like the most important kind of change we can make.

Written by Aman K Jha