My student teacher

Let me try to distinguish between a teacher student and a student teacher. The former should be a teacher by profession who assumes all the character of a student who wants to learn many things and so s/he should be an ideal teacher. The latter is primarily a student who undergoes the criteria of becoming a teacher. My story is about my own student teacher. She was quite an avid student who at the slightest hint from any teacher would move heaven and earth to execute her instructor’s will. Quite often she would hang around the staff room to catch a teacher’s attention and dutifully accept any work that comes her way. In return, she just wanted an approving smile or a friendly nod or  a compliment in front of her classmates. Once when she approached me for assigning her an observation class, I told her to come next day. An observation class is meant for trainers who are expected to sit at the back of a regular class, watch the proceedings and make a detailed note of everything that had happened there such as teacher behavior, motivation, teaching aids used, student discipline, student response and the general class room environment. I carefully considered all the experienced teachers and excluded a majority for causes known to everyone and finally zeroed in on a particular staff member who was supposed to be a very well informed teacher. When I approached him for this favour, he accepted immediately without any hesitation and after verifying his time table told me the time he would be present in a certain class. After a couple of days when my student came to me with her notes, she was a little agitated which was very unlike her. I opened her notes and to my surprise I found it was quite blank. When questioned, she stood silently avoiding eye-contact. Gradually the story began to unfold. She was present in the assigned class well before the regular teacher’s arrival as expected of her. The class had been very noisy and many of the tiny tots were running helter-skelter ignoring her presence at the back bench. The teacher came in, smiled at her, pulled his hand-kerchief out of his starch-white dhothi, waved it violently to remove the dust settled on his chair, seated himself comfortably and started writing something in a note book. The noise in the class was so loud that someone in the next class peeped in. The teacher just chuckled and banged the table twice and went on with his scribbling. This went on for about thirty five minutes and towards the end of the class, my student approached the teacher with her blank observation note. She was told to fill it with whatever her books said. The budding teacher was visibly upset over her obligation. I didn’t know how to proceed in the matter and excused myself with some busy work. The teacher I had selected for observation was a regular newspaper reader including English newspapers  and reacted sharply with his views. He was very sociable, well dressed, had clean habits yet when going about his duty in a class room he had behaved very strangely and unpredictably. I understand there are quite many enigmas like him in our class rooms and the fate of the pupils entrusted to them is precariously uncertain. The paradox is that ill-paid teachers in private schools are scrupulously monitored and the well paid ones in the State schools have hardly any accountability and if at all it is there, it is only in the paper and not in practice.

Youth (mis)understood

Incredible and unpredictable are the ways of the youth today. They amuse themselves in umpteen ways. Some cannot be separated from their fancy gadgets. Some are glued to their handsets. Some are couch potatoes. Others wander along the dusty roads unmindful of traffic and congestion. A few crowd round multiplexes and gobble junk and pass lewd comments at everyone passing by. Then there are the devil-may-care bike riders who wantonly make noise on the roads obviously enjoying the risk they cause to themselves and wary pedestrians. Their choice of dress defeats all fashion designers. Buttons and pockets are found where they have no business and the material cries for the pressing iron. They have strong allegiance to Google and Facebook and all their information is supplied by these demi gods. They shun newspapers and religion. They acquire a distinct and incomprehensible vocabulary from all languages and profusely exhibit their stock at the most inappropriate time. Their music is a loud chat, amply strewn with words which are hardly understood. Music is bent to their convenience and discards are sweeter though they are anathema to musicians. Their twists and turns are dance to them. They have very supple limbs with which they can manage to hang anywhere on a moving vehicle. Most of them have adequate money to launder about. They don’t mind paying a hefty sum for a movie, sport an expensive handset and dine at flashy restaurants. None would feel sleepy at midnight or get up before eleven in the forenoon. Their parents are too old to appreciate their hidden talents and are hardly aware of the trends. They keep on harping the same advice and disapprove their children’s odd ways and complain to every relative. I should remain young to admire and understand these.

Chennai lesson

Water is a powerful medium that unites and separates mankind. No body can forget the war for water every year with neighbouring states. All kinds of differences emerge – language, region, status to name a few. Environmentalists bellow for awareness among planners, builders and all. Who cares? Every summer our folks buy water in small bottles, big containers, and sometimes truck loads to fill and supplement the available source. But this December, people really meant the old nursery rhyme imploring rain to go away and appealed  the divinity to give them a break and that too, a longer break, enough to regain the things  lost including the mental strength. Chennai was a Venice devoid of fun. Even planes had a taste of Chennai sewage. Broad roads became muddy waterways in which boats of all colour and size sailed along with loads and loads of careworn city dwellers who could not possibly have afforded a cruise in their life. They have left all their belongings at home undecided as to what to carry along and what should be left behind. Small savings that took shape of furniture, electronics, utensils, clothes- all were devoured by slimy brown waters which brought far off reptiles into the city. Water assumed another role of equalizer. It brought together warring neighbours, young and old, sick and healthy, rich and poor, literate and others to the same  shelter house. All ate the same food, drank the same water and slept under one roof. Children cursed the rain and disregarded the romantic charm of the monsoons. All their toys have either disappeared or become incredibly shapeless. There is little hope that they would be replaced. Policemen in their uniforms were visions of hope and security, no longer images of insensiivity and bribery. Cars and bikes became unusable and unserviceable, mechanics became costlier, insurance agents out of coverage area, and the future darker and dimmer. Lamenting housewives wondered how to restart the kitchen. Street vendors did not know the whereabouts of their stock or carriers. Chennai flood is a reminder to one and all that any day, anybody could become nobody. And sometimes you would be forced to begin from scratch. Those who escaped the fury of flood thanked their gods, congratulated themselves on their choice of residential area and never ceased from advising others on doing this or that. Well this year, it is flood! What awaits us next year?

Another Christmas

Another Christmas

Year after year December brings in the cold wind and the anthems that waft through it. Gone are the days when we visited those lovely bookshops that were  tastefully decorated with thematic festoons of Christmas, and cards of different colours and sizes lined along the shelves that obviate age old books that invited the attention of avid readers. Choosing the cards while humming through carol melodies was a sheer excitement indeed. And sitting with the family, signing off the cards and stamping them in a crowded post office - all these went along with the December routine but relished with the anticipation of an annual ritual that unites friends and family together. It is time to renew the contacts, say hellos, share gossip, and air music. But of late, thanks to the technology that was meant to make life easier, all these little sparks of domestic joy have vanished. You sit like an animated doll in front of your system, type and blink onto a monitor that makes you a zombie. I suddenly  mumble the couplet of Wordsworth:

Whither is the visionary gleam? / Where is it now, the glory and the dream?  Either I am too old to sustain the joy of yester years or the busy modern lifestyle has robbed me of these pleasures. I wonder how others feel. When one of these days I mentioned to someone that we should revive the old customs, no body spoke in favour of it nor anyone seconded my old fashioned opinion. I couldn’t help recalling my visit to Frankenmuth in Michigan where all through the year Christmas was alive with all the credentials, code, chord and colour. Hats off to those unceasing fervor and fascination of  those German ancestors who could cherish the mood all the twelve months without the least sign of boredom  in merriment. 

 The arrival of a newcomer has of course changed the scene considerably. You regain your vitality when you succeed in evoking a baby smile exercising all your buffoonery. May be we should tirelessly pass on the   energy and enthusiasm to the next generation. Long live the artless champions of innocence.