That Day of the Year

September 5.

It’s that day of the year again... when I most acutely miss being a teacher, miss spending a largish chunk of my day surrounded by kids of all shapes, sizes and temperaments.

They can be absobloominlutely maddening at times. You enter the class, with 95% of your mind on how to teach them that tough Algebra concept, and 5%  still worrying about that clogged drain you left back at home - to a welcome of 40 kids going chikipikichikipikichikipikichikipikichikipiki..MA’AMLOOKWHATHEISDOING..chikipikichikipiki...ma’ampranavisbeatingme...MA’AAAAAaaaam... kaboooom...THUDDDDDD!!!

And a great source of inadvertent humour at other times. How can I forget that notebook from one of my students, with a cancelled out problem, and a note written alongside in a neat little hand - “Q5 done on backside.” Well, for a moment, just for a moment, I did contemplate retorting with, “Err.. whose? And how the hell do you expect me to check it?” on his notebook... but then, better sense prevailed.

But on the whole, life is SO much more fun with them than without... One gets really attached to them, too. I think I howled more than the kids did when I left my first school, The Naval Public School at Chanakyapuri, New Delhi. And among all the touching, adoring messages of, “We love you ma’am”, “Please come back soon” and “We’ll miss you tons” - there was this strange epistle from a sixth grader - “Ek glass mein whisky, ek glass mein beer, oh my dear, happy new year!” :D

It’s no point trying to figure that one out – because there is nothing to be figured out. A child says whatever she or he is impressed with, to impress the teacher. And that honesty, that naivety, that unquestioning belief and affection, is what is so endearing about them.

It’s nearly 12 years since I stopped teaching. And now, when I don’t have my students around, I realise what I am missing. Being with them, around them, made me feel alive, young, fresh... their vivacity is contagious. I miss so much from my teaching days – the animated discussions in class, the adulation, the hand drawn cards on Diwali, New Year and Teacher’s Day... yes, I even miss the constant chikipikichikipikichikipiki chatter!

So this Teacher’s Day, I am going to turn things on their head, and make it a thanksgiving for all those I have taught over the years. Toh hey, all you kids (now grown up dudes and gals) out there - you really mean a lot to me and have given me trainloads of happiness. Thank you, and bless you all...

India 'International'

HELLLLLP!!!!!

We, the Indian Middle Class, are at the receiving end of an 'International' conspiracy! The infamous ‘Foreign Hand’ has diversified beyond politics now! I am speaking of the 'International' Schools that are springing up at an alarming rate all over the countryside.

Until 15 years ago or so, the magic mantra in education was 'Convent Schools'. Back then, everybody wanted the 'Convent' school tag. Every Sharmaji, Ghosh babu and Singh saab would proudly announce, "Our son goes to a Convent, you know!" And while this might conjure up the image of an adolescent boy running amuck amongst a flock of nuns, in reality it would probably mean the boy attended a school run by missionaries. It was equally likely, however, that the kid went to some place called 'St. Vivekananda Convent Public School'. Or maybe even, 'DAV Public Convent School'. DAV-Public-Convent!! What kind of lethal cocktail is that, you might think... but yeh India hai yaar, the land of Matar Paneer Pizza and International Vaishnav cuisine. Yahan sab kuch possible hai! Apart from catching Don, that is.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, what 'Convent' schools were to the Indian middle class at one time, 'International' schools are today.

Now, everybody wants to jump on to the 'International' bandwagon. No longer is ‘International’ a bastion of the rich and famous. Go to any middle-class neighbourhood in a metro. Go to Warangal, Chhindwara or Jhumri Telaiya. Chances are, there is at least one 'International' school there.

However, 'International' schools today are no more ‘International’ than the 'Convent schools' of yore were places ‘inhabited and run by nuns’. Based on my observations, I would say there are essentially 3 types of International Schools:

1. The La-Di-Da International School (Or, as they increasingly seem to prefer calling themselves now – the La-Di-Da ‘World’ School). These are the schools where the rich and famous RNIs (Resident Non Indians) send their children. These schools follow an International(IB or IGCSE) curriculum. But more importantly, the principal (male or female) has the liberty to come to school wearing shorts, and the first mandatory lesson for every student is 'How to Walk with your Nose in the Air.' They also learn other essential life skills, like - 'How to tell in half a sip whether the water that you have been served is really Evian or not'...

2. At the opposite end of the spectrum, there are the 'International Public Schools' - the modern day avatars of the ‘ST. Vivekananda DAV Convent Public Schools'. Schools with a 'flavour of the month' approach to education (and accordingly, tag 'Convent', 'Public' or 'International' on to the school's name) - to beckon to the largest possible number of gullible middle class parents.

3. And finally, there are the middle of the road ‘BlueToes International Schools’ of the world – who believe that adopting an outlandish name will catapult them into the class of La-Di-Da International schools. Here, the teachers themselves try to master how to walk with their noses in the air, before they impart this important skill to the students.

We are one of those hapless parents who have inadvertently landed up in the grip of the Foreign Hand. Trying to choose the 'best education' for our daughter, Ananya, we enrolled her in an International school that was set up in our neighbourhood. Two years down the line, we are rubbing our heads and trying to figure out exactly what kind of blunt weapon we've coshed ourselves with...

The 'Foreign' Hand(s)

The school, though new, belonged to a school chain of some repute, and we were given to understand that the school will:

• follow the highly esteemed Cambridge (CIE) Curriculum
• engage highly experienced teachers
• introduce a huge number of co-curricular activities
• embrace a truly ‘International’ spirit

We soon found out exactly how true each of these were...

• 'following' the highly esteemed Cambridge Curriculum – So it is done... by the teachers, at least. In other words, the teachers are 'following' the syllabus so zealously, they have forgotten all about the kids... leaving them far, far behind...
• engaging 'highly experienced' teachers – True again. For example, the Physics teacher might be an accomplished cook, and the Music teacher might have vast experience in gardening. But previous experience in what they have to teach the kids - bah, that is so, so passe!
• introducing a number of co-curricular activities – Ekdum true. A whole shedload of them, actually. Here’s a list:
  --Football coaching started. 2 full sets of football kit bought. 2 matches played. Football coaching stopped.
  --Keyboard lessons started. Huge, expensive keyboard bought. Lugged to school once every week for 3 weeks. Keyboard classes abandoned.
  --Skating lessons started. Most expensive skates in the market bought (upon teacher’s insistence) along with full skating kit. A grand total of 3 classes over 2 weeks. Skating lessons stopped.
  And that is just the beginning of the list...
  Well, they said they would introduce many activities, they introduced many activities. Who had said anything about continuity or quality, anyway?
• embracing a truly ‘International’ spirit - Sure! True 'international spirit' was amply demonstrated when the school made a dress code for the teachers - 'AVOID Indian wear'. It's also nurtured in many other small ways - like the music lessons, where the kids engage in the deeply artistic activity of downloading the latest Justin Bieber songs (and their lyrics) from Youtube. And this, under instructions from the music teacher, mind you! But recently, they truly outdid themselves in this 'International spirit' thing with a real brainwave - they made it compulsory for the kids to buy a blazer! Way to go!

Last week, I saw Ananya leave for school - yoga mat tucked under one arm, umbrella hanging from the other, 30 Kg school bag mounted on her shoulder - and of course, blazer firmly in place over her clothes. In the Mumbai rains. With the sweltering heat.

Time to look out for a new school, I guess.

For the Love of Bike(s)!

Have you seen a white elephant?  No...? Well, if you want to, just trot down to my place, because I have a couple of them right here in my garage.

The men of the house look after them, wash them reverently, and occasionally take them out for ceremonial outings. They are expensive to maintain – very expensive. And they eat a lot. But its fun to ride on them. Especially if one happens to live next to the Palm Beach Road - Navi Mumbai's answer to Julio Avenue. Whizzing on Palm Beach Road late in the evening, cool wind hitting your face and blowing your hair back - 'This is life', you feel!

Yes, I am talking about bikes... bikes that belong to the ‘boyz’ in my house – the spouse and the son. Try as I might, I don't think I'll ever understand what it is about men and motorcycles... that thing that reduces men to slobbering jelly-like beings who think with their adrenal glands when in the presence of a Harley-Davidson (or even lesser specimens).

And they catch it rather early on in life. My son caught it when he was just 4 years old. At that time, if someone said, “I am going to take away your Dad’s car” - he would just give a dismissive shrug, and say, ‘Theek hai’ in the most nonchalant tone. But if someone dared to say, “I am going to take away your Dad’s bike” - all hell would break loose. One could almost see strobe lights flashing in his nose, eyes and ears like a robot suddenly gone bonkers, and he would launch himself upon the culprit with a yell meant to curdle the blood and pickle the flesh...

But back to the story of our white ellies. One fine day last year, our son sat Sudarshan and me down, and informed us in a low, melancholy voice that life was not really worth living – unless, of course, he had a new bike. That elicited an immediate response from both of us – only, Sud finished saying “Of course!!” much sooner than I could complete uttering “What absolute rot! NO way!!”

The ‘Of course’ won, of course. And the first white elephant came home less than a month later. It was a rather snazzy Yamaha, and we all got invited for free rides, and enjoyed them to the hilt. For exactly two months, that is...

Then, passion took a backseat to convenience. “Tchah, bikes are not really the thing for Mumbai roads... what with the rains and potholes and all!” declared the teenager, like an enlightened Buddha. And since then, white elly#1 has cooled its heels (or whatever it is that unused bikes cool) in our garage, except for its occasional visits to the service station.

But the real shock was last week, when suddenly I found the elephants were reproducing! One fine day, I found 2 bikes in the garage instead of one! I rubbed my eyes and tried to recall what I'd drunk the previous night, but the double vision would not go away. It WAS another bike. And this time it was the older boy who had gone and done it. Sudarshan had indulged himself with a 500 CC Enfield –  covert operation 'Desert Storm' was well on its way!

A bit about our history with bikes here...

The very first bike Sud got was a Jawa. A friend just told him to take it off him, for free... and Sudarshan soon realised why. It would run rather well, whenever it could start - which was about once in 23 blue moons... And it had this annoying habit of stopping at the most inconvenient of places. Imagine, being on the pillion of a bike that stops right in the middle of the busy Raja Garden crossing – with scores of angry Punj commuters spouting gaalis and doing a war dance around you. And once, we almost caused riot police to be called in, when the Jawa stopped (and just wouldn't start again) in an Old Delhi by-lane where it was difficult to find even an inch of road space that was not occupied by a foot, butt, or wheel...

But still, both of us loved the inscrutable old bike - its eccentricity kind of matched our own... and reminiscing about our days of courtship is never quite complete without a few fond memories of our rides on the Jawa!

That was 27 years ago. After that there has been a series of them – begged, borrowed and bought. But the Jawa was special.  As was the Honda – the first bike we actually bought, and the one on which I learnt to ride. (That is a story too – but I’ll save that for another day.)

In recent years, I had thought the yen Sud had for bikes had waned over time... till the Yamaha and the Desert Storm came home in quick succession. Sighhhh... I must say (even at the cost of sounding sexist) - if we girls want our peace with our shopping expeditions, I guess we've got to allow the boys their dalliances with their Enfield or Harley-Davidson!

So now, here I am... stuck with the two gargoyles in the garage. And with every passing day, jokes like - “How do you fit four white elephants in the garage?” “Two on top of the car and two below...” seem less of a joke and more like a scary future possibility...