Random Ramblings of a Reluctant Blogger

While my perspective, and not a flattering one at that, on the education system is well known, I too, at one time, did my very small bit to be a part of the system.
It was a very small stint, albeit enjoyable, just for the fact that it kept me busy throught the day.
I had just completed my graduation and was amongst those kindred souls seeking directions for the future. Not sure where or what calling was calling me, I took up on the offer to be a teacher. It was a small neighbourhood school just started. My neighbour, probably concerned by my wasting my time at home, arranged for an interview with the school’s principal. The interview was a breeze and I was appointed as an English teacher for primary classes.
I must admit it was a daunting task, given that I wasn’t exactly the person who had it in him to teach. My sisters will vouch for that. But given that I could make some money, however little and also fruitfully spend my time, helped me decide. Maybe, just maybe it was the road I was looking for.
That it wasn’t, became clear a couple of months later, when I quit. The circumstances too transpired in abetting and affirming my allergy to the education system.
Given that the school has just started, there were just a handful of students. The school functioned out of a house. My task was to teach students from class 1 to 5 all in the same room. That would be just about a dozen of them. It meant from teaching A, B,C, to the beginning aspects of grammar for class 5 students all at the same time!
And there was this dreaded blackboard!. My ineligible handwriting, a source from where spies made their codes, wasn’t ever going to be blackboard-friendly. And to let kids learn the basics from that was injustice of the highest order. I still managed, very, very consciously and cautiously. So much so, the principal was impressed with my teaching!
And that attracted fresh trouble. I was told to teach science and social studies too. It goes without saying the salary was to be the same.
And there I was, kindergardering on one hand and showing the world on map on the other hand, all at the same time, in the same room. Cacophony would have sounded more musical compared to what transpired in my class. That was when, even though for a little time, I thought of my teachers and what they had endured.
I was into the second month of my teaching career, when the principal came up with another proposal. This time, I felt it wasn’t my teaching skills but the lack of finding a suitable candidate that prompted it. She asked me to add maths to my teaching repertoire. That was the last straw. Transferring my fear of maths into such young minds was unacceptable to me and I quit.
Thus ended my teaching aspirations. That it wasn’t so ineffectual either I realised a year later. Taking a stroll in the market, I was greeted by a revential “Namaste, sir.” It took some time, but I then recognised her. She was one of the students. That she still remembered me made me think maybe I did something good.
Bad or good, teachers do matter.