Today was a pretty classic day, so I thought I’d try to capture it for you. After the usual routine of getting ready in the morning, I walk out my door and to the main street. Today my 9th class friend, Mudassar is waiting for me. He’s just barely reached the age when he thinks it just might be possible to win me over. Poor boy. I don’t think he realizes just how old I am, as many Indians look older than they are, and I’m just the opposite. We do our usual greeting and stand in silence, watching for a 7-person auto-rickshaw.
After a few minutes, one arrives and I squeeze in beside three other women. One man sits on the seat across from us, but it is the unspoken rule here that women are separated from men, even when it’s uncomfortable. Although I’d personally rather just sit next to the man, I decide it’s better to follow the custom. I’d hate to get a reputation as a "loose American" who sits next to MEN.
On the way to school, the auto-rickshaw does its usual swerving to avoid goats, motorcycles, pot-holes, and trucks full of bricks (those are the ones that still get my blood rushing). Everyone is out doing their morning routines: the female street sweepers are working at a 45 degree angle with their straw brooms, the farmers are rolling in on carts pulled by water buffalo, and the pan sellers are rolling up their tobacco sweetness. It’s loud with horns and people, but it’s even more smelly. I wear sunglasses to keep the dust out of my eyes. It doesn’t work.
I reach my intersection (Phiselbunda) in about 20 minutes and pay the driver 5 rupees. After walking a short distance past the fruit carts, I walk through the school gate and past the guard. Now the greetings begin. "Good morning, Madam!" The students are going out of their way to "wish me," as they say here. After signing my name and time of arrival in the great big, master book, I continue to the ladies staff room.
Here a few teachers are in the midst of a heated discussion over, well, something. I can’t understand a word, but I know I don’t want to get involved. I open my locker, take out my books, store my purse, and the bell rings to signal the beginning of the morning assembly. I walk amid a sea of greetings and take my position in the back of the long rows of lines. I won’t describe the details of the morning assembly now, as I’m planning to post on this later.
After the assembly, the students file out of the playground and to their classrooms in line. I have the first two periods free and return to the staff room to read the newspaper. There are a few people who basically run errands all day for the teachers. I call them "helpers," but the teachers look on them as servants. Teachers give them grocery lists, mail, lunch orders, etc. So one of the "helpers" has me sign for an arrangement (subbing period). This is their technique for covering absent teachers. I usually only get one arrangement a day, but one of the other Fulbright teachers has had to teach all nine periods a few times!
My arrangement is with my VIB class, who is adorable and lovely. When I peak in the window of their silent classroom, four student monitors are leading the group in some way exercise. They keep the children in line better than I do! I walk into the room and the class stands up, "Good morning, Madam!" And they won’t sit down until I tell them to, little darlings. I don’t know many of their names, so I really do call them "darling" or "honey" or "sweetie."
In the middle of class, one class VI student comes in asking me for the class’s unit 2 exam grades. I need to write the grades onto a master sheet for the class teacher. Now, at this very moment. In the middle of my 35 minute class. In front of all of the students. And then I’m to give this list to the student, so he can bring it back to the class teacher. Growl. I do not like this. But I sigh away my frustration at this lack of respect for my class time, as well as lack of confidentiality for my students; this is the system, and I work with it.
During third period I meet with class VIIIB. This is my largest (48 students), liveliest and brightest class, and I notice that a number of my stars are absent today. I find out they are at home, studying for exams, probably with tutors. As counterintuitive as this sounds, it’ll probably work out for them as the school day is full of interruptions and distractions. I do some revision (review) with the class and answer many of their "doubts." They use the word doubt here like we use the word question. On my first day, however, I was shocked at the impertinence of the girls in this class who kept insisting that they doubted me!
Fourth period I go back to my class VIB class, and I find it in chaos. One of my sweetest girls is crying, I’m told another boy is vomiting, a parent stands outside talking to a few kids, and when I walk in, eight kids leap up to greet me in person. After only 10 minutes of settling them down, however, I’ve got them copying the blackboard, ready to work. One good thing about teaching young children is that they’re resilient.
Fifth period I have free, and I write a letter asking for Principal Sir’s permission to take leave. This letter feels legitimate because I’m having to take days off for a conference next week, but I’ve written previous letters asking permission to go out of town during the weekend. I can’t imagine how teachers would react to reporting their whereabouts to the principal every time they left town. Are we children or professionals?
Lunchtime and I listen to a lot of conversation that I don’t understand. Two teachers share their food with me, which is much appreciated as it’s always better than mine. I catch a few key words that make me inquire as to the subject of discussion, and it’s told to me that there is a parent-teacher meeting today during 8th and 9th periods. Yes, I’m required to go. It’s two days before exams, and we’re taking class time to meet with parents. Fabulous.
So during my free 6th period I jump onto a computer and whip up a review sheet for my class VIIIA students, whose class I should be having during 8th and 9th periods. Then I run up to my VIIB class for seventh period. They are characteristically slow to get going, but I’ve trained them to become quiet at the count of 5, which actually works. This is my most valuable tool in all of my classes, as I was having a lot of trouble getting their attention without yelling at the top of voice and acting very mean. After counting slowly up to 5, I rate each class’s progress, telling them whether they are winning or losing in comparison to my other classes. This integration of competition when it comes to quieting down has been key.
After class VIIB I rush off to sit on the right side of the room with the other six female teachers. Across from us, the two male math (or maths, as they say here, which drives me crazy) teachers sit. (I think I’ve mentioned the division between male and female teachers. . . I’ve even noticed a bit of antagonism between them. Some women feel that the men gang up on them, taking sides during competitions, etc. It is amazingly petty.) I really try to stay awake listening to the principal lecture on school policies. Then some of the teachers speak about their classes, and the parents are free to ask questions. Every few minutes a cell phone goes off over the din of children running in the hallways outside. I just can’t imagine why they’re in the hallways. Only nine teachers plus the principal are in a meeting in the middle of the school day.
After the meeting, parents are invited to come up and ask individual teachers about their children. This is the best, awkward moment for me—perhaps you can guess why. I don’t know most of the children’s names! In fact, I’m so bad that I’m not even 100% sure from the name whether their child is a boy or a girl! So I fudge as best I can, making broad statements and avoiding pronouns. "Doing OK. Could volunteer to speak more. Studying for the exam, I hope?"
The day ends at 2:40, and the staff room is locked within the hour. I don’t know how the officials can expect teachers to correct all of the little books thoroughly with less than an hour of work-time after school. And taking home 50 books at night is rather impossible. There are certainly some admirable qualities about this school, and many among my students, but I still do not fully understand this system. I think few of the Indian teachers do either. Part of me just wants to take the school over, become the principal and implement some necessary changes. And then part of me just wants to go home to a system that makes at least a little more sense.
The next day was the annual Mysore Parade, which I've heard is the best in India. After a long wait in the sun, we were gratified with painted elephants, dancing girls, firebreathers, and more.
No parade is complete without a tribute to the nation's missile defense system.
The next day we found one of the most colorful and photogenic bazaars that I've seen so far in India.
