The end-term start

It’s when you catch yourself looking at the clock more closely than looking at the calendar that you know you’re in the fast-lane!

Time has a strange way of flying off – the last four months stand testimony to the way it has skipped and slithered, trotted and trickled, galloped and rambled away. Clichéd as this may sound; it seems like only yesterday that we had landed here with a truckload of cartons from Bangalore. But it takes just half a moment of a second thought to have my memory flooding in all action that has made me not have time to look at the calendar and stare incredulously at the ticking clock.

“When I enter the class, what should I do? What should I say?” It was this one nagging question that harassed my sleep away for the week preceding the children joining school for the new term. Of course, the underlying question was, “What if they realize that I know not much?” Four months since and I seem to have found an answer to both of them.

GETTING TO KNOW THEM: THOUGHTS AND THOUGHTFULNESS

Eleven-year-olds have an all-embracing way of welcoming you to class. They want to talk to you, listen to you, tell you stories from their lives, share their secrets, confide about their deepest fears, take care of you and let you take care of them. They want to have fun, have you have fun, make you laugh and laugh their lungs out. Their idea of a perfect class is one that’s held outdoors and play. But they love everything you make them do, as long as it does not mean writing long paragraphs or reading longer ones. Yet, surprisingly, they are eager to read aloud in class and love discussions that make them introspect. But don’t let that make you think that they know it all – they know they don’t and enjoy the freedom of not having to be sure of their words. They want to know what you think of their thoughts – academic or otherwise. Their minds are like the scalpel on slow-bake clay on which your hands interlock with their own. It’s not just because you want to mold their thoughts, it’s because the children love you to do so.

CLEARING THE CLOUDS, READY TO RAIN

For a long while, I’d been wishing to go back to my school books to reread them without the fear or pressure or tunnel-vision of passing exams. But little did I anticipate that my interest in history would be revived with a brand-new window of learning – Ancient Greece civilizations.

When I started, I knew nothing. I confess I wasn’t sure of what exactly Greece looked like on the map. I had never had any repertoire of facts or fiction in my mind to reach out for rescuing me from those sticky situations in class when you’ve just finished a near-memorised 2-minute monologue about the topic and a voice from some corner squeaks, ‘Why?’ As a teacher, you see the infectious curiosity and anticipation in that voice. A moment passes and, braving dejection and embarrassment, you promise, “Let me check it up in the library.” I wouldn’t have taken the initiative had I not seen the twinkle I those eyes. They genuinely want to learn, but aren’t sure where to look for answers to their questions – the library may be well categorized, but hey – “It’s too big, has too many books, and I can’t wait for my once-a-week library class to hold my question (I fear I might even forget about it)!”

I began reading through the picture books in the Junior School Library to begin with. I was fascinated with what I saw. Before I knew it, within a week, I was gorging on all kinds of websites, school resources, videos etc. Obsession grips you when you see yourself dreaming in the night as much as dreaming during the day about that single stream of thought – and even after that discovery, nothing seems to make you slow down. I was reading about Ancient Greece voraciously. But like the eye-fly that irritates when you read, something seemed to be gaining momentum away from my new-found relationship with these books.

Somewhere deep within, a question arose and I spent the next 3 nights to answer it. Suddenly the object of obsession had changed almost immediately. I asked myself – what am I doing here? What is my raison d’etre as a teacher? What should it be? How am I contributing to the lives of the 38 children who depend on me to spend a part of their day with? Most critically – and hopelessly selfishly and egoistically – is my contribution unique in any way? What do I expect myself to give my students in the next four months (or longer)? Am I easily dispensable? I was dumbfounded.

Here’s the crux of what disturbed the blankness of white sheets of paper for those 3 nights…

• JUST FUN: I don’t want them to, like me, wait to grow up and get back to the same books to learn what they can intend to now. I want them to have fun in class and look forward to coming to class the next day. That’s all. They shouldn’t be conscious of what they are learning – they should only retrospectively realize all that they did in class as an exercise in, simply put, ‘exploration’.
• ASK, ASK, ASK: If only I could fuel their curiosity further – I’d find my success-quotient if they have more and more questions about the subject or the topic at hand. The only way to learn is to ask questions till you’re satiated temporarily.
• RIGHT TO REASON: I want to spark their ability to rationalize. I hope they begin to question their sub-conscious beliefs that trickle down from various influences and solidify before they know about them! They must know that they have the right to seek explanations to anything accepted as ‘commonly believed’.
• "WORK”: I personally thought my notebooks seemed more ‘mine’ when flipped from back to front. The last pages had my scribbles, doodles, scraps of fleeting thoughts, etc. I never treasured them – they never seemed too precious to me. They were kept by my teacher as a keepsake for my successive batch – they needed to know how to write the notes dictated in class, you see. Shouldn’t your notebooks be glimpses into the persons you’ve been? I wanted my students to care for their notebooks and look at them as a scrap-book of their individualities. I wanted them to write less and doodle more. I wanted them to discover the joys of colour and illustration, drawing and graffiti. I wanted them to want to flip through these pages with a smile of pride.
• FROM MICRO TO MACRO: Why do we teach social studies? Apart from facts and trivia, why should children study the subject? Is there a deeper purpose that can be served for the child’s emotional and rational development? The only convincing answer seemed to vest in giving them a glimpse of the larger picture that they form a part of. If a simulation can make them experience the thought-processes of people outside their limited paradigm, the window has been opened wide enough for them to want to jump out and run wildly but enjoyably.

THE ROLLER-COASTER RIDE

My apprehensions of going wrong were taken care of the guidance from senior teachers – the Monday Morning Meetings to discuss the course of the week helped as much as they motivated to keep up the enthusiasm. Since you are looking more at the clock than the calendar, the days flow by faster than you can blink your eyes. Time begins to become an evasive luxury and time-management, the single biggest goal of your life on campus. It’s the antidote to a certain insanity that can set in, thanks to an overwhelming sense of responsibility and accountability to those 20 faces in class. In a strange sort of way, quite unexpectedly, these meetings became a tool for organizing my thoughts better, streamlining my efforts and relaxing myself against the thirst to ‘give my best’. These interactions not only helped me sort my thoughts and ideas, but also helped me explore the flexibility in pedagogy that can be initially intimidating, but intentedly energising.

“Do you believe in God?” Few questions stir emotions across generations as this one does. It took us two classes to raise questions that, we realised, had no specific answers. It took us another hour to calm ourselves down and admit that we don’t know if we do, even though we think we do and we want to be respected even though we don’t know why we believe in the Gods that we have been praying to at home. The Greeks were confused too, we learnt. That was some consolation. They made up Gods too - yay!

We read stories about Greek myths and made family-trees of the Olympian gods. Then we turned the tables and took the pen in our hands and created mythical gods for our very own Valley.

It was amazing to see the children pour their hearts out with vengeance to set the wrongs right. There had to be a God of Grub, a God of Junk Food, a God of Longer Games Time, a God against The Morning P.T., a God of Rain, a God of Free Periods, a God against Car-owners, a God against Dog-Haters, a God of 12 extra hours in a day, etc. We made them fight, create trouble for the commoners of the valley and finally give in and behave themselves. These Gods had a sense of humour, an ill- temper and sometimes, even jealousies!
We gradually understood why the Greeks created so many Gods and mythical Heroes – have you seen the ups and downs in their landscape? We zoomed in from the satellite-view of a globe to the closer, distorted view of a world-map, to a physical map of the country from a bird’s eye-view and even a panoramic view of the topography. Geographical terms flitted in and out of our conversations and we began to enjoy guessing and estimating the problems that the poor Greeks may have had in times of war and peace in maneuvering through their own land! We zoomed in further to have a peek at the building that made typified a Greek town and discovered how architecturally aesthetic the Greeks were.

But we were curious to now understand how the common man felt and thought and lived. A week of theatre activities (which I indulged myself in more, than the kids) led to a grand finale on one Saturday morning. Every child had a significant role to play and that became the tool to involve him/her with a sense of personal accountability to do their personal best and contribute to the group. Secrecy became the talk of the town as each group of 5-6 was to personify a unique scene from Greek life. The children had no idea so far, about what to expect – contextually (how exactly did the Greeks live) or dramatically (what scenes are to be mimed). In that one week, I saw friendships being reset and redefined, the introverts coming out of their shelves and taking charge of their roles, the extroverts suddenly patiently listening to their gang, and everyone’s imagination running riot. It was an incredibly different perspective to watch these children during the week. I’d always remember it as the closest that I’ve got to peeking at their relationships with each other.

OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM

A term-plan began, helping me sort my thoughts for every theme, every week dedicated to that theme and every class in that week. Why should they learn this topic? How should I gauge if they have understood the theme? How should I break down this topic into sub-themes? How should I warm up the class to introduce the sub-theme? What is the road-map for this class – what’s the key focus? What materials will I require? Where can I get them from? What references and resources are most pertinent for future reference for this class? Should I give them any homework as a follow-up activity? How should I space out these assignments so that they don’t feel overworked? How much time and how many classes should I dedicate to each theme? The massive grid built over the term helped me clear my thoughts, feel more methodical and walk more confidently to class. Having these ideas approved from the senior teachers gave me a buoyant up-thrust.

Just as you think you’re settling down academically and are ‘on top of things’, your mischievous mind winks again. You can see you students are having fun, but are they learning what they need to? A friend pursuing his Ph.D. called up one day and we soon began debating the pros and cons of a free-choice curriculum, based on his real experiences. It got me thinking. Maybe I’m too focused on the fun-factor. Maybe I’m gauging the learning only at the surface. Maybe I’m unable to gauge it at all. Maybe I should give them a bitter pill. But I couldn’t (and still can’t) find that pill. Maybe the senior teachers are being polite and don’t know how to tell me to behave myself and fall in line (if there is one, that is). Am I being disrespectful to the previous teacher by not following most of her foot-steps? Am I resorting to the defiant, volcanic, rebel of my teenage again? My dad used his right to yell at me and jerk me to review my thoughts and actions. Maybe I need to tell someone to hold up an honest mirror to me and, without mincing words, show me what I am and where I stand.

Just as you think you can spend another 3 nights juggling these possibilities, someone up there tells you to ‘shut up and relax’. When all else fails, before you realise, you’re down with a week-long illness that forces down bed-rest to the restless you. There are no coincidences – the week couldn’t have been better timed. I cried to myself with all that was going on in my mind, laughed at the foolishness of this analysis-paralysis and returned to class a tad refreshed but extremely disoriented.

BEYOND THE TEACHER

They live like open-books and yet have so many secrets within. It amazes me sometimes when I get to have a peek into their lives and witness the confusions, the turmoil, the jubilations and the damp memories of being with their parents. Their all-encompassing, unconditional, uninhibitedly affection has overwhelmed me as often as it has held me awestruck. It may sound like the sense of fantasy that novelty of an experience brings – I find these children and my little role in their lives, endearing.

I’ve always held a grudge against parents who send their children to boarding schools. I thought that would change. It has – only somewhat. It is funny how, even though you’ve had your parents around all your lives, it takes a distant, objective look at parenthood to really empathise with them. The last four months on campus have seemed to be the best insight into parenting. Every time I meet a parent, I realise that I begin to understand their children even better. Why do some children respond to certain words in a certain way? Why do some of them always want to go out? Why would any child not look forward to vacations? Why do some parents seem to obsess about their ward’s welfare? How do parents look at boarding schools on the whole – and this one, in particular?

I’ve had time to myself to look back at every week and think for myself what impact each made on me. That’s been a steal, really. The valley has given me a sense of security and privacy that I now realise I’ve craved for, for a while now. It’s still a little early for me to think about the relationships with the other adults that I’ve had on campus. Honestly, I’ve not given it the significance that I probably should. I’ve gone back to the ‘loner’ that I have always been, ever wanting to get back to my shell in the evenings. I’ll probably come out of it soon, maybe not. It’s a sense of self-discovery that I’m enjoying thoroughly.

Lastly and most importantly, I’ve begun painting again. Not regularly yet but surely diligently. I’ve gone through a parallel roller-coaster in my understanding of the relationship that I share with water-colours. But it’s something about the vast wilderness that’s all around me – it’s inspiring on one hand and intimidating on another. I’ve never understood how to objectively look at my work and how to make improvements. The art teachers on campus told me simply – keep at it. As simple as that. I can never explain how significant their words of motivation have been for me. I’ve run to them, painting after painting, like a little girl running to her parents to show them her newest scribble. I thought I was a self-absorbed painter, but their love for art has formed a unique foundation for my equation for them. It is – like you notice – inexplicable.

It’s their humility that humbles me. It’s what happens to you by virtue of stepping on a clean floor – you go out of your way, involuntarily, to preserve the spirit that built it. From the day I stepped at R.V. for the first time, I remember noticing a sense of preservation, a sense of protection amongst this little community of people. I’m glad I’ve not disturbed it – I hope I haven’t. In a strange sort of way, it seems like I’ve stayed here for years. After years, I’ve found peace, sanity and contentment. I wonder how long this ‘high’ would last. But I really couldn’t care less. The fact is, it’s the first time in a really long time that I’ve found some purpose to my existence and slept this well.

Everything that I've written so far formed part of an afternoon of a brainstorm for a catch-up meeting with two senior teachers who had been guiding our baby-steps thus far. I had initially thought that I'd begin my notes here when I see my first snake on campus. I did see one on September 10, 2008, for the record, but was extremely busy thereafter and blogging gradually slipped down the peking order of pressing priorities. This note, deliberating onmy thoughts about the end-term, on the other hand, seemed like the perfect start to a journal. Here's MY end-term report, marking the beginning of this new chapter!