Driving through Jaipur, one is struck by the sparkling clean roads and neatly intersecting thoroughfares of the Pink City. Digantar, an organisation that works in alternative education for rural children, located outside Jaipur, was the venue for the 9th Partners’ Forum organised by Wipro Applying Thought in Schools (WATIS). Unlike conferences held in air-conditioned auditoria, Digantar offered a white shamiana that was adequate protection against the mild summer heat. Inside, gaddas with white sheets and bolsters promised a sense of being at home – in keeping with the rest of the arrangements.

The three-day conference saw some relevant themes in education being discussed and debated by the participants. On the second day, we visited government schools in rural Rajasthan. The participants had a choice to visit schools run by Digantar or the government schools in a sub-district called Phagi, an hour’s drive from the city. The Phagi schools are part of the government’s Shiksha Samarthan Project launched by Digantar in 2006 with support from WATIS. A few of us started early and reached Phagi after an hour’s bumpy ride on the bus. We were accompanied by Pushpajee, a Shiksha Samarthak, whose role is to mobilise support for these schools by working closely with the community and the schools’ staff.

After driving through a seemingly endless barren stretch of land, we reached one of the three schools in Nimera, a village in Phagi. We entered the classroom, trying not to interrupt the assembly. There were folk songs, dance and poetry recital. After the assembly, the children of class four were sent to another room while class three stayed with us. The classroom was simple – no benches or desks, only mats. We were asked to introduce ourselves, after which we asked the children for their names. Ninety per cent of the class belonged to the Yadav community. What was most striking was how cheerful and engaged the students were. They came across as bright and confident, and keen to interact with us. Their learning was different only in terms of school infrastructure. We posed mathematical problems, which they solved with ease. The teacher told us how the education given to them was relevant to their context. For instance, they were taught to measure land in bighas since a number of them took to farming after school.

Another revelation was the entirely different way of managing the class without the traditional approach to discipline. If a child didn’t feel like studying – which did happen occasionally – he/she was allowed to do what he/she felt like. Also, students are not failed in examinations, saving them the disappointment and stigma associated with failure that children in most schools are subjected to.

We were served tea while the students asked us
to solve a practical problem involving matchsticks. We were stumped and only one of the students, Rekha Yadav, demonstrated it, did we realise how simple the solution was. We left the school with a completely different perception of government schools.

The quality of education is not determined by the infrastructure available. Though, with better facilities, these schools could perhaps do much more. Discipline is not necessarily a matter of punishment and reward but rather of understanding what children need without imposing a teacherly view of classroom behaviour. Examinations, beyond grades, are a way of making the student realise his or her best, without encumbering them with the guilt or anxiety associated with failure.

We came away feeling that government schools sometimes offer a more practical approach to education, one that is relevant to the socio-cultural context of the child.

I don’t know if one usually becomes a teacher for the love of teaching. I know I didn’t. My own foray into the world of the “noble profession” was prompted more by the attraction of the short ten month course (then!) than any thought of “nobility”. Fortunately, the college I enrolled in was a premier one catering to the needs of secondary school teaching. That was decades ago.

Armed with a professional degree, I stepped into the atmosphere of schools, teachers, principals, students, bells, hierarchy and regimentation becoming instantly aware of the clamping down on any “ideas” that looked suspiciously different. You were thrust willy-nilly into any class you were allotted and were expected to “handle” it. You were supposed to know how to engage students.

The aims, objectives, methods and philosophies you are fed on during the course you attended and wrote your exams in go right out of the window as there is no practical use for them in the daily ritual of teaching and nobody is willing to add these topics to the agenda for discussion in the staff room. In fact the organization moves so smoothly and the processes in place so rigid that you wonder if there is any possibility for change.

Sadly, this is the scenario in most schools. Notebooks with pages and pages of neatly written questions and answers are a parent’s and of course a teacher’s delight. It is tangible proof that lessons are being taught “properly”; a record to be maintained with the teacher’s corrections in red validating the student’s work. It is also the place where the teacher can be pulled up for negligence or commended for thoroughness.

The pressure that is most felt is that of completing the syllabus. If you are handling the tenth class, there is nothing much you can do but conform or you might have the management, the parents and the students themselves at your back.

On the other hand if you are fortunate enough to be given any other level to teach, there is no harm in trying a little experimentation, within the parameters allowed. These parameters include some universal ones: the change or changes affected by you must be built around the core points to be taught in the lessons; they must not confuse the students; they must not take up more time than the actual concepts to be taught; they must help the student enjoy the subject and create an urge in her/him to explore beyond the requirement of the syllabus and of course they must not be expensive.

The innovation should make the student analyze events, think out possible solutions, empathize, debate issues, respect a difference of opinion, discuss methods, collaborate to innovate, improve vocabulary and gain the courage and confidence to get up and speak about her/his convictions without fear of ridicule. This in fact would lead to liberalmindedness– the hallmark of education.

Many a time we tend to forget that school is a microcosm of the world outside that the child experiences. If it is a harsh environment that curbs the natural exuberance of children it will only have a negative fall-out. On the other hand, a nurturing environment itself creates nurturing, caring individuals and equips them with the skills needed to make a place for themselves through right choices. It helps them decide for themselves the world they want and take responsibility for it. This can only be achieved by teachers who are open to ideas, innovations, and change – a great opportunity to make a difference.

The author has been a biology teacher for three decades and also has the experience of working with NGOs to improve the quality of education in government schools. She can be reached at girija.udayk@gmail.com.

When I say Hyderabad has it all and I enjoy a terrific time here, I meet with quite a few surprised looks. “What say you of the traffic?” they ask. It rocks, I say. When I say it rocks, I mean it rocks, for tell me what other issue has become such a fixation with us? It is traffic that rules all spheres of our life and conversation and has brought about so much understanding, empathy and goodwill amongst us.

Forgive me if my stance seems a bit off-centre, but I maintain that a traffic jam is a phenomenon with a binding influence. Frankly, what other occasion besides cricket binds people together the way a traffic jam does? Anybody (and you could be sure it is everybody) having experienced the pangs of being stuck in a traffic jam is able to sympathise and empathise with another in the same predicament.

The blessings of a traffic jam were revealed unto me, as I sat in my car one day and philosophised on what God could mean by fixing me in one, just a stone’s throw from my home. These things are sent to us for some good purpose, I told myself; no doubt they make us better people! As I set out to ponder on this, I was witness to a truly commendable spirit of comradeship. People from different walks and very different social strata had gathered to take up the job of easing the jam we were packed in. Watching them work I was thrilled to see their amazing cooperation and superbly co-ordinated efforts in coping with the situation. When, I asked myself was the last time I had seen such a seamless bit of work?

Blame a jam on the economic boom, population explosion, lack of civic sense or better still on the autowalla, the fruit vendor or the stray cat, the fact remains, traffic jams are a sign of our times and are here to stay. I offer no justification for them, nor do I have a viable solution to avoiding a jam, leave alone getting out of one, but I truly vouch for their absolute even-handedness. A traffic jam is as much a traffic jam for the loaded as it is for the broke, it is as much a traffic jam for the capitalist as it is for a communist, and as much a jam to a grandmother as it is to her grandchild. Now here is a phenomenon that transcends all boundaries and is plain justice come to life.

No, I wouldn’t go so far as to say let’s work towards creating better and greater traffic jams. All I say is go a bit soft on them, because sometimes they make us do things we wouldn’t have done in a lifetime. They make us better and greater beings, they test our patience, teach us endurance, develop tolerance, help us understand and relate to people and give us a common cause to think and work on.

Even the age-old bitterness between bosses and workers, husbands and wives and hosts and guests is about to grow into a more loving and understand bond, where if one says ‘I was in a jam’ the other will answer ‘I understand’. Been there, done that!

Just as the saying goes, ‘Into each life some rain must fall,’ so goes, ‘Into each life some jam must come’, and if you live in Hyderabad, so it shall!

Zeba can be reached at zeba_117@yahoo.co.in.

On a recent web browsing trip, I made a casual visit to a ‘parenting’ website and came across distressed parents concerned about their teenaged children. The more common concerns were,
“My 16 year-old has panic attacks.”
“My 15 year old daughter has low self-esteem.”

My immediate thought was, ‘Weren’t these adult ailments some years ago?’

What are the causes for this disturbing picture? The answer is not as complex as one would imagine. It is right there in front of you if you care to look. The challenges that children face today force them to grow up sooner than they should. The most prominent being exposure to unbridled information, and peer pressure.

Unlike with earlier generations, when information was ‘regulated’ and ‘filtered’ through identified and ‘restrictive’ sources, usually parents, teachers and elder siblings, today’s children have access to a global media – television and Internet topping the list.

As a result, teachers and parents only play the roles of ‘interpreters’ and ‘translators’. They are no longer the ‘people who could do no wrong.’ Armed with a variety of information children confront parents/teachers about issues which, until a few years ago, were taboo.

Readiness to do anything to keep pace with peers is the other worrisome trend among young people. The one adage that children subscribe to these days is ‘THE WINNER TAKES IT ALL!”

As if high academic performance was not a stringent enough scale on which to access the success of a child, many other ‘performance measurement tools’ are involuntarily thrust upon the hapless adolescent. Appealing physical appearance, premium brand preferences, aptitude for sports, ability to excel in song, dance or any other of the performing arts are some of the things that the modern-day young man or woman should have. The 21^st century youth better be the ‘Queen’ or ‘King’ of all trades.

Today’s youngsters believe that they can lead their lives in their own way and that they don’t need adult supervision.

Gone are the days of regulation and control. It is time to replace ‘counsel’ with ‘feedback’. Youngsters want their views to be ‘endorsed’ or ‘considered’, and not necessarily ‘corrected’. Advice has to be diluted to ‘suggestions’. Parents and teachers need to be mentors and coaches, and most of all friends. It’s ‘Bye, bye, innocence. Make way for ‘attitude’.

It is time for a modern-day Eric Berne to redraft the Freudian psychoanalytical theory of Transactional Analysis. There is a fourth ego-state at play, beyond Berne’s identified states of Child, Adult and Parent.

Welcome and include the Teen-Adult!

Nalini Suryanarayan teaches at Dr Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan Vidyalaya, Malad, Mumbai. She can be reached at dsrv_m@bcgschools.org.

These are exciting times for us at Teacher Plus. The editorial office is abuzz with the sound of irreverent laughter as another contributed story’s Internet predecessor, with a canny resemblance to the reproduction is discovered. But I think we at Teacher Plus are about to bring a number of things back in fashion, given how uninspired and drudgeroned (see what I mean) the world outside is.

So when the first story came to us, pasted in a word document, the glue was drying up around the image on top, reeking of reconstructive surgery. Suspicions aroused, we sampled a few lines, copied them into the Google search bar and hit enter. Well, what happened next is anybody’s guess. The entire story along with the images had been lifted and neatly copied in to a word document, without acknowledgement! And this story had come from an old contributor… and since name-mentioning is not allowed, we might resort to name-calling. Let’s call this contributor Olda Mire. Her piece lay in our e-folder and we decided to use it and also informed her about it. But as a precautionary measure, we asked her to confirm if she had actually written it on the website before she sent it to us.

The next story that came in wearing plagiarised pants was meant to be a cover story – let’s call her Leda Joshua – this contributor did go beyond to add her own thoughts to the piece. But two sore paragraphs stood out, having been displaced from their virtual context on to a modified mediocrity, not a comfortable home for many an original idea. This ‘rephrased favour’ would’ve cost us dearly if our fierce forensic editor hadn’t smelt the stale text. Well, too bad for those in the education business who think they can change the world by recycling it.

As I write this piece, I am asking editorial sleuth number two questions to get the precise drift of what exactly happened. Between giggles combined with a bit of pretend-horror (we at Teacher Plus are often dramatic for effect!) and defeated depression, she tells me that the editorial sleuth number one, whose nose can smell-hunt an entire range of spices out of their mystique, had discovered yet another instance of copy-paste crime. By way of footnote to the last paragraph, she also reveals that it was editorial sleuth number one who had asked Ms. Joshua to write the story in the first place.

Now editorial sleuth number one was reading this story on digital learning originally by one Thomas G. Layton and then later, copy-pasted by Mahita Vibhajan, and marvelling at the quality of writing. Now sleuth one has this gift, as I described earlier, and she thought to herself, hmm… too good to be true! Let’s test for authenticity. So she re-copy-pasted a few lines and placed them for inspection along the Google search bar and hit ‘enter’ with a vengeance. And then her jaw clenched and fists tightened as she saw that the ‘O’ of ‘originality’ was a big gaping hole through which everything had just slipped. Vibhajan had even copied the image with the story and had just reordered the paragraphs. Or maybe that happened accidentally because her MS word skills were limited to copy-paste, save-attach and send-by-email. We’ve considered writing to ask the author if Thomas G. Layton is her alter ego.

I could go on, but… enough has already been written about plagiarism. And much of that has been plagiarised too. On the Internet there is a six–degree separation between things. It’s possible that more than one person is planning to plagiarise the same thing. It might indeed be true that the wars of the twenty-second century would be fought between potential plagiarists. Plagiarism leads to violence – but then, we all know that violence too encourages copycats! A vicious cycle here?

Ca, ca, ca shouts Adwait excitedly when he sees a car pass by on the road. My son is 18 months old and my time is best spent when I am with him. During our time together, Adwait and I learn from each other. What I learn from him are simple yet significant things. He has helped me slow down and find pleasure in the ordinary things of life. I have become more patient and self-controlled. I have learnt to appreciate even things as mundane as being able to sit upright. Watching Adwait make an amazing journey from knowing nothing to learning to do so many things has been an entire lesson in itself.

What has been most rewarding is seeing the human mind grow. Adwait enjoys his time the most when he is in the kitchen with me. Until two months ago, he was only interested in the act of cooking – the stirring, the mixing and the seasoning. Today, Adwait knows that what is cooking is food and can be eaten. Now when he sees me cooking he brings his plate and thrusts it in my hand and looks at the food on the stove eagerly.

Something else that Adwait likes to do is to browse through my CD collection. Pulling out all the CDs and scattering them about used to be a favourite game with him. All my efforts to try and get him interested in the faces on the CDs would be in vain. Then one day when he was at this game again and I made no attempts to tell him who was who, he did not rest until he got all the names out of me. Today he can tell Amitabh Bachchan from Yesudas. Isn’t it remarkable how the human mind, a blank in the beginning, starts to collect information and remember it?

Adwait and I love our trips to the supermarket. While earlier he was just a passive shopper, today Adwait walks around and picks up things that fascinate him and comes and drops them in my basket. On one such shopping trip I saw him looking at a shelf that had our regular coffee powder stacked. Adwait saw that there were bigger and smaller packets of the same coffee. While he first reached for the bigger packet he soon realised that it was too big for him and quickly moved to pick up the smaller one.

Isn’t it exciting monitoring the growth of a child? Something that most of us wait for as a baby grows up is its first intelligible word. Adwait’s was bow bow. Today, Adwait has a total of four words in his vocabulary. He is so excited to find his voice right now that he is constantly babbling. Unintelligible though his babble is right now, Adwait is so eager to talk I know he will soon progress from saying ca, ca, ca to bus, truck and lorry. I am waiting to hear him speak.

After long days of grading papers and disciplining unruly children, a growing number of tech-savvy teachers are creating online journals to vent about the stresses of the profession.

Educators who have already embraced the technology – called blogs – find themselves walking a fine, virtual line of conduct. They strive to entertain and inform, but cannot violate their school districts’ ethics, policies or federal laws designed to protect students’ confidentiality.

Most teachers who blog have opted to do so underground – refusing to cite their names, workplaces or other identifying details – to avoid potential professional pitfalls.

“School administrators tend to be pretty vindictive and they don’t like people with different ideas from them. People who speak out are not regarded very highly,” said Mike in Texas, an elementary school science teacher from East Texas, who started an online diary two years ago as a way of defending public education.

Teachers, initially slow to try out the medium, are publishing blogs at rapidly increasing rates – partly because they see the online journals as a way to have their opinions heard, experts say.

“Teachers’ public voices have less and less currency in the education market with respect to deciding what benefits children,” said Michele Knobel, an education professor at Montclair State University inNew Jersey. “Blogs can become a forum for voicing frustration with the ongoing de-professionalisation of teaching and the sidelining of teacher wisdom and experience.”

The number of blogs about “teaching” or “teachers” tracked by Technorati.com has jumped 10 per cent in less than six months to nearly 950. LiveJournal, one of the most popular blogging sites, lists about 415 chat communities interested in teaching.

A delicate balance
Libby Nicole Ingrassia, a techie-turned-teacher, admits that most of her co-workers are far behind the blogging curve. The first-year KIPP Houston High School teacher has been blogging since 2000.

“Most teachers here might be aware of blogging, but only on the peripheral,” said Ingrassia, who keeps a blog called Notesgirl. Still, she said she expects to see a rise in both the number of teachers who keep personal blogs and the number who use blogs to communicate with students about assignments.

Though Ingrassia is open about her blog, most teachers aren’t willing to reveal their identities. They say they’re afraid of getting fired, upsetting their co-workers or violating federal laws that protect their students’ confidentiality.

In the cyber world, these teachers pour their thoughts out under screen names like “Bud the Teacher,” “Hip Teacher” and “Cool Cat Teacher.”

Some teacher-bloggers predict that their districts may soon draft rules outlining what employees can and can’t say online.

A right to blog
“While the district does not have the authority to prevent district employees from subscribing to these types of applications from their homes or from exercising their rights to free speech, employees are held accountable for adhering to the state code of ethics for educators,” wrote Lenny Schad, Katy school district’s deputy superintendent for information and technology services.

Gayle Fallon, president of the Houston Federation of Teachers, said districts can’t restrict teachers from commenting on public matters. They can, however, forbid teachers from revealing students’ identities or from using taxpayer resources for personal pursuits.

“They have an absolute right to blog,” Fallon said. “Just not on school time, not on school computers – even if it’s lunch, it’s still a school computer.”

While talking about unidentified students isn’t yet addressed in policy, most teachers said they have the good sense to avoid bad-mouthing the youngsters they teach.

“Mr. AB,” a young elementary school teacher in San Jose, California, admits to originally using his blog to vent about students. He said he’s now found a better subject-matter balance for his blog, called “The Trenches.”

‘Free therapy’
“Ms. H,” a 35-year-old high school teacher in the Fort Worth area who keeps a blog called Molding Young Minds, said she gets pretty personal about her experiences, telling readers about a former student who she’s taken under her wing.

She said she got hefty criticism on her blog when some readers thought she crossed a line by giving students rides home. The teacher said she usually appreciates the feedback from fellow teachers across the country.

“It’s free therapy,” she said. “It’s turned out to be really useful for venting and thinking through stuff.”

If you, as a teacher, are an avid blogger, please write to us about your experience.

Some blogs by educators:

• Libby Nicole Ingrassia at www.notesgirl.com
• John Pearson at learnmegood2.blogspot.com/
• “Mike in Texas“ at educationintexas.blogspot.com/
• “Ms. H“ at moldingyoungminds.blogspot.com/

© 2007 Houston Chronicle Publishing Company. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.

I am a research scholar at the Central University, Hyderabad and live on a beautiful campus, where everything seems perfect to me. Well, almost perfect, until I begin to have a conversation in English with a friend or with a member of the faculty. I wonder why every time I begin to have that conversation in ‘English’, I falter: the right words fail me when I need them the most! And every time this happens, my memory goes back to that unforgettable July day in the summer of 2003…

In a small hall drenched by the bright light of the sun filtering through the curtain, I awaited my turn to have an audience with the headmaster of the school. This time, it was not for the usual punishment; I was meeting my ex-teacher in my old school!

My turn came as soon as a parent crossed the threshold of the Headmaster’s room, perhaps having dealt with another case of a mischievous child on the run. But as I brushed my musings aside and turned towards his room, nervousness gripped me…

Knock, knock!

“Come in!”

“Eerr… ummmm” (I was sweating profusely – well of course – blame it on the infamous Dimapurian humidity. [Dimapur is in Assam])… I managed to address him with a feverish grin, “… May… may… I… I come in … sss… SIR?”

“Ah, my old mischievous boy! I am glad to see you,” boomed the Headmaster. “I hope you are not here for another round of mischief… punishments have improved lately, my boy. Ha, ha! Effective ones I should say… no pain involved, just puuurrreee guilt, just enough to bring you back on track… Ah! thanks to the innovative teaching methods, corporal is out, my boy. Good news, nah? You wish to be back in school again, don’t you? Well, anyway let me hear from your end, my boy…”

And just as I made an effort to answer: “I… aaa…” I was flooded by a volley of questions – “How was your trip back home? How is your institute? How about your teachers? Any plans for research?” Blah, blah, and more blah…!”

The rest of our meeting was history! Much to the amusement of the Head, our eventful reunion was marked by numerous “eerrs” and “ummmms”. I could see his silent grins when I made the effort to converse sensibly.

Our reunion drew to an end, and as I walked out, the Head uttered his parting shot, “It’s a big world boy, make the most of it… you’ve got more than you have right now.”

I understood!

I came out of his room bamboozled, but wiser. I learnt an important lesson; ‘silence’ may be ‘golden’, but not always! Conversation is an important human interactive art; I was well versed when it came to speaking on my subject-matter. However when it came to ‘speaking’ or ‘conversing,’ I felt terribly suffocated. I was tongue-tied in most instances, the more I made an effort to speak, the more I stammered!

I was seriously asking myself as I walked out of the school, “Is my speech selective to subject-matter, or is it the reaction to situations that determine my speech blues?” Though the answer may lie anywhere at any stage of our lives, in my case, I realised that I had faithfully adhered to ‘Omerta’ (the Sicilian code of silence), with the self-assurance that ‘equipping yourself in writing skills and your subject-matter is more than enough.’

That, I am sure, was where I missed out on an important aspect; ‘speaking’ or ‘conversing,’ an area I thought was of no importance to me. However, experiences down the stammering years affirm that ‘conversing’ is as important as writing or any form of communication.

They say that a skill is not only intuitive or acquired, but it also needs nurturing for an individual to sustain it. If only I could revisit school days and pick up on those debates, extempore, book reading sessions, discussions and jabbering with my old friends; if only I had heeded my teachers’ encouragement to actively participate in these, I know they could have given me something more that I am struggling with–good conversation skills, one of the important keys to human communication.

The writer is a research scholar at the University of Hyderabad. Email: wabanglcr@gmail.com.

Dreams of social change, for an octogenarian, may appear as irrational fancies. However, they are real opportunities for you youngsters to generate positive social change,” says 80-year-old Ramchandra Inamdar, a teacher, artist, change-maker, child…

Popularly and fondly known as “Inamdar Sir”, he is “Ram Kaka” for me; he is my granduncle and my grandfather’s younger brother. A former art teacher at Bal Mohan Vidyamandir, he is an alumnus of the JJ school of Arts and the only member in our family to have studied art formally.

What greeted me as I approached his house in the village of Nilja, a few kilometers off Kalyan, was a name plate that read “Maitree Shaala”. This is Ram Kaka’s home, workspace, school, dream, struggle and his priceless patch of sunshine which he strives to spread so that children of all ages from nearby villages can come and bask in its warmth and shine on! The school, which is an extended portion behind Ram kaka’s house, only has four brick walls with a tin roof for the ceiling. However, in spirit and purpose, it is a platform for raising awareness, fostering positive learning, breaking shackles of blind faith and exploring means to live purposefully. What is most heartening about the structure is the welcoming rangoli pattern around the steps. That a place is tended to and cared for shows through many small things, a welcoming rangoli pattern associated with joy and mangalya being one.

Just like his school, the doors of Ram Kaka’s house are without locks or bolts beyond the standard kadee! He claims there aren’t any valuables he is afraid of losing. But for me his house is full of rare gems and precious treasures such as intricate paintings reflecting hours of labor, hurried yet meaningful sketches, mere paint daubs, portraits, landscapes abounding in every corner of the room, some hanging on walls and some tucked under the mattresses of the two beds in the house. All his art is unconditionally created on handmade paper, cardboard boxes, and “re-imagined”(recycled) paper. There is art in the form of graffiti on walls darkened by candle flames lit during long power cuts as well. I wonder how many hidden treasures I may find if I were to raid the mysterious loft covered with cobwebs and grime!

In this crammed, dusty house inhabited by two beautiful people, Ram Kaka and his wife, is a constant trickle of toddlers, young eager minds, motivated teenagers and a few open-minded adults. The house is rich beyond measure in its openness and dreams!

Ram Kaka engages with the children through painting, storytelling and theater. He occasionally invites experts from the city to talk on topics of health and hygiene especially health of adolescent girls. These talks, sometimes guided by experts and sometimes by the young boys and girls themselves, are fondly referred to as “Cha ma cha”, an acronym for “Chalaa Maroo Chaar Gappa”! (Let’s talk, in short!). At age 80, Ram Kaka is excited about launching a book of poetry he has written and compiled especially for children.

He believes every moment is a moment to start something new. And I say I need to pull my socks up!

The author is a trainer/facilitator with Railway Children, a UK based NGO. She engages creatively with street children and the staff of organizations across the country to ensure the staff’s improved and increasing psychosocial support towards street children. She can be reached at jamunashukla@gmail.com.

When I alighted from the Shantiniketan Express whose walls had large portraits of Tagore, I had no idea that Shantiniketan would also be a serene monsoon getaway. The station seemed to belong to the place – quaint, a movie set swarming with hordes of extras as passengers and coolies. In my imagination-geography, where I often travelled to distant lands, Shantiniketan never figured on the itinerary either by way of a stopover or a detour. But here I was, standing on the platform, about to step into the July rains that coincided with my visit to Shantiniketan. Our host, Chumki, belonged to the upper echelons of Bengali society. She had invited my friend Vaibhav and me to her vacation house in Shantiniketan.

Upon reaching her bungalow, Chumki snapped her fingers to summon her retinue of servants who arranged a lunch assortment of maachh, fried aaloo, mishti doi and daal-bhaat, the quintessential Bengali menu followed by dessert. Full on fish, I sat in the backyard overlooking an infinite paddy field with distant houses on the horizon and clicked away with my borrowed digital camera.

We went into town in the late noon in Chumki’s Ambassador – a white bulky monster enjoying a walk in the rain by itself. The downpour curtailed our plans, postponing them to the next day. Dinner was replete with meat delicacies and a customary glass of toddy brewed fresh from the plant, served with Chumki’s tales of the British times, of the aristocracy and the maharajas of pre-independence India. She introduced her joy of drinking in her anecdotes, often giving them colourful turns producing a fresh round of rippling laughter each time. This was hardly the Shantiniketan I had imagined, a surreal resurrection of Chumki’s past recalled in a monsoon theatre.

The next day, we went to see the university and the Tagore museum. The rain-washed buildings in large green compounds of the university seemed to embody Tagore’s own dignity. The serenity of the place was inspiring, with students engrossed in books under trees. We declined a paid tour of the place choosing to explore on our own. Wandering along the hostel corridors, we reached the canteen, a stuffy little room where students were eating. While some had come to Shantiniketan to be a part of its rich, cultural heritage, others did admit that career prospects at Shantiniketan remained limited. Their accounts revealed a different image of Shantiniketan – a secluded world of intellectual pursuits that didn’t really open up a route to the commercial world. They asked us the same questions back, as to where we came from and what we did. Our response seemed to disconcert them. Their expressions assumed an unfriendly air and we thanked them and proceeded to the museum.

Shantiniketan as a place belongs to the spirit of Tagore manifest in his large portraits and towering sculptures at every turn and curve in the city. The museum evoked a sense of knowing Tagore through his letters, pictures, hats, coats and portraits. His intellectual prowess appeared misplaced in the milieu of this pompous public display. His physical stature grew in a sculpture or a portrait but shrank in the almost vulgar display of his genius, on show for everyone to admire.

The rest of the day was spent shopping, eating and sightseeing. At our next destination, Aalcha, the name that hadn’t left Chumki’s lips until we got there, our sightseeing stamina began to give way. We sat down for tea and fried snacks while Chumki shared a laugh with the person behind the counter with the familiarity of an old aunt visiting after a long time.

The evening fatigue was addressed by a choice of beverages. The merry mood was soon disrupted by the news of bomb blasts in Mumbai’s local trains. A power failure further sobered everyone down. As we sat there chit-chatting, another place had been illuminated on my imagination-geography, a Shantiniketan more real to me now.