The Questions We Forgot to Ask

When I was a child, I asked too many questions. Why are some people rich? Why do we have to study this subject? Why are some people vegetarians? Most adults smiled politely, some ignored me, a few shushed me. But the questions never really stopped, they just learned to hide somewhere deeper.

Every year on November 14, we celebrate Children’s Day a reminder to look at the world through a child’s eyes. For a day, we celebrate their laughter, their mischief, their innocence. But beneath all that joy lies something even more precious their curiosity. Children are natural philosophers. They don’t just live in the world; they interrogate it. They want to know why things are the way they are and why not something different.

Somewhere along the way, as we grow up, that curiosity is trained out of us. We are taught to find the right answer rather than the right question. The child’s “Why?” becomes the adult’s “Because that’s how it is.”

My Mentor

Many years later, I was fortunate to find a mentor who helped me rediscover the power of asking. Dilip Patel never told me what to do. Instead, he would ask: “What do you think?” “How do you feel about it?” “What do you want to do?” At first, I was frustrated. I wanted answers, not questions. But over time, I realised that his questions were his way of helping me think, to see more deeply, and to trust my own judgment. When someone asks you the right question, they hold up a mirror to your mind, you begin to see yourself, not through instruction, but through reflection. That, perhaps, is what education should be about, creating mirrors, not megaphones.

Asking the Right Question

Yet, in most classrooms today, we seem to have lost that art. We celebrate clarity more than curiosity. We assess what children know, not what they wonder. Teachers explain, students listen, and silence is mistaken for understanding. In our obsession with answers, we forget that real learning begins in uncertainty. Children still come to school curious. They ask strange, funny, uncomfortable questions. But when the system doesn’t value questions, they slowly stop asking them. The silence that follows isn’t discipline, it’s defeat.

And here’s the irony of our times: in today’s world of AI and prompt engineering, asking the right question has become one of the most important life skills. Whether it’s innovation, research, leadership, or technology, everything now begins with a prompt. Questions lead to discovery. Questions lead to learning. Questions lead to change.

Conclusion

On this Children’s Day, perhaps we should reflect on what it really means to celebrate childhood. It isn’t about chocolates and speeches. It’s about protecting the child’s right to wonder. It’s about ensuring our schools are not factories of information but gardens of curiosity. What if every school set aside time each week just for questions, no textbooks, no marks, no answers? What if a teacher’s role was not to conclude every discussion, but to keep it open, alive, and evolving? What if we treated curiosity as seriously as we treat attendance?

I often think back to those conversations with my mentor. His questions never gave me certainty, but they gave me something far more valuable, clarity. And in a world obsessed with instant answers, clarity is a rare gift.

Maybe the real purpose of education is not to produce students who know everything, but learners who still want to know more.

So, this Children’s Day, let’s do what children do best. Let’s ask, let’s wonder, let’s play with questions. Because perhaps the best thing a teacher can do is not answer every question but leave one beautifully unanswered.