Chalkdust on my dastaar*

There is chalkdust on my hands, my black turban has almost turned white, my eyes are sparkling with a rare joy. I feel like my soul is overjoyed and recharged with fuel. A silent room has just come to life. I have just addressed an introductory economics class of twelfth graders at Akal Academy, Baru Sahib on the topic ‘Mountains and Indifference Curves’.

They have always seen the Indifference Curves flat on the blackboard or resting still in their textbooks. Suddenly those ICs had come alive in this class and risen from the blackboard and textbooks to acquire a three dimensional image. There cannot be a better scenery outside the windows for this class. They are marvelling at the contour analogy I have just introduced and fondly looking outside the window panes imagining themselves climbing giant mountains of utility.

There is a glow in their eyes that I have not seen elsewhere. It is this eureka moment that keeps returning when they finally understand something. I feel like I am taking them through a journey from ignorance to knowledge. I am reminded of my younger self that felt the same sense of discovery and thrill on learning these concepts and acquiring this understanding. It is not as if I have stopped acquiring more knowledge now, it is an ongoing process.

The Principal of Akal Academy at Baru Sahib was kind enough to let me quench my passion for teaching by allowing me to teach classes of eleventh and twelfth grade at their school for three days of my visit. Situated in a picturesque valley amidst the Himalayas, the school has a wonderfully tranquil air to it.

I was enamoured by their pristine faces. There were trains of innocent questions that I seemed to have fuelled by telling them that they have the freedom to ask any question in the world - even the silliest, most trivial question they can imagine.

‘Miss, why are we studying statistics under economics? Isn’t that meant to be in our math textbooks?’

‘In reality, how do you calculate arithmetic mean for 5000 students? You can’t be sitting and solving using that formula on the board, right?’

‘That thing about the marginal and sunk cost – that can’t be true, right? People don’t think that way – do they?’

Each question had emerged from the depths of their hearts. I felt like I had just set a million caged parrots free. They had buried these questions from long and finally liberated them. They energise me as I imagine myself in their shoes few years back struggling with similar doubts. It was the struggle with searching for answers that had made me so confident at the end of my twelfth grade. I answer each question and the glow on their face validates each of my answers, as if. 

 

The bell rings but they don’t want me to leave. They crowd around and ask me many more questions. The next teacher is waiting at the door with a rather surprised look.

I took upto 5 classes a day fuelled by their enthusiasm and would end up with aching legs and a tired throat by night. Strangely, some divine energy would wake me up afresh each morning as I would plan the lecture in my head and decide to tell them real life stories that would clarify the economics concepts.

On the last day, I tell them that I am leaving on the next day.

‘Miss please stay till weekend. Wish all your plans of going back tomorrow get cancelled’ - the sweet girl on the first bench quips.

There is something so priceless and beautiful about teaching. You are connecting to so many hearts by building bridges of knowledge. I stand smiling as the entire class crowds around for farewell pictures. I wonder if I have just discovered my calling.

*dastaar - turban