Teachers who pass the students' test

Published in The Tribune, September 5, 2016

Every time I come across news feeds about teacher trainings and workshops, the student in me feels perplexed. I imagine a trainer, a senior pedagogue coming to these meetings pontificating to teachers about best practices in the field. I wonder why they don’t invite a student instead. Isn’t a student the best person to give opinion about what a good teacher should be like?

Having been a student from the last twenty years and having gained quite an eclectic exposure to teachers from Punjab to Delhi to Oxford, I think I have some interesting insights to make. While every human being is distinct and heterogeneity is evident in teacher quality, there are strings that are common across teachers who become their students' favourites. This teachers’ day, I make an attempt at compiling all the traits that I have keenly spotted in the teachers who have become my personal favourites over space and time:

Those who are passionate about what they are teaching. 

John Quah, one of my professors at Oxford had a contagious passion for his subject. The entire class would be spellbound by the end of his microeconomics lectures. I vividly remember his class on fixed point theorems. After scribbling the proof of Tarsky’s Fixed Point Theorem on the whiteboard, he remained in a state of trance looking at the proof and then told us ‘This proof is the most beautiful thing on this planet and who knows even beyond!’ The entire class was thrilled. Passion is contagious and has the power to ignite unparalleled enthusiasm and curiosity in the minds of learners.

Those who always encourage students to ask questions. 

It signals that one is the master of one’s subject and does not fear answering queries. I fondly remember one of my professors at St. Stephen’s College, Delhi – Mrs Leema Mohan who would always take questions from students with a wide smile on her face. Her patient and placid smile would be so encouraging that even the weakest ones in class would not shy to raise their hands and ask their doubts. She was in complete contrast to another teacher who would deride the students for asking questions that according to him were ‘silly’. The entire class admitted to having developed a phobia for the subject taught by this particular teacher at the end of three years. Creating an atmosphere where students feel empowered and encouraged to ask questions creates a beautiful two-way flow in a classroom. This is one of the foremost characteristics that differentiates a teacher from a preacher.

Those who make an attempt to link the worlds inside and outside classroom. 

One of my high school teachers Mrs Sargam Malhotra at Guru Nanak Public School, Ludhiana would always make it a point to narrate a story in every class. Every student would gear up for this moment in class putting their pens down and straightening their backs every time she would quip ‘Let me tell you a story’. Mrs Kochhar, my political science teacher at Sacred Heart Convent School, Ludhiana would embark on tangents and narrate inspiring personal life stories to make a point. Those stories stay with me still. One of the basic responsibilities of a teacher is to simplify concepts so that they no longer remain esoteric. The ‘Indian Economic Development’ class of my teacher Mrs Poonam Kalra at St. Stephen’s College, Delhi is an excellent example. Her lucid and graphic expositions of poverty, unemployment, hunger and other developmental issues beyond pithy facts and figures would leave the entire class charged with the spirit to make a change.

At the same time, I recall experiences of studying under dull teachers who would merely repeat what was present in the textbooks or just fail miserably at explaining concepts to class. Our blank faces were unable to deter one particular teacher as he would continue enunciating his dry script or copying proofs from textbook to blackboard. He would fail to make us see the connection every time. Being able to synchronise my worlds inside and outside classroom has been one of the most crucial challenges growing up as a student.

Those who would go an extra mile to answer questions that are beyond the scope of the course. 

A good teacher doesn’t snub a question saying this is beyond your syllabus or that it isn’t important for the upcoming test. Even if it is something ineffable for the students at their current understanding level, she would draw a simplified analogy and help the curious students sneak a peak at the knowledge that lied ahead.

Those who are honest and say ‘I don’t know’ candidly. 

There were times when an unexpected question from class left a teacher blank or confused. Some brushed-off the question as being unimportant, some pretended about knowing and gave an ambivalent answer. At the other end of the spectrum were those who would honestly admit ‘I don’t know the answer to that question yet, but I shall get back to you’. And then they would get back the next day as a mark of sincerity. I still harbour oceans of respect for these teachers.

Those who hand back graded answer sheets in time. 

I had a teacher who would take at least a few months to return answer scripts of the class tests he gave. Then there was Pankaj Tandon, my microeconomics professor who would return the graded class tests right the next day after the test. I remember the entire class getting awed when this teacher gave a test on Monday and walked in with the graded tests on Tuesday. It showed us his utmost sincerity and devotion, the kind he expected of us.

Those who say a word of apology for a mistake made on the blackboard. 

There are some teachers who become too defensive to accept the mistake, some who admit the error but very discretely making sure to erase it before any other student notices, then there are those who openly announce in class that they were wrong before making a correction. Acknowledgement of one’s fallibility is one of the hallmarks of a great teacher. We came to respect such teachers even more.

While our education bodies keep coming up with eligibility tests and stringent requirements for qualifying teachers to teach, I do hope that someone up there is taking a note and making the students’ voices heard. It is time to raise teaching standards in our world by assessing teachers by the students’ criteria as well.

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

Naima's Ruksati

Lahore. 20th February, 2016

She was walking down the aisle with Mustafa and surrounded by family. She hugged her granddad and bowed down to get his blessing hand on her head. Then happily hugged her mom, her cousins, her aunts. It looked like a happy farewell with Naima actively acknowledging the arrival of the departing moment. She seemed calm and composed.

Then as we neared the exit, I came in the way of her hugging queue. I kissed her on her cheek and then hugged her tightly. The hug stayed on for longer than usual, I realised she wasn’t leaving me.

Then I heard a sob as we parted.

‘Arre rone dein, mann halka ho jata hai’, I heard someone.

Then I noticed that other hugs had become moist. As the procession neared the car, her eyes had started to glisten with sadness.

I came face to face with this painful parting feeling for the first time in life. I was standing neutral all this while, a mere spectator. But after that quiet sob at the end of the long hug, I was drenched in emotion. She had left me gravely confused. I thought I was just another friend but she treasures me more than just a friend. Her Abbu had told Papa how Naima had never had a close friend after Faislabad before coming to Oxford and that she was so touched to have finally found a friend. I was thinking at that moment why the sob had landed on my shoulder. Did the parting also have something to do with me? The sorrow was of leaving her parents, her siblings behind – but somewhere in that family tree, had I also silently sneaked in? I cried impulsively at seeing her in that condition, more after the car left.

Kranti noticed and offered her shoulder saying ‘Pagli, rote nahi hain’

I felt stupid for a while and laughed it off after wiping my tears.

After the Ruksati, we came home. The house felt strange without Naima. Then a call from Naima’s in-laws came. Her Abbu told us they had invited everyone over to their house. I went along with her Ammi, Abbu, Bara bha, Chhota bha and Bhabhi.

I felt as if I had become a part of Naima’s maika family. 

Reverse Cultural Shocks

30^th December 2015

Its been quite a while I have written a blog here. It has been six months since I have returned from UK. These six months, I have been through so many new transformations, learnt so many new lessons. I must ink them all here before I forget my old self and start believing I was this new self always.

The first month after returning was replete with reverse cultural shocks. I was aghast at the roads, the garbage, the systematic absence of queues in public as if I had subconsciously acquired a primed and polished Brit perspective on everything around.

I boarded a bus and asked the driver for a ‘return ticket to Chandigarh!’ He stared at me, confused and speechless. I walked confidently at zebra crossings without looking around, only to discover midway that the cars showed no sign of slowing down and that I had to run for life. I remember waking up in the Sarovar hotel at Delhi (where I was for the JPAL Staff Meet in July) and proceeding to the washroom sink to fill the kettle with water. It struck me after a lag of some seconds that this was India and tap-water was different from drinking water!

‘Oh shit, this is India!’ I had to remind myself multiple times.

***

Now that I compare myself with friends went to college in Ludhiana and stayed close to home, I notice such stark differences. It is as if I am learning so many things now that they had learnt within the last five years only. Two skills that hostel made me lack were – driving and cooking. I would cook at Oxford, but very rarely. Especially rarely after Naima introduced me to the Cowley world of ‘home delivery’ at Oxford.

Cooking at Chandigarh has been the baptism by fire. No more tortilla wraps, it’s a world with real rotis. Rotis made by kneading the dough first, spherical dough balls next, rolled onto the rolling pin and then heated on the tawa and made to inflate with a skilful art. It’s a hell of a roller coaster ride every time. The daal. The subzi. The Baingan Bhartha. The Aloo Gobi. Aarrgh! I have started to respect every single dish after being through the ordeal behind it. Quite naturally, I have started adoring my mother in a new way after being introduced to this new world. Somehow, I always took the breakfast, the lunch and dinner at home for granted. It was there because it was meant to be there. Now I know what it took mama to prepare that final good from the raw material she gets from the vegetable vendor on the roadside every time.

And then I have finally learnt to drive. It has been two weeks and I have driven to office by my car. It has been such an empowering feeling. Once I drove half way from Ludhiana to Delhi on the highway. Papa sprung up with joy. I am learning to shoulder responsibility and adoring Papa in new ways.

Mama papa say I have lived in an idealistic world till now. I have been a revolutionary, dictating how things should be! Papa has always encouraged and supported my passions. Now it feels like I am making inroads into the real world. My ideals often bump into practical constraints. My super-objective and sanitised Oxford self runs into trouble multiple times. I have to remind myself that I am not surrounded by economists afterall. These are lay men and women who get all astonished when I make cursory mentions of behavioural nuances I observe at play – anchor effects and bandwagon effects. They think I am throwing words around. Or probably think I am mad to think of simple real world phenomenon in such complex terms. It gets hilarious at times.

The new job at JPAL has been a blessing. It is challenging my axiomatic notions about the world, attacking my idealistic notions and hinting the dawn of new opportunities and responsibilities. I am right on the ground, close enough to people I have always wanted to study, and feeling their pulse. More on my diverse first job experiences soon. 

Words

***

If you asked me today ‘What is it that gives you the most joy?’

My most honest answer will be ‘Words’.

Yes, just words and nothing else. Neither economics. Nor psychology. Nor research. Nor teaching. Nor playing. Nor anything else.

Just words.

I can be secluded from all worldly chores and soak myself in the company of words.

Words that are pithy, terse or lucid. Words that convey oceans of meaning. Words that help me place all my thoughts in perspective. Words that put an end to all the rambling and place an entire universe of thoughts in orbit.

It has been a serendipitous occurrence. The discovery of a friend next door who needs help with the vocab preparation for her entrance. I had just casually skimmed through one of her books when I felt ensnared by the pull of words that jogged my memory. Words that I had commonly associated with numerous people in my head suddenly woke up from their state of dormancy.

Our initial word exchange went on to a spontaneous word game – she would think of a person and describe a peculiar trait of that person at length and ask me if there was a word for such a person. I would try to think of a word that would most closely match the description. We would invariably go on to tangents after tangents discovering a whole new world about each other, the people we deal with every day, our perspectives on numerous different types of people.

Moments like these feel so light and timeless. As if someone has just pulled me out from a diagram with multiple constraints and frontiers towering over my head to an unbounded space.

***

Music

Music,

Sometimes it flows like a liquid

Filling the crevices

That the weariness of the day created

To the cusp.

It takes the shape of all empty spaces within

Voids and vacuums of thoughts

And fills them all

With a rare glory.

Sometimes it is solid

And fits the inner surroundings

Like the last piece of jigsaw

Connecting with a click

Completing an incomplete tapestry.

Sometimes it rises

Like vapour

From the depths of the heart

Lending voice

To all that remained unsaid

All that remained unexpressed

And then travels

Like a wave

Connecting hearts

Through rhythmic heartbeats

That share a mutual melody

Until

Souls of songs and beings

Have perfectly

Synced.

Oxford Diaries

Hi Reader

I have temporarily moved to https://oxforddiaries.wordpress.com

Thought of compiling all my Oxford experiences in a separate space.

See you there.

Much love,

J