Could this be the face of Rajasthan’s Robin Williams from Dead Poet’s Society?
Could the inspiring teacher Mr. Keating, from the Dead Poet’s Society, present himself to you in a rural government school in Rajasthan? Could the reformist teacher be clapping to a misogynistic song and yet be a gender champion bringing about actual ground level change in gender stereotypes? Perhaps yes. Only I, the urbanite would have to shed my own stereotypes, to recognize him!
All this & more about the goverment and private schools dynamic, as I learn to unlearn at a rural govt school in Khetri, Rajasthan.
The long dusty winding dirt road to a hamlet in Khetri, district Jhunjhunu, Rajasthan, finally comes to an end. It’s been a very long ride from Delhi.
We are welcomed with tea, in the home of one of the students at the Government school. I am surprised to hear the parents say that the learning outcomes of the government school here are SUPERIOR to private school outcomes. I am skeptical. I suspect that since I have come with the folks at Gandhi Fellowship, who have been stationed here to improve school management and outcomes, the opinions of my host are coloured. But they cite that the girl in Class II at the government school can read and do math better than the her brother in Class III in a private school.
“So why send to private school?” asks the curious-skeptic in me. Four reasons:
Child looks more smart in a tie, “tip-top hokar”; Goes in a bus — that’s cooler than walking; for some it solves a real problem of distances involved with the government school; Private schools give more homework, so feels like more studies; and marketing by private schools is attractive — they paste the picture of the top scorer in every village.
The final of the reasons is the tragic one — some of them bribe parents and families — you get the school bus-driver job if you can enroll a certain number of kids from your area.
Okay, so we’ve spoken to the parents. And we are here now at the school. Let’s talk to the kids. But hey, they are very shy. How to engage them?
Music & dance transcends boundaries, fills kids with confidence — the super shy and reticent kids hardly make eye contact or even mutter a word in response to my innocuous questions. And then, a song is played, and off she goes and how! Her whole being is in a free flow of self-expression!
A biting moral dilemma suddenly presents itself — I’ve been clapping to the catchy tune. I want to encourage her. But I now begin to follow the lyrics — “Itna ban-than-ke jaavengi, toh Kidnap ho jaavengi” (If you look so pretty, you’ll get kidnapped!). 12 year olds are humming this misogyny together. Being kidnapped is the ultimate acknowledgement of how attractive you look! OMG! This is wrong, screams something in me. The poets in this society, are clearly dead. Or should be!
Who selected and played this song! Their teacher! The same one who’s producing the superior reading skills, and has been helping them learn patriotic poems!
Do I confront him on his choice of the song? When? How?
I wait for now. And later I do bring it up with him — 1-on-1. Respectfully.
The teacher shares that DJ’s at marriage parties play only these Haryanvi numbers. All kids dance to them. I wonder why? Their parents must be dancing to it. “Idiots!” I swear under my breath.
But I let it go for now.
The music has opened them up a bit. Let’s ask about their dreams. Yes, they do have them — teacher, doctor, army, and my favourite was the girl that wanted to join the police! Encourage, nurture and invest. These flowers will bloom!
I am now taken to their ‘library’. It is simply a classroom with 3–4 lines of strings, and ~80 books strung from them. It may look unimpressive to urban eyes. But getting this done was monumental! It gives access to books and ideas that were inaccessible in this remote village. We pick a Safdar Hashmi poem and sing with the kids. That means something to me — Safdar Hashmi was stabbed and killed in broad daylight by political goons in the heart of the national capital while performing a socially relevant street play. Here in this small hamlet in Rajasthan’s Jhunjhunu district, his thoughts live on, through this tiny book library that has a total of 80 books. One of them, is his.
How did this happen? Through the efforts of Gandhi Fellows of Kaivalya Foundation — an entity funded by the Piramal group. They have been working here for 5 years. Goonj, has been providing the books. My wife has been collecting goods on their behalf. I wonder the sheer number of people whose good heart and hands were needed to get these 80 books to this tiny hamlet. It truly takes a village to bring up a child.
From the library to the plain looking line of trees in the school courtyard, everything has an inspiring story! The trees were an initiative of love, care and devotion by the Gandhi Fellow stationed here. With tender care, the saplings grew into young plants. But one morning he was aghast to find the saplings uprooted and strewn all over. Someone from the village rampaged them overnight, for no apparent reason. Deeply hurt by this senseless act, the Gandhi Fellow could have just packed up their bags to go back home. But instead, he mobilised all students and teachers. Together, they took out a procession and went door-to-door, educating people, enrolling them into the cause of the environment and education.
As a new set of saplings grew into trees in the school compound, something else started to change as well about gender stereotypes. Earlier, girl students would help with school chores associated with mid-day meals, etc and the boys would water the plants, build little bunds around them, and do the ‘physical work’. But with a beaming smile, the teacher shares how he dissolved these stereotypes. Tasks were no longer gender-specific. Slowly, he had encouraged the girls to build the bunds and the boys to serve meals!
Hang on. This is the same guy who was playing “Kidnap ho jaavengi”, a few minutes earlier. And now, I am left feeling inspired about how he worked to change stereotypes!
“Life is complex. Let go of judgement”, I remind myself. In fact, in this moment of truth, I ask myself the question — “Before I judge the teacher, the students or the parents for what they listen to, let me ask myself — what was the last number I was dancing to?”.
The school visit is over. We are headed to the community. A thought crosses my mind looking at the barren village.
“What use is school education to these folks? How will they use it here?” Either they migrate, or they waste the investment into education. Admitting to this thought, in writing, as a development sector professional is probably a career limiting move. But a utilitarian thought does arise every now and then, about how society should invest it’s resources.
The answer is not too far. We enter the home of a parent in the village. Two ladies are seen. One with a ghoonghat (a veil). The other without. They are the wives of the two brothers. They all live together under one roof. As it turns out, the husband of the one without the veil has studied upto Class X. The other brother hasn’t. I have my answer on what they will do with their education.
I return from my trip — having once again learnt to unlearn. To know that John Keating from the movie ‘Dead Poet’s Society’ lives in on in many different shapes and forms, inspiring children to truly learn and grow as human beings. He may not be dressed in a suit or be as eloquent. He may sometimes speak Rajasthani and even clap to a misogynous song in Haryanvi. But as a development sector professional, I must have the ability and humility to see him when he shows up!
