Being a teacher

Being a teacher

In the most evident sense, it’s about learning how chalk and chalk-dust resistant your phone, laptop, hair, clothes, bags and all your other things are. It’s about having way too much stationary and paper and still wanting and needing to buy more. It’s about final divorcing your love for bags and shoes for the latter.

In a more tacit way it’s about feeling confused, happy, incompetent, lost, humored, sad,inspired angry,outraged,bored and a  million other emotions in a a second while having to put on the most serene exterior. It’s  about having to remind yourself to breath every second on a bad day.

It’s about letting 62 little people into your life, being on your feet for those entire 400 minutes and going home after to plan every second of your next day for survival. It’s about learning to be extremely cautious about what you wear and what you do as you finally understand that kids learn more by observing you than by what you teach them.

It’s about finally leaning to respect and appreciate your ALL your teachers – the good and the not so great ones.

It’s about unleashing the best and worse in you. A bad day can leave you at lows you’ve never experienced. It teachs you what it means to fight hard and bitter and find that one reason against all to make it to school the next day. While a good one can leave you with a high that could almost be considered a felony. It’s about understanding that someday you will come home feeling guilty and incompetent, but there will also be days where you’ll come back holding more roses and hand-made cards than the most popular girl in college. It’s about getting through a day from the well tucked and washed ironed shirts, platted combed hair, clean arranged desks to ink-stained torn shirts, ruffled hair, displaced benches, water fights and an empty first aid box.

On teachers day :)

It’s about being acutely aware that the letters b,d,p,q are just the same script in different directions. It’s about discovering a million ways to be creative using paper and finding caricatures of everything at the back of all question papers even if not an answer is written in the front. It’s about never getting tired of the words “nice” and “beautiful”. And getting used to “lions” and “tigers” mentioned randomly in essays (only because the kids know the spelling of those words and they must write something!)

All the hand made envelopes

It’s about experiencing the ultimate unmatched joy by finding that sparkle in the kid’s eyes when he finally solves a math problem that he’s been struggling with for days. It’s about finally understanding that if a kid doesn’t pay attention to you it’s probably because you haven’t really been catering to his learning style. It’s about knowing that when a kid is a distracted in class it’s not because he doesn’t love or respect you but it’s because he probably doesn’t understand a word of what you’re saying.

It’s about getting that teacher’s climax when you find that one perfect essay (on 'my school') only to realise that chunks have been plagiarized from the school calendar. It’s about never giving up, even if it means having to justify to yourself how technically plagiarism is also a skill.

The plagiarized essay

It about realizing that change does not come in a day but  you've  gotto keep looking at the signs; keep celebrating every correct use of a full-stop and every new word used (even if it takes you forever to decipher the invented spelling and handwriting)

It’s about leaning to build relationships and being trust-worthy. It’s about finally understanding the importance of making and following up on a promise. It’s learning to be empathetic, assertive and still caring. It’s about realizing how tremendously hard it is to raise a child.

It’s about using way too many hand gestures while talking and trying really hard to not tell your friends and family to raise their hand before they speak to you. It’s about writing a blog and knowing fully well that no words or pictures would ever do justice to describe this profession.

It’s about having your ultimate pick up line as “You should come to my class and meet my kids!”

I  used to be a 3rd standard teacher, in a low income private school called Guru Nanak in the Sion/Dharavi area of Mumbai, as a Teach for India fellow. 

All The Worlds A Stage!

(Big red drapes falling and loud applause.)

Ladies and gentlemen…Greetings! In an age of commercial cinema it’s hard to find true talent. One that is raw, earnest and still engaging. In my eternal quest to find the right plot and actors, the universe conspired to send me to class 3B. The class a tiny room with leakages during monsoons, has a peculiar odour thanks to the railway tracks and is a proud home to some of the rarest species of insects and rats. But don’t even for a second make an opinion of the quality of talent based on the appearance of this place. Every actor here can effortlessly depict all shades of grey, white and black. These 3.0-3.5 feet little wonders can not only hold and portray an array of emotions, all in a span of exactly 6o seconds, but can also become puppeteers of your sentiments. Making you laugh, cry, sing and dance to their tunes. Yes, my big theatrical is based in 21^st century India, in a small low income private school.

Just like in most plays we have certain exclusive roles, only enacted by the veterans. Some of the actors most acclaimed performances include:

The born leader: She was definitely the first one to catch my eye. The meaning of her name is associated with lord Shiva and true to that she has a blistering presence. Pretty, determined and witty. With sharp, piercing eyes and a quick tongue, she’s the queen bee of my class. She’s unaffected by rules and norms, and obviously dictates her own terms. I love her… Or wait. I don’t have a choice. I need to be in her good books since she is probably the only one who’ll know what to do if I faint in class.

The real Salman Khan: Some say he’s just in the wrong place at the wrong time, while some would say he’s always out there to kill someone. Some would say he’s always convicted for the crimes he didn’t commit, although some would say it’s his short temper that attracts all those troubles,  Yes, he is the poster boy of controversies in my class, whom all my volunteers are first to notice.

The Sutradhar (narrator): This character of ours is straight from pre-British rural India. Full of expression when she talks, her eyes are always moving and rolling to compliment every word she can’t express using this foreign language- English. The mellodrama in her facial expressions and eyes can live up to Natrajans expectations. As a skilled narrator, she’s the only one who helps you connect the events when you are out of class.

The chubby pampered kid:  Yes, he’s the kid who has the world to his feet at the drop of a fake tearless moan. The direct repercussions of this “Wake up Sid” case are evident from his rare ability to complete a 30 minute paper in 5 hours. The only language he responds to is the one with lots of butter, sugar and cherry on top, anything contradictory is a road to tantrums. But then again, what can I do? Like his mother says, “He doesn’t listen to me only!”

The universal roles: While some depict more of one quality than the other, there are certain roles that most of my kids effortlessly slip in and out of throughout the day.

The dancers and singers:  This part of my theatrical is a little Bollywood inspired. I know that if one of them randomly gets up and leads a flash mob in class it’s out of sheer boredom - I haven’t been entertaining enough. Clearly, it’s my litmus paper test. And just when I thought I was getting the hang of being a teacher, it dawned to me I have to compete with Salman and Shahrukh Khan’s dance moves!

The boys in uniform – The commandos: They play the role of the brave hearts in class. They are fully responsible of the pencil marks on everyone’s skin, the bruises on the shy kid’s knee, the ones who make the girls and boys cry, alike. They are unapologetic, fierce, and always ready to fight.

The boys in uniform 2- The aviators: They are the ones solely responsible for the different shapes, colours and sizes of paper planes and paper balls in my class. And just when I think I have seen every design, a flying paper plane hits my head – both metaphorically and actually.  Yes, they are in charge of the air route in my class.

The gossip girls and the paparazzi: They have their fixed fortress in class with a vantage point to comment on my every dress change, nail color and shoe style. They are proficient in taking advantage of, my every unguarded moment to exchange and multiply the scandals and scoops in class 3B. They are the means and cause - the glamor quotient, as well as the whistle blowers. Signing off xoxox.

The day dreamers: These interesting species have different manifestations depending on the time of day. Capturing each of their different portrayals is possibly every artist’s dream. While some find their inspirations by residing in groups, others are content in their solitary captivities.

They would put every senile person to shame by their sluggishness to study and everything apart from my teaching would continue to capture their full attention. On my lucky days, their attention span is slightly greater than 5 mins. And just when I start celebrating, I lose to a white mouse scurrying in the corridor, a colourful pencil or their imaginary friend dancing in the backdrop.

The charmers: They have the ability to crack you up, when you’re in the middle of giving them a piece of your mind. Their range of talent includes impeccable imitations, and flashing their million dollars dimpled,impish smile.

The Romeos: These are the undying eternal lovers. Everyday my co teacher or I get a letter saying I love u and you love me. These kids take their role very seriously. They are the knights in shining armor for their damsels in distress (my co teacher and I) when the commandos and others plan to attack.  

The sport champions: These are the kids who ensure my physical fitness. After every lecture, they ensure that I run after them to play hide and seek. You can easily spot the captains from the amateurs courtesy their hiding places - behind the black-board, under the desk equal the newbies; the brave voyagers in the principal’s office or teacher’s staffroom equal the baaps of the game.

Want to be a part of this drama? Or maybe get tickets to one of these shows. Get in touch with me J. I guarantee no one will sue me on intellectual property rights with the script. It’s an original with a dash of suspense, love, guilt, drama, naach-gaana and ultimately triumphs of the human spirit to attain knowledge, in spite the distractions.

ONE OF THE LOVE LETTERS

THE FEEDBACK FORM.

I  used to be a 3rd standard teacher, in a low income private school called Guru Nanak in the Sion/Dharavi area of Mumbai, as a Teach for India fellow. 

A little part of my new life.

There were 62 of them. It was my first instructional day. I could see them grinning. Oh! How I now know that toothless smile, those eyes.Those expressive tiny eyes said it all, “Didi, the novelty of you entering our class has gone (I had visited them once before). We’ve made our 1st impressions but now let’s give you a reality check.”  Before I could comprehend the full extent of this threat, there were 25 hands tugging me. “Didi may I be excused, Didi she is hitting me, Didi are you going to come every day?”….The list was endless. At that moment, I would have given an arm and a leg to have clones of me all over to settle them down. But clearly God or science wasn’t listening!

The day ended with my voice hoarse, my clothes a mess, my hair fussy and my sense of possibility at its lowest. I come home all upset and very very angry. In retrospect, training institute at Teach for India seemed a cake walk. I stomp my door and declare to everyone I meet “I hate kids. Hate them all. I could be the kid eating monster and care less.” My mom obviously horror struck intervened “Nirali, how can you say such things! Children are God’s gift to mankind.” “Yea, right! They are evil, annoying little pricks” I professed in rebuke.

I became a monomaniac. I was obsessed that only an effective behavior management strategy would work. My amazing co teacher and I sat that very night to have one in place. After much brainstorming we decided to introduce a few strategies. We made an individual behavior tracker with their pictures, a complain box to record any grave injustice bestowed on them, a marble jar which was a group behavior tracker and monitor badges.  

Amidst paper planes, water rockets and the hooting of the train every few seconds, I enter the battlefield, the next day. My game face is on. I have my weapons. Complain box- check, individual tracker check, marble jar-check , monitor badges - check. My 2^nd day can be described in 3 words: good, bad and ugly. What started as novelty, fun and absolute compliance ended with more paper planes, water rockets, some new artilleries like pencil guns, water balloons and very a strong defiance.

I didn’t know how to feel. It was better than the first day. Definitely. But in my head it could have been so much more. Maybe, I just didn’t want to think about it. I lay in my room in still silence. Their voices still echoed in my head. Fatigued and drained of all energy, I crashed.  When I got up I decided to clear my thoughts, room and bag. I started by opening the complain box

 It wasn’t just the well decorated envelopes that took me by surprise but the messages in each of these letters. Apart from 12 letters from the same girl complaining about everything and recording every emotion of her day, there were some exceptionally insightful and beautiful messages - precise, concise and heartfelt. Some telling me how they loved what I did in class today while some giving me advice on what I can work on. Some telling me they love me in spite of me shouting at them while some just saying I love you. They not only redefined the role of the complaint box in my class, but made me re- evaluate my disposition not just in my classroom and also in my life.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe I would get through. More than anything the complaint box, my treasure chest, helped me find my faith.

P.S: The faith lasted only the first 2 hours the next morning.

I  used to be a 3rd standard teacher, in a low income private school called Guru Nanak in the Sion/Dharavi area of Mumbai, as a Teach for India fellow.