What our school's motto still means to me across the miles

Standing in a Melbourne laneway café last winter, waiting for my flat white while rain tapped against the awning, I found myself quietly reciting the school prayer we used to begin assembly with. The aroma of roasted beans and the chatter of strangers in puffer jackets seemed impossibly far from the red-earth campus where I once learned my multiplication tables. Yet the words came back as clearly as if I had heard them only yesterday. That moment reminded me that a school motto is not a slogan pinned above the headmaster's chair. It travels with you, settles into the back of your mind, and surfaces when you least expect it: in a boardroom in Sydney, on a suburban train in Perth, or while watching your own child struggle with a new concept.

Years after leaving the gates of Sri Saraswathi Vidyapeetham, I have come to understand that the motto is less about a fixed phrase and more about a way of moving through the world. It asks for humility before knowledge, service before self, and curiosity before certainty. These are not merely classroom values. They are portable. They cross oceans, generations, and the very different pace of life that Australia offers those of us who rebuilt our lives here.

The first time I heard the words

I still remember the way the morning sun would slant through the high windows of our assembly hall, catching the dust motes as hundreds of us stood in neat rows. The principal would ask us to repeat the motto in unison, and our young voices would echo off the walls until the words became almost musical. At the time, I do not think any of us fully understood what we were saying. We mouthed the syllables the way children mouth anything repeated often enough: faithfully, but without much reflection.

It is only now, in the quieter rhythm of adult life, that those syllables have begun to carry weight. When I reflect on what our school motto truly asks of us, I see that it is not a set of instructions but a compass. It points gently in a particular direction, and even when we wander far from the path it describes, the needle still trembles in the same general way. That steadiness, I think, is the real gift of any motto worth remembering.

Carrying these values across the ocean

When my family moved to Australia nearly two decades ago, the transition was both thrilling and disorienting. The food was different, the weather was unfamiliar, and the social codes of a new country took years to decode. Yet the values our school had pressed into us adapted with surprising ease. Humility, for instance, translated well into a culture that tends to be suspicious of loud self-promotion. Service translated into volunteering at the local temple, joining the parents' committee at school, and later helping newly arrived families fill in forms they could not yet read.

Australia is a country that quietly rewards those who show up for others. I think of the way neighbours in our Brisbane street brought lasagne and lamingtons when we first arrived, and how that same spirit of practical care now feels second nature. The motto's call to put community first has felt particularly relevant in a country where multiculturalism is not just a buzzword but a lived reality, codified in laws like the Racial Discrimination Act and visible in everyday life in places like Lakemba, Footscray, or Parramatta.

The motto in my professional life

In my work as a mid-level analyst for a logistics firm in Sydney, I see the school's influence most clearly when I am tempted to cut corners. The motto's emphasis on diligence and integrity plays out in small daily choices: whether to credit a colleague's idea in a meeting, whether to flag a mistake in a report, or whether to mentor a junior rather than hoard knowledge. Australian workplaces are governed by frameworks like the Fair Work Act, which set baseline expectations, but real ethical behaviour always lives above the legal floor. The motto reminds me to aim for that higher mark.

A few years ago, I was offered a promotion that would have required me to relocate to a regional office in Western Australia. It was the kind of move that many in my circle would have snapped up, given the housing affordability pressures in the eastern capitals and the relative ease of buying a first home in places like Bunbury or Geraldton. I hesitated, not because the role was unattractive, but because I had promised my ageing parents back in India that I would visit more often. The motto's quiet insistence on duty helped me choose a slower path: I declined the relocation, found a hybrid arrangement with my employer, and used the saved time to fly home twice that year.

Domain	What the motto asks	How it shows up in Australia	A practical example
Career	Diligence and integrity	Above-and-beyond ethical choices in workplaces regulated by the Fair Work Act	Crediting a junior's idea in a quarterly review
Family	Duty and care	Balancing long-haul flights to India with local commitments	Skipping a promotion to honour a promise to parents
Community	Service before self	Volunteering with multicultural festivals, libraries, and SanskarKendra-style gatherings	Organising a Harmony Day stall in Parramatta
Learning	Humility before knowledge	Lifelong study through TAFE, university bridging programs, or free library workshops	Enrolling in a free library coding session in Adelaide

Reconnecting through the alumni network

One of the most beautiful surprises of the last few years has been watching our alumni community rediscover itself online. For a long time, we were scattered. Some of us settled in Melbourne's inner suburbs, drawn by the tram routes and the coffee; others drifted north to Brisbane for the warmer winters, and a few brave souls made it all the way to Hobart or Darwin. The distances felt enormous. The school we shared, however, felt closer than it had in decades.

Through the official alumni platform, I have joined conversations about old teachers, lost friendships, and the kind of small joys that only people who shared a childhood campus can understand. We have shared photographs from the Spoorthi magazine archives, organised informal catch-ups in Hyde Park and at the Indian consulate's cultural evenings, and even started a small reading circle that meets once a month over Zoom. Each of these small acts feels like the motto in motion.

If you are an alumnus living somewhere without a local chapter yet, there is now a clear path to begin one. The network has published a step-by-step guide on how to start a local SVPP chapter in your region, and I can say from experience that the hardest part is sending the first message. Once you do, the rest follows naturally.

A note on the wisdom we pass on

Now that my own daughter is old enough to ask questions about where she comes from, I find myself quoting the school motto more often than I ever expected. I want her to understand that her parents and grandparents built a life across the world not by accident, but by holding onto a few simple ideas: learn humbly, serve generously, and stay curious. These are values that travel well, whether you are standing in a school assembly in South India or in a kitchen in suburban Canberra preparing dosas for the first time.

I also want her to know that learning does not stop when school ends. Australia offers extraordinary resources for adult learners, from public libraries in every suburb to TAFE courses and free university bridging programs. I sometimes mention, only half in jest, that even an interest in something like a side bets strategy has its place in the broader picture of a curious mind, though I would not want her spending her weekends at the tables. The point is that a motto that encourages curiosity should not stop at the school gate.

What the motto asks of us now

As I write this, the spring blossoms are out in our street and the magpies are singing their territorial songs. It is a good moment to ask what the motto asks of us today, in this particular decade, on this particular continent. I think it asks for restraint in a culture of constant noise. It asks for generosity in a country where housing affordability can tempt even the kindest heart to think only of itself. It asks for patience with newcomers, because most of us were newcomers once.

Most of all, I think it asks us to stay connected. The alumni network is more than a website or a magazine. It is the living continuation of a promise we made to one another as children standing in those assembly rows. When we meet again, whether at a reunion dinner in Melbourne or in the comment section of a shared photograph, we are keeping that promise alive. And that, to me, is what the motto still means today.