The state of our schools

 I visited my daughter’s home in November.  Right opposite her house is a building which is barely plastered from the outside, leave alone painted. Most of the window frames have no windows and the windows that exist are without panes. The lane it is situated in is barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other and that too with the drivers holding their breath and praying that they will not scrape the other car.

Early in the morning we were woken up to the sound of the entire school yelling out spellings in English. I walked onto the balcony to see what was happening and was aghast to see a teacher beat the living daylights out of a student. The child must have been barely ten years old. And then totally nonchalantly, the teacher walked up to the window and spat out a stream of paan juice on to the road below.  And the student was back in his seat making faces at the boy in front of him as if nothing had happened.

The next day was terribly cold and I could see the students sitting on the floor, shivering and huddling into thread bare sweaters.  All at once I felt helpless and angry. Angry because I’m sure it doesn’t cost all that much to get the windows fixed, yet if our schools are looked after, how will the officials make their money.  Helpless, because at that moment there was nothing that I could do.  More than that I didn’t know what to do.

Our schools never cease to amaze me.  Time and again they prove that education in India is only a farce.  It doesn’t matter whether it is a big school that is a part of a chain of schools all over India or a barely legal school run in a rundown building in a tiny obscure lane.

But even as I write this I wonder why I am so surprised. Wasn’t this the very reason we started Shiksha Power?  But then I am the eternal optimist who sees pots of gold at the end of every rainbow and silver linings behind every cloud.  Somewhere deep down there was still a hope that people who chose to be in the field of education are not so bad.  But now that I interact with schools on a regular basis, I am so glad that we have started Shiksha Power. There is such an urgent need to do something;   not just to bring about a change, but to revolutionise our views on education.

The system apart, it is the little things that give cause for worry.

Back in Thane, we have been visiting a lot of schools this week to conduct a few competitions for the students. We were at one of the so called “better schools”. We happened to be there when the assembly for the primary section was being conducted. After the prayers and invocations hymns were sung, one of the students read the news headlines for the day. The first headline he read was, “Delhi Police chief apologises for inaction over rape case.”  Both Anish and I looked at each other aghast. For heaven sakes, this is the primary section! The news is being read out to children who are between the ages of 5 to 10. Is this what their parents would want them to hear? And is it really relevant to them.

I can understand that the school wants to encourage the students to keep abreast with current news. But isn’t there anything in the newspaper that is more age appropriate? Isn’t there any happy news at all? Can’t we allow our kids to be kids for a little while longer? And what were the teachers or co-ordinators doing? Couldn’t they have guided the child on what news it was okay to read? If we are going to be surrounding our kids with so much unpleasantness so early in life it is no wonder that  another  headline in the day’s  paper reads, “ 1 in 10 students complain of aches and nausea, hinting at stress.” 

The saddest part is that I’m sure that the teachers did not even realise what he had read or what impact it could have on young impressionable minds. And if this was the headlines read today, the same news has been making headlines for so many days now; which means that everyday someone has been reading out similar things and yet the teachers remain unaware.  And then ironically the assembly ends with Tagore’s poem , “Where the mind is without fear.”

This utter indifference on the part of the teachers and schools is scary. If they do not consciously decide what a child should learn and how he should learn, how can we groom leaders? How can we groom responsible citizens when the people responsible for their grooming are themselves so irresponsible?

The sheer enormity of the problem sometimes worries me, but if we do not make a start, we can never hope to change anything.  And so we move on with baby steps, hoping others join us on the way, bringing about a quiet revolution for the sake of the future of our kids; for the future of our country. 

My Visitor

I stood back and surveyed the window. I had spent the better part of an hour getting it spotless and the result satisfied me.  Suddenly the door bell pealed and my best friend, Maya, stood at the door.

“Oh no!” I thought, “Not now.” Now don’t get me wrong. Maya is my best friend, but as she is also an incurable gossip, with an extremely inquisitive streak, I was in no mood for her company just then.

My misgivings were justified, because the first thing she said was, “My God! Sunita! What happened! Your house is absolutely sparkling!”

She saw the withering look I gave her and hastened to add, “No…no… I don’t mean that otherwise your house is a mess, but well, let’s be truthful….you are not exactly enamoured of housework are you?” and when I reluctantly nodded, she added, “So? What’s the occasion? Who’s coming? Your mother-in-law?”

“No one’s coming,” I replied. “Can’t a woman keep her house clean if she wants to?” It was obvious that she did not believe me but before she could start up again, I steered the topic away from my over clean house.

“Come on, let’s have a cup of tea shall we? And tell me, Maya, when is Jayshree’s baby due?”

“Oh dear!  That’s what I came to tell you in the first place. She delivered this morning! Twins! Imagine that! And now it seems she knew all along but she didn’t want anyone to know…..hey!….Sunita….what’s the matter? You have not listened to a word of what I have said. And why are you looking at the clock so often? If you want me to go, just say so. I know when I am not wanted,” she said in a hurt voice.

“No – it’s not that. It’s just ….,” I began rather reluctantly, wondering whether I should tell her the truth. But Maya was already out of the door muttering something about the treachery of friends.

As I stood at the window, I saw Mrs. Ghosh call out to Maya from her vantage place at her window. From their various gestures and with a little bit of lip reading, I gathered that she too was curious about what was happening at my house, because I knew that she had seen me at work since early morning, which was quite unusual for me.

I realised that I should have told Maya the truth because within an hour the whole neighbourhood would be aware of the fact that I was expecting an “important visitor”.

And if I knew Maya well enough, she would not be at peace until she knew what was happening or who was supposed to come to my place. Sure enough, she dropped by in the evening, still wearing a slightly injured air. She entered the living room and sat on the sofa in silence. I sat in silence myself, wondering how long it would take for her curiosity to get the better of her.

I did not have to wait long. In less than two minutes, Maya burst out, “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“What?” I asked feigning innocence.

“You  know perfectly well what!” she cried. “Who was your visitor?”

“Visitor?” I said in a surprised voice. “The only visitor I had today was you, my dear Maya.”

“Oh! And it was for my benefit you had the house all spruced up?” Maya asked sarcastically. “Come on Sunita, who was it?”

“Oh!” I said as if I suddenly understood what she was talking about, “you must mean Pushpa!”

“Pushpa!” she echoed. “Who is she?”

“My new maid!” I said rather triumphantly.

“Maid!....but why did you clean up the house?”

“To ensure that she keeps it that way. If she would have found the house in a mess, she would have thought that I would have tolerated it if her work was not up to the mark.” I explained.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Maya asked.

“Because my dear friend, you would have gone around telling everyone that I am getting a maid; and knowing what a problem it is to get a good maid these days, someone would have stolen her away even before I could engage her.”

“But now what will I tell everybody? If they ask me who your visitor was and if I tell them what you told me, they will have a good laugh at me!” Maya wailed.

“Serves you right!” I said laughing, “It’s time you learnt to shut that big mouth of yours sometimes,” and immediately had to duck to avoid the cushion that Maya flung at me.

Too young to die

Your eyes are closed

Do they hide the million dreams you had

But which will now remain unfulfilled?

No worry lines mar your brow.

Does it hide thoughts started

But which will now be left incomplete?

Your lips are relaxed

Do they hold the conversations begun

But which will never be completed?

As you lie there so serene

Do you regret things not experienced

Or goals unachieved?

In your last moments

Were you sad that you had to leave

this life while yet so young?

Or at the end of the day

Were you just glad

That you were free of the pain that wracked your body.

Free of the disease that

Robbed you of all that you could have had?

Of all you could have been?

While we all mourned the fact

That you were too young to die

Did you feel you had instead lived too long?

A Skeleton in the closet

Skeleton in the closet

It was a particularly loud burst of thunder that woke me up. The simultaneous flash of blinding lightning completed the job. I sat up gingerly, feeling stiff all over. “I guess I must have slept for too long in an awkward position.” I thought. But then I realised I was getting drenched in the rain and realised I was out doors.

“Had something happened to me?” I wondered, “did I have an accident?” But besides the stiffness in my joints nothing seemed to hurt and since it was too dark to see clearly, I decided to head home first.

I saw the outline of a gate in the distance and decided to walk towards it. As I walked out, I realised that I was outside the church. Having got my bearings, it was easier to find my way home.

Judging by how empty the street was, I guess it was pretty late. I suppose the heavy rain too had kept people indoors; which is where I should have been instead of in the churchyard. “I must have fallen badly and hit my head.” I thought, “ I can’t seem to remember going to the church at all.”

I realised that I had reached home finally and rang the door bell. My wife, Susanna was sure to be pretty mad; specially if she had no idea where I had been.

The door opened and with a scream, Susanna fell into a dead faint at my feet. Whatever reaction I had expected, it was certainly not this. “Was I really hurt so badly that my face looked hideous?” I wondered.

Shrugging, I carried Susanna and laid her on the bed. She opened her eyes and looked as if she was going to scream again. “Susanna”, I called out, “please don’t faint. I am not hurt. I will look better after a wash.”

The horror on her face turned to incredulousness, “ Joe, “ she whispered my name, “is that you?’

“Of course it’s me!” I replied in exasperation. “Who else could it be?”  

“But how? why? …....” her voice trailed off

“Look, I’m sorry I frightened you.” I told her getting really irritated now.”I think I had a fall in the church yard and hit my head. I can’t remember anything after telling you that I was not feeling well this morning.”

“This...this ….morning?” Susanna broke into hysterical laughter.
“Stop it! Susanna pull yourself together!” I told her, holding her by the shoulders and shaking her. “I am okay, or I will be after I have a wash.”

With eyes still wild with hysteria, though she wasn’t laughing anymore, Susanna pointed to the bathroom. “Okay. okay. I’ll have a wash first.” I muttered as I walked into the bathroom. I opened the tap in the sink and splashed water on my face. I glanced into the mirror above the sink to see how damaged my face was if it had scared Susanna so much.

This time it was I who almost fainted. Staring back at me from the mirror was the face of a skeleton. In horror I looked down at my hands and the rest of my body. There were only bones.
Where was my body?

I looked back at Susanna who was standing by the door, holding on to it as if her life depended on it. “What? How?” It was my turn to stammer.

Susanna walked into the bathroom and ran her hands over the bones of my face and then over my shoulders. Resting her head against my chest, she sobbed her heart out. Nothing was making sense and I tried to hold Susanna away from me to figure out what was happening. But she refused to let go and held on for dear life.

Alarmed, I asked, “What is it Susie? What had happened? I don’t understand anything.”

Through her tears she said, “When I prayed for you to come back, I never realised you would come back in this form.”

“Come back from where?” I asked

“Oh Joe!” she wailed, “ It’s been a year to the day since you died. I’ve missed you so much. Everyday I prayed for you to come back to me and  now you finally have.”

I sat down heavily on the toilet seat at her answer as reality hit me. I did not have an accident or fall in the churchyard. I had died and been buried there! And for some reason the storm had brought back my skeleton to life.

“Now what do we do?” I asked.

“Nothing” said Susanna matter of factly  “ I prayed for you to come back and you have. You are just going to have to stay here.”

It has been six months now that I have been back. It feels good to be back home, watching Susanna going about life, sitting side by side with her head on my shoulder watching old movies on television. Just us in our own special world.

Somehow we have managed to keep my presence a secret from others. But that is not too difficult as we live alone. In fact just the other day, Joanna, my niece dropped in for a visit and Susanna told me to hide.

As I sat in the cupboard amidst the clothes, I could hear them talking and laughing. Feeling a bit cramped, I stretched my arm which got entangled in some hangers bringing them crashing down.

“What was that?” Joanna asked.Susanna laughingly replied, “ Oh nothing! Just a skeleton in the closet I expect.”

One of those days

When I was a student almost every year we would have to write an essay on the topic, “The day everything went wrong” ; you know, one of ‘those’ days. Well, yesterday was definitely one of “those” days, but with a difference. Yesterday I had a day when almost everything went right!

My day started early, really early when I woke up to the sounds of the mynas quarreling over something in the balcony. I lay in bed watching them indulgently as a couple of squirrels scampered across the railing. I felt so blessed that living in a city like Thane, I could still enjoy these beautiful bytes of nature.

The next highlight was my special student, Anmol, who was in a perfectly receptive mood. Working with him is always a challenge and though I love it, it can be pretty exhausting some days. Today however, he was in a fantastic learning mode and he completed all his work beautifully and way ahead of schedule!

The highlight of the day was that my daughter wanted to go shopping to Colaba and Bandra and whom does she choose to go with her? Mamma dearest of course! It’s been a long time since Mummy took precedence over friends, but who was I to complain?

We got window seats in the train that wasn’t too crowded and were amazed to see a hawker selling Kiwis in the train. As my daughter said, “Even the hawker’s wares are getting cosmopolitan.”

Then the young lady sitting next to me bought some oranges and she and her friend started eating them in the train itself. “Uh-oh”, I thought to myself, “Now I will have to get ready to give another of my famous speeches on not littering the compartment.” But, I was pleasantly surprised, no, actually delighted when the young ladies neatly put all the peel and pips into a carry bag and into one of their handbags to be disposed off later.

I was so surprised that I actually turned to them and told them, “Do you know, you are one of the very few people I have seen doing this. I have to give most people a lecture on littering.”

“The way I see it,” the girl said, “I will definitely not pick up somebody else’s litter. But I can at least ensure that I don’t add to it. That much I can do for my country and city.” I guess there is still some hope for us after all.

First stop, Crawford Market, where I actually found the mascarpone and golden syrup that I needed to try out the Chocolate marquise with mascarpone cream recipe from MasterChef Australia. I had searched high and low for these ingredients in Thane and had almost given up hope of finding them and of making that utterly yummy looking dish.

Finally at the end of the day, when we landed at Mulund check naka, what do I see? Instead of a chaos at the auto rickshaw stand, where the auto drivers habitually refused to take you to your destination, there was a queue. Yes a queue of people waiting for autos which were being forced to the stand by a group of traffic policemen. A few auto drivers tried to escape, but they were roundly scolded and forced to enter the stand and take the passengers where they wanted without any grumbling. Oh the sight was heaven!

When we reached the beginning of the queue, I beamed a grateful smile to the policeman standing there and said, “Thank you very much!” The look he gave me was both startled and sheepish. As we sat in the auto, my daughter told me, “Saying thank you to him was a nice gesture.”

I shrugged and said, “When they don’t do their job, we are the first to criticize and grumble, so when they actually do a good job, why not appreciate it?”

She looked at me with a look in her eye that I had not seen since she was in her teens and said, “I’m so glad you’re my mamma!”

What could be a more perfect end to a fantastic day!

Sharpening pencils, moulding minds

This morning, before sitting down to plan my day, I started sharpening my pencils. I have just bought a box of “Funn” pencils and I love them. No more red and black, or black and grey pencils. These pencils are beautiful ! All the colours of the rainbow and then some!

I call them my happy pencils because
a) They look so attractive. It lifts my spirits just looking at them.
b) They write beautifully and make me want to write.
c) My students fight to use them. No longer is writing a chore for them. It’s now fun. I use the pencils as a promo, “I’ll give you the pink pencil if you write neatly.” Or “The purple pencil is yours if you write a nice essay.”

Coming back to what I started off saying, I was sharpening my “Funn” pencils. I love sharpening pencils. It reminds me of helping people sharpen their skills and bringing out the best in them. It reminds me of my students.

As I sharpened the pencils, I found that some sharpened easily. These were my students who were easy to teach. They respond well. I don’t have to put in much effort to bring out the best in them.

With other pencils, I realized that I had to actually apply less pressure while sharpening them or else the point would break. When they were sharpened very gently, they were okay. These reminded me of some of my students who are so low on self esteem or so scared and scarred by criticism, that it needs lots of love and praise and gentleness to bring out their best.

For some pencils I had to use a different sharpener, just like I have to devise new methods of teaching for some of my students. For some, reading is enough, for others I have to supplement it with audio visual aids, with yet others, I have to get them to do practical stuff. Some respond best to stories, others need to play to learn.

And finally, I realized that I need to keep sharpening my pencils. I need to continuously encourage my students to learn, explore, experiment, achieve. It is a never ending process but the results are always worth it!

Just another woman at the end of the day

Every morning I saw her as she entered the train.

She appeared so smart in her well ironed police woman’s uniform. She seemed so much in control of herself.

It was not just her uniform. It was in her body language, the way she held herself, the way she walked. She seemed so confident, as if she knew exactly what she wanted to do and was doing it.

Every day when I saw her, I envied her. I wished I could be like her instead of the timid person I was.

I could so picture her standing up for herself and taking no nonsense from anyone whether at work or at home. I could never imagine myself having that kind of confidence. Everyone in life seemed to walk all over me. I never seemed to have a say in anything whether at work or at home. And watching her I would sometimes fantasize that I was as confident as her and could just tell everyone where they could get off.

One evening, I missed my usual train and caught a train an hour later. As I got off the train at Thane and climbed the overhead bridge to exit the station, I caught sight of a familiar face. It was the police woman who traveled with me in the mornings. But what a difference!

In fact, I really had to blink twice to make sure she was the same woman. She had worn a civilian shirt over her uniform trousers and carried a bag full of vegetables. Her footsteps seemed to drag as she walked wearily out of the station to the bus stop. Her shoulders were slumped with tiredness. There was absolutely no vestige of the smart capable woman who went to work every morning.

That evening as I watched her go home, I recognized the tired walk of a wife and mother who knows her days work is not yet done. In fact another shift has just started.

And I realized that she was just another woman at the end of the day.