That Awful Day...

It began like any other day. The bell rang as usual at 7.15am. Students gathered in the common area. Prayed. Sung the national anthem and went to their classes quietly. All except fourth grade, the Rockstars (Every class has a theme/ name). My class of 46 fourth graders was renowned for being the most unruly and disruptive class in school.

The Rockstars did go to their class, but the chaos they caused was unimaginable.  An inexperienced teacher like me had not but the slightest idea that a bunch of ten year olds can be the reason for this amount of commotion.  Feet were stamped, bags were thrown, backs were hit and pony’s were pulled.  I was terrified. Educated in a convent I could not digest that behavior and hence I decided to teach the kids some basic discipline. My first class which otherwise consisted of welcome games and activities thus transformed into a drill session where the kids had to go down to the common area and come up to class in a straight single line without talking and pushing. This lasted for about 50 minutes till most of them realized that they could not take me for a ride (or rather that was my perception). Seeing them follow the rules, I relaxed a bit and asked them to sit on their benches and open their books.

But standard four was in no mood for study. No sooner than I began the story (We were reading Around the World in 80 days) a few kids began playing “Ops and Bets” in class. I used the team points to get them back to work. Failed miserably. So now I started giving them the consequences. But no avail. I could see my hard thought consequences being trampled upon by these naughty ten year olds. The kids who normally paid attention had now joined this group and my class was in an uproar. A few playing “Ops and Bets” ,others making airplanes and flying it in class, a few playing with the “bohra” or the top, a few dancing and singing and the rest giggling seeing my plight. One of them probably felt bad for me and was asking his friends to be quite and listen to me. All the strategies told and discussed during the training had been ineffective and useless. I was in a soup. I did not know what to do. The din had already started disturbing the neighboring classes. I did not want the noise to reach downstairs. That’s where the Principal sat.

This situation, I thought could only be controlled by a raised voice. And that’s what I did. The class was quite. The kids were most certainly scared because they quietly slid into their benches.  And I began my “bhashanbazi”. I asked them why they came to school and if this is what they were taught during the last three years.I questioned them about their disobedience and asked them if their parents would like them to behave in such a way. Eventually I drifted to “What do you want to do when you grow up?”  I lectured them on how they would end up becoming a rickshaw driver or a house maid if they do not study and how studying will help them get a job in big air conditioned offices.  It was then that it struck me, “WHAT WAS I TEACHING THESE KIDS?” Was I asking them to study just to get a job? Had I forgotten that education was not only about getting a job but about living in a better, conscious and healthier way?  Did I want them to look down upon the job of a house maid or a rickshaw driver which for most of the kids was the means of survival?  What thought was I inadvertently sowing in their minds? Did I want them to survive or did I want them to live? Would I be proud of a student who decides to be a plumber or the student who wants to be an engineer will be given more importance? My head was clogged with these thoughts and I couldn't find the answer. I still haven’t. 

That day wasn't bad because flying airplanes or the ever increasing decibels did not allow me finish my story. It was worse because the teacher of fourth grade had unknowingly instilled seeds of abeyant but harmful thoughts in the minds of her students.

First day in school…Again

18^th June 2012. That was my first day in school…yet again. Confused? In 2012 I decided to work with a NGO called Teach for India. After a month long arduous training I was all set to be a teacher in a municipality school.  I was excited about the year, but was eager for my first day as a teacher.

Choosing to join Teach for India right after my Bachelors was perhaps the most important (and equally difficult) decision I made. The reasons; my parents were completely against it for their good reasons. Being the obedient child I was nervous to go against them but was also obstinate about changing my decision. Finally after a month long arguments and persuasions I struck a deal with my father. I would work with TFI for a year and then go ahead with my Master’s. (This was the glitch) I was proud that I did not hurt or offend them and would also get a chance of exploring something cool and different.  So after all such little big odds I stood there in Pujya Kasturba Gandhi School as a fourth standard teacher. Equipped with charts and games I headed to school on that rainy morning. Excited and anxious. I wished for a perfect first day.

I remember my weird first moments in the classroom, when a student entered the class, I tripped. Thankfully I caught the bench near me which saved me from falling. That was not a start I had hoped for.  Quickly coming back to my senses I welcomed the kid with a smiling face. He obviously wanted to laugh out loud. But seeing my expectant face he repressed him chuckle and only smiled. Without saying a word he kept his bag on the bench and ran out to meet his friends and almost certainly tell them about the comical incidence that happened in class.  This only left me worse off.

How different was this school from the one I had been to.  We had colourful walls and “unbroken doors”. Here the scene was slightly different. I did see colour on the wall but the designs were made by the water seeping from upstairs. My classroom had no electricity but had a 39 inches Sony LED. It contained 24 benches for my unknown 48 students and a broken door which made a cracky noise when pushed.

The school officially was to begin at 7.15 am. It was almost 7.45 am and the bell hadn’t rung. And worse I had only one student in my class. And he too hadn’t returned. Checking with the other teachers in the school, I found out that mine was not the only classroom children hadn’t turned up. How contrasting this was? My “first days” in my school ‘St Felix High School’ were the best days. Filled with excitement; a new bag, new books, a new classroom and teacher and the most important of all a new partner and sitting arrangement.  How was I to make a sitting arrangement without children in my classroom?  My thoughts were interrupted by “Didi may we come in”. Oh what joy! There was a bunch of eight kids waiting at the door asking for permission to enter the classroom. I let them in and asked them to sit on whichever bench they wanted too. Most of them occupied the first two benches in each row. Kids I thought to myself. These two benches were the least occupied benches in my college. And I began.

Sixteen eager eyes and ears looking at me and hearing intently to what I was saying. I almost forgot the “dialogues/speech” I had prepared for my first day. Startled in the beginning, I managed to pull it through finally. Just out of college I was now  on the other side of the classroom and this was definitely not easy.

With that thought in mind I started my day in school. Telling the kids about me, getting to know them, games and fun followed.  Eventually as the day progressed the kids began to get comfortable with me. The kids liked one of the games I planned and disliked two. This was followed by an art session which turned out to be decent. They told me about the movies they saw, the actors and cartoons they liked and the places they visited in the summer. That’s when I saw the similarity through the difference. Was the kid any different from “the ten year old me” mimicking Madhuri Dixit? Does the place where you are born make that big a difference? It definitely makes you the person you are, improves or deteriorates your value system, decides your social and economics standard. But does it change your desire to be loved and to love, to have fun, to laugh with your friends or to cry? Will a black skinned person feel hurt differently from a white skinned one when his( her) trust is broken? Or will the pain of losing a loved one for a Muslim be any different from a Hindu or a Parsi or a Sikh? On my first day in PKGEMS I understood wherever you are, whatever social and economic standing you have in the society your desires and aspirations will always be the same. That is what makes us humans.

A few hours later at 10.30am the bell rang (this one exactly on time). And my imperfectly perfect first day at school was over.