School teachers of India

                                               

                      
Today I read the news of a little girl who was stripped and locked in the school toilet for bad handwriting. I felt like I have been tortured and fatally kicked in the gut three times over. As a female, as an Indian and as a student of this education system. What kind of teachers are we producing? How are our students being mentored? I am choked with multiple questions and a rush of emotions.

Come on people, she is just a 6-year old! And punished for what? Excuse me? Bad handwriting?

The talk of teachers transports me back to my schools days and my interaction with them. Honestly, the recollections aren’t fond. Yes, I was spared the rod and I was lucky to escape highest degrees of humiliation.  But as a learner, I came out with zilch.  For fifteen years, I was a passive receiver, just like a majority of students in school. No active interaction with teachers, no mind- stimulation through activities like role-playing, meaningful debates, projects or field work. School was synonymous with fear.On good days, it was with duty. Looking forward to school? You got to be kidding!  

Our history teacher, Mrs. Rastogi, was a classic example of making studies mundane.

She would not let anyone open a book in her class. She never smiled, trudged her rotund self into class, parked herself on the chair, fished out her glasses from her large handbag bag, perched it on her nose, let out a sigh and select a chapter and start reading as if it was a punishment. Since we were inmates, we felt even worse.

She would read and read. And read some more. She would read all through the 40 minutes of the period, lifting her head from the textbook for a mere glance , just twice or may be three times.

The class never experienced any sort of explanation, debate, project or active involvement. The back benchers would make paper balls and volley them left and right, escaping her eyes, while the middle benchers would yawn and stealthily turn around to see the “game”. The front benchers were unlucky to be condemned to their places. The ancient, medieval and modern history came and went in four years’ time without arousing our interests.Mrs. Rastogi didn't change. We yawned more and prayed harder for her to be absent. Just like her, most  other teachers too, efficiently went through the motions of teaching in varying degrees. Talk about teachers' quality!

Only our Hindi and Economics teachers were less intimidating and allowed us a dialogue. No one bunked their classes. I always wondered why teachers made education a task rather than a delightful experience.  When I read history today, I enjoy it to the hilt.  

In hindsight, I wonder, had I got different teachers as mentors, would my personality been any different? Would my professional destiny be any different?

While my heart cringes for the innocent little girl who underwent this ordeal, the rage inside me kicks every now and then to tell me I have to do my bit to make this messy education system better.

Compassionate, not horrendous.

Humane, not inhuman.

Accommodating, not predatory

Amen!