I WISH…… I WONDER

 

I WISH…… I WONDER. 

As little children, we often play games with friends and these games sometimes hold the seeds of our future. 

My fondest memories of such childhood games was the one I would play by myself. All it needed was some chalk and a blackboard. I would stand in front of an imaginary class, repeating what I had learnt in school that day and reprimanding my students just as my teacher used to. Then I would pretend to correct books as the class did its assignment. Finally I’d ring the bell and, as I bid my class goodbye. 

This game shaped my future and made me desirous of joining the noble profession of teaching- a vocation which many, sadly, have reduced to a pay packet at the end of the month.

My B.Ed. training days at SXIE, Mumbai brings to mind a special event and a debt I will never be able to pay my dear teacher Mrs. Athaide . 

All through that year I had never displayed any great gift but a poem I had written for the annual magazine showcasing our extracurricular talents impressed her and she asked me to do a ‘filler’ for Annual day. I was reluctant, but finally after much persuasion she got me to agree. I took the song ‘ Those were the days’, changed the lyrics to reflect all we had done that year and brought the house down that evening. I remember my principal, Mrs. D’lima, ask where I had been all that time and that was praise enough from the starchy monarch. That one kind gesture boosted my self-esteem ever so much.

When I did become a full-fledged teacher I had my own fan club but I often felt that I was not doing much for my students, since management demanded that portions be completed and books corrected. This obsession with completing syllabuses is what quenches the spark in dedicated teachers. Then there were unmotivated colleagues whose only thrill in life was a fat salary cheque placed in their hands by an equally fat clerk who could hardly muster a smile. My greatest frustration, however, came from the overwhelming numbers we had to teach.

When I came to Goa, I was relieved to see the classes reduced to half the numbers I was used to and envied the teachers here. Though I do not teach for personal reasons, the ideal class I would have loved to teach is one with 20 students, where I would know each one personally and could do regular home visits. The few times I had done these visits in Mumbai changed my opinion of those students drastically.

Uniforms blot out differences but teachers need to know these very differences if they want to educate in the real sense of the word. A friend of mine recently told me that she is glad that she has moved to Australia for the simple reason that her second child is rather slow and the teacher allows him to study at his own pace. Here, in India, he would have been classified a dunce, punished by the teachers and ridiculed by his classmates, she said. I was instantly reminded of Aamir Khan’s movie on dyslexia “Taare Zameen Par” where the little Ishan is forced to go away to boarding school when he cannot perform well in studies like his elder brother.

We strive for perfection even in our own children, when we force them to live out our dreams and aspirations. In the movie “Ice Princess”, a girl, who is heading for a physics scholarship at Harvard University discovers her gift for ice-skating. Her mother, appalled at her life choice, only comes to terms with her daughter’s talent when she watches her sail through the figure skating championships, winning the silver medal . At one point in the movie, the mother, in frustration, angrily blurts out to her daughter that she is throwing away her dream for a passing fancy. The girl replies, “Not my dream, Mother, yours. I’m going after my dream.”

Last month my son requested me to write a poem for his college magazine so I gave him this one:

I WISH……….. my books were lighter and my satchel less bulky.

I WISH………...the principal was full of smiles and not so rude and sulky.

I WISH………...my teachers knew the way to make me wanna learn.

I WISH………....education was loads of fun and not just a way to earn.

I WONDER……if it really matters how many volumes you’ve read.

And…………….if a few words of kindness is all that needs be said.

I WONDER……if I’ll remember my school for what it taught.

And…………….if that high–paid job will satisfy me or not.

The poem summarises a child’s perspective of education as drilled into him by his elders and what his own heart really wants. I hope those who are in the noble profession, sorry, vocation of teaching listen to the heart of their wards and will ‘bring out the best’ in them.

22 Jan 2010 on pg 14 under the heading ‘YOUR TAKE’