Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.

What do you do when you call out the number three hundred and five and a child in the third grade writes 3005? Of course, the first time one sees it, one prays that it is a simple mechanical error so one tries again and again. Eventually it becomes clear that this is a conceptual error and the child has no understanding whatsoever of place value.

Observing a class on place value in some schools is a dreary prospect and I don't blame the children for not getting very much out of it. Essentially, in the very first class of the unit, the teacher walks in, writes U, T, H on the blackboard from right to left and begins to call out numbers. In most situations, she will probably call out the number very slowly three or four times, hoping that a child who is unable to properly arrange the number the first three times will somehow be able to do it the fourth time. Explanations are inadequate and the use of probing questions to elicit logical reasoning is an unheard of technique. Concept building does not occur at all early on which makes for a pretty unsteady foundation on which to explore more complex topics.

But, from a teacher's perspective, what do you do when you are made to teach mathematics when you are most comfortable teaching English? What do you do when you are overwhelmed with the inordinate pressure of getting first and second grade students to score high marks on tests when you barely understand the material yourself, never mind understanding how best to assess students. How do you prepare a lesson plan or teaching aids when you barely have the equivalent of one class period a day to plan for your seven classes the next day? And, given all of these other constraints, how can you teach when you do not understand that problems involving arithmetic operations are not the concept, they are merely a tool to exemplify and reinforce a concept?

I wish I could say that this situation is rare and is rectified as soon as it is noticed but it is not. I struggle with this everyday because instinctively, my first thought is for the children. It is heartbreaking to walk into a classroom and watch these kids who are so desperately hungry to learn being numbed into silent boredom. However, it is equally if not more painful to watch a grown woman fumbling while teaching place value to a class of six year olds, despite having a detailed lesson plan and elaborate, albeit misused, teaching aids which took all night to prepare.

Ours not to reason why..

We, as a nation, are slowly but surely forgetting how to think. We are so bothered about finding the right answers and remembering the magic formulae, that we have forgotten how to reason and apply what we know to new situations. Schools and classrooms should be intellectually challenging spaces where students feel empowered to try things, even *shudder* if their answers are wrong. The unfortunate reality is that the intellectual environment of the classroom can only reflect the subject matter expertise and attitude of the teacher. Unfortunate because most children in India are not privileged enough to attend schools where the teachers have any training let alone subject expertise. Teachers are then only able to create environments and assessments which are products of their own limited knowledge and experience.

Take, for instance, a class on plant life taught to forty first-graders. The teacher decided to begin the lesson by asking the children to name some living things. Her intention in doing this was, no doubt, to elicit the concept that plants are living things from the children. For the most part, children volunteered conventional answers that the teacher had anticipated; one child volunteered animals, another said plants and a third said humans. All of these conventional answers were met with nods of approval. Eventually, a brave little soul with the twinkliest (yes, I am aware that that's not a word but it perfectly expresses the point) eyes in the world said, "policeman is a living thing." To which the teacher responded in the most sarcastic tone she could muster, "Policeman is a living thing for you? Who has a correct answer." She completely glossed over the, "policeman" statement, heard one or two more answers and, satisfied that the children had read her mind and given her the answers she wanted to hear, she moved on. Later, I was told that she was so surprised that a child would say that a policeman is a living thing that she did not know how to react.

There are several problems with this situation. First, factually, the child was right. A policeman, against all evidence to the contrary provided by some in the force in this country, is a living thing. Second, it is profoundly problematic that the teacher who had planned to discuss, "plants are living things" found it such a stretch to include, "policemen are living things" in her discussion. Third, those children received a short but unmistakable lesson about the value of preferred "right" answers over logically and factually correct answers. And finally, as a teacher, she is missing out on the best part of teaching young children: kids really do say the darndest things.

Please do not get the impression that I blame the teachers or that I think that all teachers are similar. I don't! I do, however, realize that teachers who teach in this manenr are products of the same problem that they are perpetuating and I am intimately familiar with the constraints that they face. I even realize that many of them are doing the very best they can. I do blame the system, though. Teachers are so underpaid that teaching is not seen as a viable career choice by many who have an appropriate amount of education or training. So we end up putting our least prepared in the most crucial and challenging positions of all, not realizing that the ramifications of their work will be visible long after the last computer program crashes. It is criminal maldistribution of our already draining human resources.

Guess you, guess me!

This morning I traveled 22km from M.G. Road to visit a school in Laggere (near Peenya) by autorickshaw. Now, those of you who know Bangalore know that this in itself is no mean feat. One generally cannot get autorickshaw drivers to go from one desirable area of town to another, let alone to a part of the Greater Bangalore Metropolitan Area of such disrepute. We lucked out, however, because someone in the office has a regular auto-man, Ramesh, who was willing to pick us up at 7:40am this morning, drive us to Peenya, arrange his day so he only drove people around Peenya and then pick us up six hours later. Twenty two km in an auto is no joke though, and Ramesh, the auto-man, was 20 mins late to start with, so by the time I reached said school I was not in a particularly live and let slide mood.

Usually, the schools I visit have no classroom space, corridors that can barely fit my hips and a central courtyard the size of an average bedroom. This particular school was rich in space but beyond that, the students were as badly off as any of my "low-end" private schools in the city. The explanation of multiplication made it sound like division, first grade children were taught enough in a 40 minute lesson to make my head spin, never mind theirs and fifth grade children were made to go into The Fly by Walta aka Walter de la Mare in excruciating detail.

However, the unkindest cut, after my ridiculous auto-ride, was the misuse of the English language. Literal translation from one language to any other generally results in some entertaining turns of speech. However, when the people doing the literal translation are English teachers at a reasonably reputable (or indeed, any) English medium school, it is no longer funny in the least. In the past few weeks I have already been told to, "Say me," "Explain me," and, "Tell to me." While these still strike me as odd, I am beginning to expect to hear them in classrooms. Today, however, I heard a brand new oddity in this already weird family. Are you ready for it? It was, "GUESS ME!" And I heard it not once, but twice, in two classes taught by two different teachers in two different classrooms to two different grades. As the teachers used this expression, I waited for the telltale sniggers and nudges from the students, proving to me that all was not lost; that they'd heard the misguided combination of words and were going to demand retribution (as we certainly would have in any of my classes at school), but no such luck. The students remained passive and docile, absorbing and reusing these and many other choice phrases.

To be honest, the actual phrase "guess me" is probably the least of our worries. What worries me more is that in the quest for upward social mobility, people choose to send their children to these schools where neither they nor the teachers can truly monitor the process because none of the adults have an adequate grasp of the medium of instruction. Worse still, the children are sometimes so busy decoding this new and garbled language that the time spent on real instruction is far less than time spent on the mechanics of the lesson.

“The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go."

Years ago, someone pointed out to me that young people who work in NGOs(Non-Governmental Organizations for the uninitated), particularly those who have recently returned from a stint in an institution of higher learning abroad, have a predictable and uniform look generally involving khadhi, kohl and idealistic stars in their eyes. The other day I looked in the mirror and realized that my reflection bore an eerie resemblance to the word picture formed by that scathing observation but I refuse to apologise for it. And while I may be responsible for the idealistic feelings I'm harboring, the khadhi and kohl are more a result of where in the city I need to go.

My work currently involves working intensively in five, low-end, unaided private schools in the greater Bangalore metropolitan area. Although a few of these schools are quite literally in my backyard, the majority are far removed from my regular beat in the Cantonment area of Bangalore (the term is one of the last remaining vestiges of the British military presence in Bangalore). This, in itself, has led to some interesting adventures from a purely logistical perspective. Armed with a shaky (at best) grasp of Kannada and the tag of being a "localite," I have, in the recent past, found myself navigating narrow lanes in Shivaji nagar, incredibly crowded market places in Yeshwantpur, and have recently been told to find my way around Peenya. The official mode of transport is obviously the ubiquitous auto rickshaw, and I unfortunately find myself constantly haggling with auto drivers who, as a group, have conspired to never go where I need them to at any given time. Not that any of these things are especially odd or problematic on their own, but my chauffeur-driven, denim-clad, English-as-a-first-language self is definitely out of place to say the least.

Apparently only in personal discomfort can there be true growth, and I am sure that I will feel uncomfortable and generally out of place many times in the next few months, but I am equally sure that I will learn a lot in this position. Some of it will be work-related, no doubt. However, I am also learning a lot about my city and myself. Everyday there are people, things and places that challenge my assumptions about what I think I know to be true, generally (and thankfully) amidst much hilarity. It is like cultural anthropology in my own backyard.