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.