Dear Diary…

I woke up this morning and I could just feel that it was going to be a beautiful day! I woke up a few minutes before my mother screamed my name from the kitchen and I was excited, like really excited!! I woke my brother up from his deep slumber, got ready for school, had breakfast and rushed outside to join my friends on our daily ride to school. My little brother is too small to ride a cycle by himself so he sat behind me as always and we rode through the narrow lanes, laughing and discussing what fun we would have at school.

The Morning Assembly was boring as always, with the National Anthem and saying the pledge; I still don’t think I know the right words and nobody told me why it’s important to learn them anyway but I make sure to do as I’m told. I’ve never really understood what democracy really meant, because if it’s so different from military rule, why is everyone always telling me what to do… At home, it’s my parents ordering me around and at school, it’s the teachers and principal. Nobody really listens to me and wants to hear what I have to say. Why should they? I’m just a kid.

The principal reads out these suggestions which students have made and I know she reads out only those which her favourite students have made so I never bother to pay attention and I’m waiting for Math class to begin because yesterday, I got all the problems right and it feels like I’m getting a hang of it now. This teacher is really good at explaining things and I’ve never really had a teacher show interest in me before. I’ve always thought that I was only average and as the teachers keep saying, very naughty but this teacher makes me think I’m special and I want to try and be really good from today, with a little bit of mischief of course. I’ve been so excited that I spent all evening practicing really difficult problems that we hadn’t even come to yet and got help from my neighbour who seems to be really good. I was so sure that nothing would ruin my day because I was fully prepared. I would be those students teachers would write remarks like, “He has great potential!” or “He will make us all proud!” as comments to parents in my report card. I really jumped the gun on that one but a boy can dream, can’t he?!

We all walked back to our classroom and I was really excited now because we were going to start with Math and that’s when it happened. I saw Arvind running outside the classroom and I thought he was going to get in trouble for being late so I shouted out his name really loudly. The next thing I know, PT Sir came into class, walked right up to my seat and hit me across the head four times. My ears were ringing and my eyes were tearing as I watched my favourite Math teacher walk into the classroom and everyone was staring at me. The PT Sir was yelling at me for shouting in class, which was pretty ironic, now come to think of it but I was in so much pain, shock and humiliation to think or react. He told my newly appointed Math teacher that to get us naughty, disrespectful students to listen and be disciplined, she had to hit us. She looked at me and her expression changed, almost immediately. It went from happy and hopeful to mean and strict like all the other teachers. From that look in her eyes, I could feel myself becoming one of those average students once again. I still tried really hard to focus but I just couldn’t and I got all the problems wrong, which was a perfect ending to a small dream.

The other classes went by so fast and nobody even asked me whether I had done my homework, had lunch or anything. My friends were too busy being naughty and mischievous in class to notice that I hadn’t spoken all day. I picked up my brother who immediately noticed my face was a little swollen and I tried to smile but it hurt. It wasn’t the physical pain really, it was knowing that when I woke up this morning, I didn’t think I was just a Security Guard’s son. I was a student who was good at working out problems, who could some day become an engineer but I realised in less than a day, how my dreams will remain just that, dreams. I let myself believe just for a few measly hours that I was more than what these teachers thought of me, because that one Math teacher thought I was a little more than average. Guess not. Who cares?! I’ll go home today and probably go and play with those older kids in the next lane, who seem to be really happy all the time and for some reason, their eyes are always red. It’s probably a better use of my time than doing homework for a subject I know I’m never going to understand. Who needs Math when you’re probably going to follow in the footsteps of your father and join the trade of providing security for a living? Math was a stupid subject anyway. Yesterday was just a fluke.

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Always Lost in Translation

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Anjali Mariam Paul copyrights, APU, Bangalore, Bilingual, Education, English, Esperanto, Gujarati, Hindi, INDIA, Kannada, Karnataka, Learning, Literacy, Lost In Translation, Malayalam, Multilingual, Querencia, School, Tamil, Teaching, Writing

“If one could read fluently, confidently, in every known language, one would have no need of translators or translations; one could read Homer on Mondays, Akhmatova on Tuesdays, Swahili poets on Wednesdays, and so on.”
― Abraham Verghese, Cutting for Stone

When you’ve studied in a Convent School, you’re taught to respect a language and more often than not, it’s not your mother tongue and very rarely does it happen to be a regional language either. In most cases, it’s English and for the better part of my 28 years, believed that people who spoke grammatically correct English were a class apart. I’m glad I moved around a lot after school, which made me believe how it’s actually contrary to popular belief that speaking fluent English makes you the smartest and brightest of the lot. In fact, I think it limits your vision and views to a great extent.

I’m glad that I was brought up with grandparents because if it wasn’t for them, I don’t think I would have ever learnt to read, write and speak Malayalam, as funny as it might sound to the ear. My spot at the bottom of the divan while my Ammachi would watch Malayalam serials and movies made me fall in love with the nuances of the language. Summer brought Ammachi’s classes on reading and writing which is still something I’m struggling with, now that she’s no more. Church brought me closer to Malayalam music and singing words which I wouldn’t comprehend until much later.

My Dad once told me that while my mom and I were traveling by ship with him (he’s a retired Marine Engineer), the crew consisted of many Japanese and even though I was hardly 3 at that time, I picked up a few Japanese words. Imagine that! It’s scientifically proven that children can pick up close 4 or 5 languages by the time they are 5 or 6, if they’re in the right environment.

Traveling by public transport always helps you pick up language and I’m grateful to my Mom for ensuring that we took a lot of bus and auto rides where I learnt how to politely and well, rudely drive a good bargain in Tamil. It also helped that my parents enjoyed Tamil and Hindi movies so I was brought up watching and falling in love with a lot of regional cinema and music. What definitely helped were friends like Kk who spoke Tamil slang and made me fluent in a completely different version of the language which is more popularly known as cheri Tamil. You must also understand that when your primary language is English, any other regional language will make you sound like a petre which I proudly flaunt whenever asked whether I speak Tamil.

School and the oh so tiresome, SECOND LANGUAGE… It was a terror from the start and I swear the only Hindi I learnt in school was due to my binge watching of Tu tu Main Main. My mother would spend hours trying to ensure that I learnt the language but with nobody around me who I actually needed to converse with in Hindi, it never helped. The coward’s way out was what I opted for by the switch to Sanskrit to get better grades during the board exams, which I ended up learning for 4 years. Sanskrit was actually fun (doubt if there was any learning) because we had a brilliant teacher who really went all out in trying to explain the nuances of the language and anytime, anyone would pass our class we would be reciting the oh so famous ramah ramo ramaah. It became like this daily recitation which was pretty hilarious for anyone who didn’t know what we were really trying to do.

Then, the brilliant move to Surat in Gujarat when everyone looked at me funny because I looked and talked funny (dark skinned, wore strange clothes, spoke primarily in English but secretly understood Hindi but never let it out because that would be blasphemous). Those were my darkest days, I think because I think I got bullied the most because I didn’t speak Hindi or Gujarati which infuriated most people because I didn’t know the NATIONAL LANGUAGE. Yes, I know NOW that Hindi isn’t our National Language and an Official Language. If only I had been that smart then, at 18. Anyway, 5 years in college had me learning Hindi and Gujarati (I can read Gujarati too!) which helped because of all my professors, seniors, classmates, juniors and the chai walahs who bore with my broken language but always encouraged me to speak nonetheless. It also definitely helped that I travelled 36 hours from Ahmedabad to Chennai by train at least 4 times a year and had a LOT of people to interact with. (we now call them STALKERS). Little did I know that all of this would only groom my learning.

I moved to Ahmedabad for about 2 years where shopping, eating, travelling and friends were my sources for picking up the Amdavadi slang. It definitely helped that my maasi, maasa and brother spoke pure Gujarati and Hindi. My first few words daapi (left) and jamni (right) were picked up from my maasi while she was directing the auto walahs.

My move to Jaipur in Rajasthan where I was exposed to the purest form of Hindi and forced to adapt because I was dealing with state officials was the icing on the cake. All my learning in school added a little, I guess but it was more of interacting with everyone around me, especially children and old people, learning their accents and dialects which made me finally comfortable to take trainings in Hindi and most importantly, draft official letters and make notes in Hindi. It was I think my proudest moment ever when some official complimented my Hindi. (I think he was being kind)

After 10 years of being in Hindi speaking states, moving back to the South, Bangalore especially was the hardest task ever. Kannada is not similar to Tamil and Malayalam, not even in script and I struggle on a regular basis conversing with the cab drivers and auto guys who just do NOT understand any language I speak and that is actually saying something. It’s been over 9 months and my best Kannada is still, nilsi and gothila. I think I’m not trying hard enough as my mixture of Tamil-Malayalam-English normally gets me places. I understand what people say sometimes if I strive really hard but I give up halfway thinking that it’s too much effort.

To make things more interesting, I decided to learn Esperanto (a constructed language) from a multilingual professor; which made me actually chat with random strangers on certain sites about India and what I’m doing as a student etc., using my very good friend (Google Translate) and practicing it on friends who can speak Spanish and of course, listening to MUSIC in Esperanto and having my own dictionary of words learnt!

The purpose of boring you through my history of learning languages is to say that it’s important to know English, yes but it’s even more important to know regional languages to enjoy conversations and experiences which you can miss out on otherwise. Walking into a village and striking up a conversation with someone needs them to be comfortable and you speaking an alien language isn’t going to help. Honestly, I think it’s much more than that as it adds more meaning to your words and clarity. I jump between languages sometimes because I feel there are certain words which lack the feeling and emotion for what I want to say. When I say soodu soodu kaapi in Tamil and hot hot coffee… it doesn’t give the essence of what I actually mean to say. Just like vaashi in Malayalam doesn’t translate into ego as much as it intends to. I think aukhaat in Urdu is the perfect example when there is no comparison to a similar word in English.

I recently watched an award winning Malayalam movie with really bad English subtitles and I understood what ‘Lost in Translation’ actually means. The words were made to sound so harsh and alien even as to what was actually intended.

Of course, there are hindrances to knowing too many languages as well, that it’s difficult to stick to one language at all times!! I think I sound weird sometimes when I stutter and stammer for minutes just to get out a simple word, because my mind was looking for an equivalent in another language but it just didn’t work. All my life I have been made fun because of my funny Tamil, because it wasn’t proper enough, my poorly pronounced Malayalam, my accented English, my atrocious Hindi grammar and my too sweet Gujarati. I’ve laughed along at times, got angry at times and felt alienated sometimes but you know what, I think it’s okay because it means that I took the effort to learn and that effort taken means that I can travel to various parts of the country and not be bothered about language or how I’m going to survive there. Being a Grammar Nazi myself, I understand the importance of it but to actually experience life, a few broken grammar rules isn’t going to hinder that. Language is about communication!!

My only regret in life is that I didn’t read many books in regional languages which I think has stunted my knowledge to a great extent. To anybody who is learning a new language, read books or comics even, speak to anybody who will listen and watch a lot of movies!!

Kannada and Esperanto, you will be conquered soon before I move on to something else but I think the take away from this post should be that it’s never too late to learn a new language!!

Picture Courtesy: www.pondrepod.com

“I DON’T WANT TO STUDY!!”

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“Whatever the child does is wrong; he must not talk, he must not fidget, he must not roll down a grassy bank in the park. The only thing he may do without getting into trouble is to sit still… and wish he were dead.” – Bertrand Russell

Remember us, when we were rambunctious little children who couldn’t sit still for a minute and sometimes needed to be locked up in bathrooms or tied up to chairs when we got out of control?! I either gave away too much too soon or I took all of you readers back to a time when we were children being taught to be grown ups at the age of 5 or 6!! Honestly, what else do kids do when they have so much energy and the entire world to spend it all on?! Parents spend half their life coaching their toddlers to be little adults and then train them to become bigger adults when they should be running around and painting the walls purple and yelling at the tops of their voices just because they felt like it.

I find myself stuck when I am with my class of 7 and 8 year old girls and boys. They have either lost their cuteness or I have lost the will power to see beyond their mischief and mayhem on a daily basis. They clearly don’t want to study when I tell them to and clearly don’t want to learn anything new when I teach them because they always want to play or fight or yell or pick their nose or complain or drink water or go to the toilet. This post is more of a rant and an attempt to figure out what make these children click and how much tough love works on them.

As part of our school’s policy, we don’t yell at the children and hit them even when they push other kids down and hurt them so bad that they need stitches. We, on the other hand sit them down and talk to them as though they were adults (try explaining to a 5 year old with rage issues that he shouldn’t have hit another child who was making fun of him and asking for it). Sometimes, it works. I took this kid outside and told him to count to 5 each time he got really angry and that by the time he was done, the rage would’ve subsided. (Does that ever work, even with us…adults?!!) Well, he tried alright and it was absolutely adorable to see this little boy closing his eyes and then counting to five with his fists balled up. The other kid would’ve run away in the mean time… at least that was my intention 😀 But, no… I am digressing.

My kids don’t want to listen to me when they don’t want to, which is beginning to be more often than not. I find myself losing my cool with them more often and they have off late been behaving more like children than little adults like we were groomed to be when we were their age. I know it is a good thing but it is upsetting me!! I tried making my class learn the number names from 11 to 20 over a week and they still came back without doing their homework or learning the spellings. I agree it is a boring exercise but hey, all types of learning can’t be fun no?! Or can it?! My creative mind is short of ideas to grab their attention and make them want to learn the spellings, much to my annoyance. They just want to be kids and I have threatened to walk out of their class the next time they come without doing their homework… emotional blackmail is the only route out with this class of mine… or is it?!! I go back to my room for my daily reflection after the class with these kids and I am so upset with the limited progress I am getting from them. Is it me?! Am I not equipped to handle their class?!

 

I suddenly remembered the last time the class and I were at peace with each other, when they all worked like good little children and I didn’t need to raise my voice to get them to settle down and do their work. I was trying to end their session on action words and describing words when I came across this fun exercise online which I decided to do with my kids. I gave each kid a flashcard and asked every alternate child to write an action word and adjective. After they were done, I gave them some glue and gave them wheels which I had cut out for them already to make a railway coach and then attached them all to make a small train. The kids were so proud of their work and I was so proud of them.

It took me a few hours of planning but it was worth it to see their smiles. Sigh. I can’t think of anything fun to do with number names. Can you?! Suggestions are welcome as I have a little less than a week to make them learn and I don’t want to make them be little adults when I know it is time for them to be children.

HELP!

Picture courtesy: Picture 1: www.kidspot.com.au ; Picture 2: curezone.com

When Kids Talk

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“If we would listen to our kids, we’d discover that they are largely self-explanatory.”  – Robert Brault

This is Rohit, a five year old whose mother complained about his long lapses of silence when at home. He was bit/scratched by someone/something when he was in school and didn’t tell anyone for an entire day. When his mother took his layers of clothing off the next day, and saw the marks, immediately called the principal to ask about this; much to everyone’s amazement because he didn’t cry nor did he walk up to anyone and tell them about this. This sort of situation can be pretty scary for a parent or a teacher because no child can be monitored 24 hours of the day.

Rohit normally finds his place on my lap every morning as we get to work by the staff bus and over the past few months, he has taken up drawing as a method to express himself best. As he sits on my lap, I annoy him as I would annoy any human being below the age of 5 by constantly tickling him and not giving him a moment’s rest. This boy has the heartiest and fullest laugh I have ever heard from a quiet child. After his classes, as he comes to my room to draw and colour, I started asking him questions and he actually started responding. The funniest part of it all is… nobody knows when he started and what provoked him but I honestly feel that he just needed to know that he could start whenever he wanted to and there would be somebody out there to listen. I just sat there dumbfounded as he spoke to me in crisp words, absolutely audible as though he was waiting and practicing the words in his head all these months to have that perfect sentence out.

I also realized that everyday after he would draw something, he would run up and show it to me not saying much but just wanting some adulation, I presume. I would compliment him obviously and put up his drawings on my tag board. I don’t know why he took that long and I definitely don’t think that I had a part to play it in but it was an awesome moment to have a child say his first few sentences after a long lapse of silence, in a conversation with me!

You must realize that I talk nineteen to a dozen and it can annoy the hell out of people and well, it must’ve bugged the little guy too as I had monologue after monologue over the past few months. He must’ve finally just decided to talk and get it over with, to make that boring monologue, a dialogue!! So, I take that back… I might have had something to do with it after all 🙂

This is the same boy who wore these enormous sized shades to look like his didis (what they call us young teachers which means sisters in Hindi) 🙂 Btw, they are for women as is clearly visible from the picture and yes, Rohit is a boy.

Slumming It

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Anjali Mariam Paul copyrights, Blog, Blogger, INDIA, INSPIRATION, Jaipur, Journal, Life, Love, Photos, Slums, Squatter Settlements, Street life, Streets, The Misguided Wayfarer, Travel, Truth, Writing

It is strange how one can feel so helpless and powerless being educated sometimes. I am at the Baba Ramdev Nagar Slums and I watched children who have no bright future given as a gift to them… dream and work towards making that a reality. It is Republic Day here in India (26th January, 2014) and we hoisted the National Flag, sang the National Anthem and celebrated this historic day by dancing and distributing sweets. This squatter settlement is one of the densest in the city and comprises of people from different regions and states. The students who have gone to school have never made it beyond the 8th grade in the past 20 years. It makes my heart bleed to know that I can’t do even half of what is expected of us as a society to help.

There is always a major cause which we choose to close our eyes to and it is an issue which needs to be addressed today. Nivi befriended a little boy  (Dinesh) today who says he doesn’t go to school because his mother died and his father drinks a lot. His only caring relative is his grandmother and it takes his earnings to make their ends meet. He is 12 years old. Nivi spoke to a few people in charge and starting tomorrow, he will be back to school.

This is one story of one individual in one Urban Deprived Community. There are thousands like this boy who work and learn the meaning of life the hard way. Are we even aware of the existence of an entire class of people who are living below the poverty line? Numbers and graphs don’t matter because as long as it isn’t causing a nuisance to us in any way, it is something which hasn’t gotten serious enough yet.

We walk past them on an everyday basis and we choose not to look. The clothes and shoes we wear, the bags we own… ever wondered who makes them? Factories employ children as their labor is cheap and sometimes they aren’t even paid full wages even though they do twice the amount expected from them. We skip past the major stages of production and manufacturing and just enjoy the part we like… shopping from malls.

I don’t really know what I expect people to do after they read my entries but I wish you would make a conscious effort to actually open your eyes to the world that is around you; the world which makes yours function. Think about the boy who is bringing milk to your doorstep before you even wake up or the little girl who stands in for her mother when she is ill or for the family who does your ironing down the street… What about the boy who is selling you smokes at the end of the road or the one who makes an extra effort to get you kulfi at a restaurant when he really needn’t have traveled 2 km to get you that…?! They are around you and me… every single minute of every day… Have you ever once stopped and asked if they go to school? We have such busy lives that we tend to forget… I know I do! I want to make a change to this uncaring world and I want you to join me in this attempt at making a difference.

Can we make a simple promise to ourselves that we will make sure that at least one child we see on the street in the future… starting today, see the likes of a school?! All it takes is for you to stop, stand and stare… Our country has a long way to go but we have to believe in a cause to make a difference?! Can you be that change?!

P.S. Thank you, Divya and Sasha for coming up with this brilliant idea of spending the day with them 🙂

Picture courtesy for the beautiful smiles that you see: Nivedita Menon (Nivi)

Picking Up The Pieces

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Spot the teacher 🙂 

I have been teaching these children for the past 6 months and every single one of them know me better than I will ever know myself. They have the ability to read my thoughts and feelings as much as I try to mask it with fake smiles and laughter. I have been having the worst few weeks in the past month and the only reason I snapped out of it as quick as I did were these angels.

I am crying over a broken heart when they are laughing at homes where there is no electricity, sweaters which have seen better years, shoes which let the ground kiss their feet at every step, drunk fathers, abusive family members, chauvinists who believe that a girl’s place is at home, homes where they wake up at 4 to make rotis for their families with those tiny little hands, mothers who they save from getting beaten up during ugly brawls, baby sisters and brothers who die of malnutrition and illnesses because they can’t afford any better… They love so unconditionally that it makes me feel that I don’t and never will the actual meaning of this word. People talk about having moments of revelation and all that while going through bad phases and I think I just had mine.

Their punctuality to school with those ever smiling faces despite their hardship makes me feel that my problems are absolutely minuscule and self inflicted. They have seen more of life than I ever will in the short 8 years of their lives and do they cry about it? No. They laugh it off as though it were just another phase of life. Respect.

Life isn’t fair. I can either choose to cry about it or pluck up the courage and face it head on. These children have come into my life to teach me how to pick up the pieces and God knows, I will.

This picture was taken on a day when I had cried all night, had puffy eyes and felt my worst. I had tears streaming down my face as these children hugged me and kissed me, with so much love that I didn’t want to let them go. They are honestly sent from heaven; there is absolutely no doubting that. 🙂 My little guardian angels.

The Bullied Teacher

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I was recently assigned a new class to teach because a teacher left suddenly in the middle of a term. Initially, I was glad because this is a class I used to co-teach with an accomplished and super young teacher but little did I know what was in store for me.

I walked in with a smiling face, having the kids pull me into their class with wide grins and smiles because all this while, I played the good cop while Sheeba played the bad cop. Oh, but only now… I was the bad cop and they could smell it through all the layers of warm clothing and a scent of confidence which was slowly fading. I walked into a verbal feud between the boys and girls over someone tattling to the principal and it all went downhill from there. They didn’t want to sing rhymes or songs; neither did they want to listen to stories nor learn spellings. All they wanted was a boxing ring and a referee to tell them who won. I tried to be patient and calm them down, laughed at how silly they were being expecting them to laugh along of course but what I received in return were stern, grave faces wondering why I was kidding through World War Three. I showered them with love and praises which then slowly faded into me bribing them to listen to me. Did it work, you may wonder… Do kids get tricked into eating spinach?! You have your answer.

I threatened them that I wouldn’t return, believing that they would want me to return but then again; you’re dealing with conniving seven and eight year old children. The cuter they are, the harder they bite. I repeated this for 3 days and then finally, I left the class actually vowing never to return, believing heart of hearts that I didn’t have it in me to teach these ruffians. They didn’t bat an eyelid when I said I was leaving.

I walked back to my room for some alone time as they broke for a half an hour of music before they came back for English and I was almost certain that I would break down and cry. I went to a senior teacher who teaches them Hindi and begged for her to talk to these kids. She smiled her all knowing smile and came down to help. She took all of twenty minutes to quieten them down and ask them to reflect on their actions and even brought the naughtiest child in class to sit down and write six words which my co-teacher and I had been struggling to get done for over 2 days. How did she do it?! Good question. I shall give you the answer.

She asked each one of them to name all the naughty things they did in the past three days, not to complain about another but to reflect on their own little mischievous acts. I had kids sitting in my class and making paper boats while I was trying to teach them spellings and these kids owned up to that and many more. One of them even confessed to eating in class (after I reminded him of course) and another confessed to yelling in class for no reason. The naughtiest child in my class who doesn’t keep silent for a second was seen pondering over her naughty actions and confessed to being super disobedient. I watched these devils turn into angels before my eyes and I just didn’t know what to make of it. The class was over and I stared at these children, diligent as ever… writing down sentences in English when a few minutes ago… weren’t even ready to listen to me!!

I was baffled and I still am. I remember talking to friends who were going to become young parents and telling them how they could learn from their other friends’ and family’s mistakes in bringing up children. They laughed and said that they would definitely face new challenges however much they tried to read and be prepared. It’s true. I totally get it.

I hope I become that wise one day to handle these ruffians but until then, I’m voraciously reading up on sensitive parenting and attacking the psychology of the child to get through 7 hours of class with them. Can you blame me?! They can smell fear and it’s definitely on me.

Kids are BULLIES!!

Picture courtesy: http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2011/04/20/article-1378829-01E93DB500000578-611_468x306.jpg

Bad Teacher

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It’s strange how children can see through the layers of sophistication, polite conversations and jaw aching smiles; and see you for the real person you are. You can remove the eyebrow piercing, pretend that you don’t sing at the top of your voice when your favorite song is playing, never mention how you unwind over a smoke and a drink when you get home, hide your past as this hippie with torn jeans and baggy t-shirts, hide your tattoo as best you can and dress in salwar suits all day. There is NO fooling them! Kids can see you for the real, slightly cracked in the head you. This girl got off the bus today and as I waved to her from the window, she called out… “Bye bye Naughty Ma’m!!” From ‘Hitler Didi’ to ‘Naughty Ma’m’… Improvement?!

Et tu reader?!

Sigh…

Bah humbug!!

Another Brick In The Wall

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“When I was a child I had the freedom to make my own toys out of trifles and create my own games from imagination. In my happiness my playmates had their full share; in fact the complete enjoyment of my games depended upon their taking part in them. One day, in this paradise of our childhood, entered a temptation from the market world of the adult. A toy bought from an English shop was given to one of our companions; it was perfect, big and wonderfully life-like.He became proud of the toy and less mindful of the game; he kept that expensive thing carefully away from us, glorying in his exclusive possession of it, feeling himself superior to his playmates whose toys were cheap. I am sure if he could have used the modern language of history he would have said that he was more civilised than ourselves to the extent of his owning that ridiculously perfect toy. One thing he failed to realise in his excitement – a fact which at the moment seemed to him insignificant – that this temptation obscured something a great deal more perfect than his toy, the revelation of the perfect child. The toy merely expressed his wealth, but not the child’s creative spirit, not the child’s generous joy in his play, his open invitation to all who were his compeers to his play-world”. – From Civilisation and Progress by Rabindranath Tagore

I dread this time of the year; when the results are out and everybody is calling their relatives to inquire about their children’s marks in order to gauge whether their child is smarter or not. Doesn’t that sound familiar to goings on in all of your homes?! You might be smart, got good grades throughout your school life and just choked during the final board exams when it mattered the most. Sadly, we lived in a time when the state followed the Summative Assessment method when the final terminal examination was the only thing that mattered. Your board exams were something you were reminded about every single day of your school life, however young you were. You didn’t care whether you understood concepts, you just mugged them so that you could vomit the facts during the exam. The better retention, the better you scored.

Since when did the idea of learning become associated with passing exams? When did that become the baseline for assessing that the child has understood everything that they have learnt? You learn 10 chapters in a year, spaced out within 3 terms and there are some questions which you tend to miss out on, either because you didn’t grasp it or because you didn’t have the time. If you were lucky, the question from that chapter was skipped and therefore you ended up doing really well. In the worst case scenario, a lot of questions came from that chapter during your final exams and you bombed the exam.

Is that a fair way of judging whether a child has understood something? Is that the only way to gauge a child’s intellect and challenge his thinking? I have 8 and 9 year old children from my apartment in Chennai attending tuitions because they’re not getting good marks. Their parents are pushing them towards looking at their careers when they’re ruining their childhood for them. Since when did we become so career oriented that we gave children, this burden of learning? Go back to memories of your school days and tell me honestly that you woke up every morning WANTING to go to school. (meeting your classmates was probably the only reason or when you knew you had fun sessions like Singing or Art or Games). Does that ring a bell?

I’m 8 years too late to be posting this but I’m glad that I got a chance to go through the National Curriculum Framework of 2005 when they introduced the CCA scheme in the CBSE system. (CCA – Comprehensive Curricular Assessment) They noted the following points about the then existing system of Summative Assessment and pointed out the flaws as mentioned below:

(a) the school system is characterized by an inflexibility that makes it resistant to change;

(b) learning has become an isolated activity, which does not encourage children to link knowledge with their lives in any organic or vital way

(c) schools promote a regime of thought that discourages creative thinking and insights;

(d) what is presented and transmitted in the name of learning in schools bypasses vital dimensions of the human capacity to create new knowledge;

(e) the “future” of the child has taken centre stage to the near exclusion of the child’s “present”, which is detrimental to the well-being of the child as well as the society and the nation

Based on these points, they devised a curriculum which was fun and activity based and the assessment of these activities was done throughout the year, meaning that summative assessment (terminal examinations) wasn’t the only way to gauge how much a child had learnt and understood. A constant and periodic evaluation or assessment with the introduction of grades instead of marks throughout the year would determine a child’s progress.

Do you remember the smart aleck in your class who was always asking questions and disrupting sessions? You always thought he was such a pain and so did the teachers. They never entertained his questions and slowly, they stopped. The day he/ she stopped asking questions, they stopped learning. I always remember Pink Floyd’s, Another Brick in The Wall when it comes to school because that is the perfect song to describe what we went through in school. We were told to behave ourselves and be disciplined and not ask questions to disrupt the classes. Do you remember being scared to stand up in front of the class in order to ask a question, in fear of the teacher admonishing you or your classmates laughing at you? The schools we went to didn’t create an environment to learn through discovery and experiments but created an atmosphere of fear and anxiety of tests and exams and futures we were 8 years too soon to think about.

What is the first question you ask a child who you meet for the first time? “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The child has been prepared to answer this question because his/her parents have been drilling them about it for the better part of the child’s schooling. The child has an answer ready, “A doctor or an engineer or an IAS Officer probably not even knowing what those professions are.

Our parents did it out of ambition for us and we are doing it for them… sounds plausible enough, right?! Sigh… Before I get deviated, the reason I brought this topic up was because of http://www.firstpost.com/india/cbse-results-two-die-as-family-consumes-poison-after-girl-fails-828849.html. For those of you who aren’t going to take the time to open the link, I’ll give you a summary. A girl from Grade 12 committed suicide because she failed in her 12th board exams. Her brother, who had just given his 10th board exams followed suit because he assumed that he would also fail. Their mother, followed them because she couldn’t live with the shame of her daughter failing. This is an average, everyday INDIAN family…

India, wake up!! Open your eyes to the truth that is out there. Are your children under pressure? Are they scared to go to school because they’re scared of the teachers? Do they have panic attacks? Are you paying attention to what goes on in their school? Make it a point to explain to your children that it’s not the end of the world if they fail.

I work for an NGO which deals with the implementation of CCA in govt. schools across Rajasthan and it makes me proud to say that the children who go to school here, do so happily. I visited a basti (slum) where a mother was quoted saying, “I don’t need to tell my children to go to school. They sometimes forget that Sunday is a holiday and go wait outside their school, waiting for it to open.” If your kids don’t feel the same way, you’re doing it wrong!!

P.S. If you want to read more about NCF 2005,  please click on this link  http://www.ncert.nic.in/rightside/links/pdf/framework/english/nf2005.pdf

 Picture courtesy : http://www.udaipurblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/exam-fever.jpg

“Mama! I want to go to SCHOOL!!”

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Introduction

This was an exercise I was given as part of a closure report I was supposed to finish. To make the report slightly humane, it was decided that we would go and interview children, their parents and a couple of the teachers to find out what they felt about the schools they went to, which are all run by Bodh. Neither was I a teacher or had any experience in dealing with kids professionally apart from baby sitting my cousins and a couple of kids from my society years ago nor was I a professional journalist, carrying the air of confidence as I walked into those classrooms with a notepad and a voice recorder. I was in all terms, a ROOKIE and might I add, scared out of my wits as I walked into their schools, but all that fear evaporated the minute I saw those smiling faces staring back at me with those innocent  eyes. Those faces gave me the strength to finish their interviews as proficiently and efficiently as an Architect could muster, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

I want to document all their interviews, but at the moment I’m beginning with Sonam, a 6 year old, Muslim girl from the Amagadh squatter settlements who has been with Bodh since her pre-school years. She is currently in the 2nd Grade and has been tagging along with her elder sister who is presently in the 10^th Grade and due to Sunehra Kal Mission, (a programme which has been running for 7 years by ITC and Bodh for pre-school children) Sonam was also given a fair shot at getting started early with an education.

Sonam

Sonam comes across as a quiet and diffident child but once she gets comfortable with you, her bubbly side comes to the surface. Sonam is one of many sisters and brothers and she gets dressed up every morning by her elder sister. When asked who her favourite teacher was, the answer came out short and sweet… Pooja Didi. She also went on to add that her favourite teacher hadn’t been coming to school for a while as she was suffering from an illness. Asked what they were taught during school, she promptly replied that she was taught songs to sing her baby brother to sleep and went on to recite the lullaby to us. She mentioned that she was taught to make words with ‘la’, ‘ka’ and ‘ba’, games with marbles, counting with stones, poems and story-telling. When asked what she does at home, playing house with her brothers and sisters and helping her elder siblings with household chores was the reply. Closing the interview with her was asking what she’d do if we closed the school. If you had asked me the same question at any stage in school or college, my answer would have been to scream out in happiness and joy and do a little jig. That is exactly what I expected from this 6 year old and then came the shocker, “I’ll go to the Masjid and read the Sufara.”

My family who are all in the line of education always told me that more than what they taught the children, the children taught them more and there was my epiphany. A 6 year old child telling me pointblank that she would go to the Masjid to learn about her religion if we shut down her normal school.

Religion is the opium of the people.

Here is an example of a child from a slum community where her parents work multiple jobs to make ends meet and yet, make it a point to educate each and every one of their children. Apart from coming to school and doing their homework, each and every one of them, including Sonam help out with household chores like washing clothes and sweeping their humble shacks. These people have nothing but religion to fall back on and who are we to judge them?

Why do they have so many children? The lower strata of society believe that every child is a boon from the Almighty. Another part of the religious angle is using any sort of contraception is going against the law of nature and you can’t ask them NOT to copulate. After all, God created it for man and woman to celebrate their union and enjoy part of it. Every additional child is an extra set of helping hands to earn for the family, be it a girl or boy.

Karl Marx, the German economist said “Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people“. Take that away from them and what will they have?

What is your role?

There are 320 slums in Jaipur and not all of the children from these slums are lucky enough to be in school like Sonam. I will be blogging about the other children from the other slums who I have interviewed and will interview in the following weeks and months. This entry was to enlighten you all to a world outside of your classrooms, colleges, offices, malls and cars… There is a world where people live with an open sewage canal passing below their house, a world where children die due to malnutrition and infectious diseases because the waste of the city is dumped in their backyard as squatter settlements are considered encroachments…. There is a world outside the comfort of my room where I’m making this entry where electricity is hard to come by… What am I doing about it? What are you doing about it? What are WE doing about it? It’s high time we opened our eyes to the filth that the world is surrounded  and fought for them because God knows they DESERVE it!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qcwblvqir-s