The Earth Day

The School Programme acknowledged World Events with a lot of enthusiasm. The Earth Day was celebrated with like frenzy. For the first few years, I followed the usual structured activities that most teachers were following. Using recyclable materials to create models and showcase them on 22^nd April as planned. Children carried tons of newspapers, cans and bottles for recycling to school. The class to collect the most number of newspapers won the E-Competition. It was a week of awareness and contribution. I will say that it was a lot of learning for everyone and the success of the programme was felt when despite the closure of the week, some children continued to deposit recyclable materials in the school recycle bins.

My students were aged between 8 and 9 years. Year 3 was the last year for their in house assessments and the following year they were met with the horror of exams. Quite naturally, the system expected a certain level of independence and self-reliance on their part. It got me thinking. What could I do apart from the academic training that would help them attain the much needed confidence in their abilities? That’s when I came up with The Earth Day plan!

“I would like to extend our efforts to celebrate the Earth Day as a complete experience for our Year 3’s,” I informed my Supervisor who was always ready for a challenge. “And how do you plan to do that?” she placed her reading glasses on the table expecting a virtual tour. “I would like my children to plan the day’s events themselves, think of the various stalls they want to set up, decide on materials to use and then create a list of duties for each one to carry out through the day!” I knew her immediate response, “Do you have any idea how difficult that would be?” I wanted to give it a try, so I insisted, “I am aware of the enormity of the task, but imagine how much learning will happen along the way. The coming year is a great challenge for them. This event in itself will compel them to exercise so many skills that they would require as a pre-requisite to the demanding programme of Year 4.” Somehow, I was always able to convince her and she gave me the green signal.

I was the Year 3 Co-ordinator at that time. I gathered my fellow teachers and we sat together to pen down our objectives. The event would be a full day job for them. They needed to be involved in all decision making sittings. We agreed that creating different groups would be a good idea as that would streamline their contributions and provide them the structure to work with a lot more focus. Having done that, we identified the student strengths in each of our classes and created a rough draft for each one of us.

I entered my classroom. The children settled down immediately expecting the instructions to come through. “You know children that the Earth Day is coming up,” I asked to break the big news to them. “I know it’s on the 22^nd!” one girl answered quickly. “Well, this year we are thinking of doing it differently for our Year 3’s. In fact, how would you all like to plan and conduct the whole day?” Their response was as expected, “Yeahhhh! Teacher thank you!” And then the bombardment of questions began, “What will we have to do? Will we make things ourselves? Can I bring my tool kit to school?” And they needed a few minutes to digest the enormous gulp!

The next few days were indeed very trying for us as teachers. We watched them struggle with ideas. Sometimes, a good idea was abandoned due to lack of resources or a bad idea was discussed at length wasting precious time. However, it was heart-warming to see the growth towards the end of their academic year.

Finally plans were submitted to us by each group. The hall was to house 8 stations. Each station represented a group of like-minded individuals who excelled at some art form or creative craft.

The first station was “The Creator’s Pack”! The children wanted to teach the younger students who were to visit them in the hall how to be inventive with objects that can be reused. “We will teach them how to create new objects by modifying old. This activity will be done on reusable paper!” It was an intelligent idea. “How will you go about the activity?” I needed to know if they had followed through the idea. “Teacher, let’s say that we will draw a semi-circle. We will ask the children to modify that semi-circle into as many pictures as possible.” They were clear on paper. “So, what is the objective of this activity? What are you trying to teach them exactly?” I pressed on the question so as to prepare them well for the day. “It’s really quite simple! We are encouraging the reuse of old objects!” The local boy claimed honestly!

The second station was the “Art Studio”. These children were gifted painters and artists. “Teacher, you must place our station right next to station 1.” The demand was strong. “Why is that?” I asked with curiosity. “Teacher, the children from Year 1 and 2 who will come in and make their pictures at the Creator’s Pack will carry them to our studio for painting. We have already told the Creator’s group of this plan and they have no problem with it!” I was thrilled to discover their potential skills and understanding of working together.

Station 3 was the “Craft Corner”. “Why did you name the station Craft Corner?” “Teacher, if you look at the hall, you will see that if we are the 3^rd station, we will be setting up our things at the corner. So we thought it would be nice to name our station as Craft Corner.” I applauded their fieldwork. “And what are you going to show the students?” I was interested in knowing how these talented creators would create their magic. “Teacher, we have collected a lot of old tissue boxes, tins, beads and we are looking for some bigger tins or boxes to make some musical instruments!” The thought was enthralling. “Really! That would be awesome! But would you be able to manage that when the children are standing to watch?” The reason I asked them this question was because I knew that the nervousness would set in once the focus would be on them. “Teacher, we are going to prepare a pair of each instrument before the big day. So we can decorate our station. Then we will just carry on making as many as we can with the material that we are able to collect.” They sounded ready.

The next station took my breath away. It was called, “The Earth Rap!” The children had written a few lyrics to an earth rap and wanted to prepare a few dance steps to go with it! They were extremely talented. I asked them to prepare their rap well and give me a final presentation in three days. They ran to their seats excited by the approval.

Station 5 was strangely all girls. They had decided to have an E-Parade. “We are going to create fun costumes out of recyclable stuff and march across the hall at intervals.” The time was short and I wondered if they would be able to produce as many as 8 costumes? “Don’t worry teacher, our mums will help us. I will dress up as a Tree!” I wanted them to add a little more learning for the audience and said, “Why don’t you prepare a line or two just to talk about the issues a little. The tree can plead to the people not to cut it for it provides them with oxygen.” The idea was well received.

Station 6 and 7 were again placed together on request. Station 6 was “The Reading Room”. The students had planned to create an enclosed space on the stage with the help of the huge mobile screens. “We will read fun stories and amazing facts about the Earth and recycling. Then they will go to Station7 which is called “E-Quizzes”. There they will be questioned about what they remember from the information passed on to them in the Reading Room.” I was proud of their thinking minds. Suddenly one of the boy’s inquired, “Teacher, should we not have a prize for the winning team?” I was agreeable. “What kind of a prize would you like? There will be many children so what do you think would be appropriate?” They seemed to think really hard and long. The money factor had hit them and apparently no one was ready to take the jump. 

“I have a stringed puppet dog at home, if you like I can bring it on that day. You can use it as a reward. The team that wins, can take the stringed dog for a walk around the hall!” I offered them a solution and they jumped to the rescue and thankfully that station was secure as well.

Station 8 took up the responsibility to present a puppet show called, “Whoopie’s Puppet Show”. Again the script revolved around a pond with 3 more characters and brought to light the effects of people polluting the water and ruining a natural habitat. I asked them to submit the script for checking and informed them to produce the puppets in time.

And so the final decisions were made regarding their choice of dressing. “We want to wear jeans with green t-shirts. And yes, we’ll make head bands with colourful cloth."

Twelve ushers were chosen and a programme with classes and timings were given to them. My heart was a little worried as they had never been exposed to the success and failure that comes with planning and execution of a complete event.

The hall was decorated a day in advance. Models were placed around the hall. Stations had been set up by the students enjoying the activities every minute. The day began and we as teachers decided to spread out and monitor the happenings from a distance. 

The ushers set out to collect their first group of children from Year 1s. The rappers ran to me. “Teacher, can we use the musical instruments that the Craft Corner has made for our dance?” It was a brilliant idea. Thank god they weren’t nervous. The activities began. The Art Studio soon realised that they had run short of paint brushes! A little panic set in. They looked at me. I wanted to give them a little time to figure out a solution. When I looked back again, the Studio had set a new trend with “finger painting”! I stood with a huge smile on my face!

The Reading Room soon realised that the stories were too long and the excitement of the children was dying out. One of them ran to his teacher, “Can we replace the stories with some more amazing facts? They aren’t listening!” She replied, “Do whatever you feel will work. They should enjoy the station.” He ran back signalling his friends violently to change the course of plan!

In the meantime, one of the ushers got hurt while climbing onto the stage. Immediately, one of the girls standing at the reception to greet the incoming groups ran to his rescue. He was taken to the clinic and she carried on with his duties excited to pool in.

The students were in the hall from 8am till 1pm. They shared responsibilities to get a 10 minute break to eat something. They had been standing all that time. When the day was over, they had repeated their tasks for almost 32 groups that had visited them at intervals. Yet their enthusiasm was worth watching. The dances, the parade, the sounds of cheerful learning echo in my ears today.

There were many complaints by teachers later on regarding the mismanaged time and a certain group not getting enough time at a station. I listened to their complaints patiently. “Today was a phenomenal day for my children. They had been in the process of acquiring the much desired Management Skills. They exercised almost every possible artistry today to meet the challenges of tomorrow. Observational skills, analytical skills, team-building skills, organizational skills, stress management skills, presentation skills, social skills, good negotiation skills, asset management skills and crisis management skills. These were the focus in the entire event!” And though I was not able to convince all teachers, I was a joyous teacher that day.

The most difficult task for a teacher is to stand at a distance and watch the child struggle. The immediate impulse is to jump in and pull the right strings to solve the problem. Often teachers do that never really addressing the possibility of a child discovering his own potential and capability. Sometimes it’s necessary to let go of control. Especially when it guarantees a smooth transition of skills for a child!

A Miniature World

The parent was extremely upset. He was fed-up of the teacher’s inability to manage the rowdy lot in the class. I had heard about his constant visits to the Headmistress’s office pleading for some form of change. The teacher was spoken to many times but it had been futile. The children had been together since Kindergarten and the parents, though from different countries, knew each other well. There were days of calm and then there were sudden outbursts of foul language and snappy remarks. The teacher was equally horrified but was unable to connect to their trying behaviours. She was quite dignified in her own personality and looking at the great job she had done in raising her own children, it was quite obvious, the concept of 7 year olds exhibiting such gangster qualities was completely alien to her.

The Parent Teacher Meeting was in full swing. It was the first year that I was not in a classroom loaded with the responsibility to transfer honest solutions to the parents. I missed that incredibly after being placed in an office. It was far more rewarding to interact with minds that could be moulded. I walked around the corridors to ensure that my teachers were comfortably handling the evening. Some would smile back while others would be completely engaged in deep conversation.

I saw him standing outside the Year 2 classroom. He was controlling his anger. I recognized him as I had seen him many times in the school. He had just come out of the meeting with the teacher and appeared quite annoyed. I heard him talking to another parent, “I am not going to let my son learn all this nonsense. I am asking for a section change!” He stormed to the Headmistress’s room. She was not in her office. He started to roam around the corridor adamant to put an end to the chaos.

I felt sad for him. He was a worried father. As I entered my office, I was approached by the receptionist, “Ms. Shama, Can you please meet this parent? He will not leave without talking to someone about his problem and the Headmistress has quite a few parents lined up to meet.” I was unsure and told her, “If he wants to meet the Headmistress, he should wait. I don’t think he would want to meet me instead.” She motioned me to get inside the office. “The Headmistress has met him many times and there are other parents whom she needs to give her time. He has his son in Year 2. You know the problems!” I agreed to meet him and invited him to my office.

He was a middle aged man. He entered the office and I stood up to greet him. He sat down and quite naturally demanded a synopsis of my credentials. I understood his reservations to have been directed to meet someone he did not recognize much as a symbol of authority. I gave him a polite introduction and my confidence transmitted, encouraged him to open up his thoughts.

“I am worried about my son. Sometimes he surprises me with the language he uses. I mean, we don’t teach this type of nonsense at home!” His arms were folded which indicated an absolute made up mind. “The teacher has no control over the class and frankly to allow such children in the school who talk like that! I really don’t think I want my son to stay in this class anymore. I would like to change the section. I know this will upset him, but any other room than this classroom!”

I listened to him intently. He was very articulate about his worries and stressed on the need for a solution. “Mr. X, I am really sorry to see that you are so disappointed at this moment. I understand your concerns…” He quickly jumped in, sensing the direction of the argument. “I don’t think you understand my concerns that well. I am not going to go with the usual remarks of ‘we understand’ and ‘we are working on it’!” I smiled at him. “I know that quite well and that is not what I was going to say! I will find a solution to this problem if you will place a little trust in me. But, before that I think we need to look at your option with a little more objectivity?” I needed his approval to help him frame a better decision.

He gave me a little credit for giving him all that time and placing all my energy into the problem. “Alright, what do you have to say about that?” I hoped like always that I would be able to find the right words to express my opinion so as to convince him.

“Mr. X, I would first like you to understand that the choice remains entirely yours to opt for a section change. I on the other hand, would never take that as an option for my child.” He wanted to interrupt but then decided to let me continue. “You see Mr.X, as parents, we have much in common. We want the best of everything for our children. We worry at the slightest error and mostly about things that are beyond our control. I am actually quite a bit like you. I have two sons. I teach them well. I also would never want them to use any foul language or gather around bad company. I don’t think any parent does.” 

He nodded agreeably, “Of course, but I know this child’s father. He is abusive in his language and that’s the example that he is setting for his child. But why should that influence my child? I do have the right to stop that interaction which plays negatively on his mind.”

“Yes, you have all the rights. But tell me Mr. X, Do you think we have a perfect world? Do you think that tomorrow when our children will go out in this world, they will not encounter any ugliness? And how many times will we be there to protect them or stop them? Our job is to teach them right from wrong. We need to build their conscience in such a manner that it guides them to the right path. We have just one world Mr.X. The solution to change the section will not work well in the long run.”

He placed his arms on his lap giving in a little. “I understand that, but when I know that this child is not a good influence on my son, I do need to do something about it. I mean I can pity him for having a father like that. But, for me, my son is all that matters to me.” He was honest and forthright.

“I agree. But for me, they both remain important. I am an educationist Mr. X. If I give up on a child, then I really have no right to be where I am today. I do know the child well and am aware that he is academically gifted. Yes, his influences from home may be jarring for you and me. But, I can speak to the father about it. I will definitely speak to the child about it. The point is, when we want to make amends, they are possible only when everyone is ready to play a part. The stress would probably be felt most by the child than the parent, so I would like you to keep your patience in the process. It will take time and we can keep communication open at all times to get through this issue together. In the meanwhile, I’ll keep a close friendship with both the boys to teach them about getting along well and respecting each other.”

He left the school telling me that he was happy to have met me and looked forward to working on Mission One World together! I spoke to the teacher and visited the classroom for many days to help her frame a discipline plan for the class. I called up the problem child’s father for a meeting the following week. He tried his best to avoid all issues related to foul language and I had to offer him my blunt view on the need to exercise a little self-control. I informed him about my plans to regularly visit the classroom to monitor the behaviour of his child and that he would receive a weekly update on the expected improvements. His body language indicated his understanding of the intensity of the situation. I called the boys off and on into my office for the next two months and with time the issue was resolved.

A classroom is indeed a miniature world for our children. They learn most of their skills to handle situations in that little space. Changing the section is an escapist act that, although remains a right to a parent, is most undesirable. To expect the world to change for your child is unrealistic and impractical. 

The only way to meet the imperfections of this world is to prepare our children well and equip them with a sense of right and wrong. 

The great escape

I woke up in the morning expecting some form of sickness but as always, my pregnancy like the previous two was hale and hearty. It was a task catching the school bus which did not wait for us much, as the morning traffic jam was always a threat. The breakfast for the kids and my husband was a mug of chocolate milk and I hurriedly prepared their school snacks.

“Wake up fast or we’ll miss the bus!” This was the regular opening statement for my poor boys who sprang from their beds and followed the morning rituals of brushing and changing. I would run to change myself and just before we left the house, my husband lovingly handed me the iron tablet with the much dreaded glass of milk. “Don’t make a face. It’s important.” And I wondered how many husbands cared enough to love their wives that much.

The summers turned into winters and I became four months pregnant. I was climbing stairs everyday and walking from one block to another all day long. I liked being active and it didn’t matter much that my feet were almost always swollen.

At school, it was a messy year. There were eleven new teachers and each one needed assistance in one way or the other. I would be running after them for their lesson plans and trying to meet all deadlines. Some teachers were intelligent and picked up the school programme quickly, some struggled with new concepts and then there were some who had opted to teach for no reason or rhyme.

My day usually began with a smile and I loved the teachers who walked up to me in time for information and help. I would shoulder my responsibilities as well as some of theirs acknowledging the time restraints. And then of course there were unforeseen emergencies that simultaneously occupied me physically and mentally.

I was regular with my doctor check-ups and she was quite happy with my progress. The baby was becoming heavier to carry and yet the bus could not wait in the mornings. If we missed it, we had to walk about two streets to get picked up near the mosque. This happened several times and despite my husband’s warnings to be careful on the wet winter roads, I would carry my heavy bag, along with my younger son’s bag and practically drag them to the bus stop. Often when we boarded the bus, the old colleagues insisted that I take it easy and be careful with the baby. I loved their attention and concerns and like any pregnant woman, felt important and looked after.

It was my seventh month when complaints regarding Year 3 teachers started to pour in. There had been prior concerns about their sketchy abilities but I had been trying my level best to train them in areas they faltered. Despite my regular visits to their classrooms and discussions on lesson plans, they failed to satisfy the worrying parents.

I called for a meeting with each one individually to get my apprehensions some notice. There were three sections. I thought it was important to give it one last try before allowing the management to take some relevant action. The first teacher I spoke to listened with patience and nodded mostly. She understood the gravity of the situation and was prepared to make an effort. The second teacher was a relatively better one amongst the three. She was intelligent but the poor discipline of her class was a hurdle in her efforts to achieve most targets. We decided to reinvent our discipline programme for her section and she volunteered to find some fun ideas.

The lady in discussion here was a pleasant looking female with no prior experience in teaching. She had joined the school in the second term after the Year 3 teacher left suddenly. She spoke politely but was always on the defensive when spoken to. “I do complete my plans on time. It’s you who makes all the last minute changes and then how do you expect me to follow through?” This was usually her tag line. “How do you expect me to ensure that every child gets it and yet move with the plans of the other two sections?” “You can’t always correct my plans!”

It was quite difficult to get across her and often I needed to keep my calm and help her digest the fact that teachers were skilled men and women who needed to rise to the occasion. Despite stress and in spite of all the pressing issues, a teacher just had to meet a certain level of expectation. She looked at me and said, “I don’t like the way you speak to me. No one speaks to me like that!” I looked at her disbelievingly. Was she really a teacher? 

“You are not helpful at all. All you do is criticize. Each time I submit my plans, you correct them with your red pen as if I am some child.” She had made up her mind. I listened quietly and then replied, “I really don’t understand what it is that you disapprove of? It is my job to guide you with lesson planning. I do sit with you and have been giving you extra time to plan lessons with you. We have in fact planned most of your lessons together. But of course I understand that you will take some time to become independent about it. Till then I’m sorry, I will just have to use my red pen. If you want, I can change the colour, but the purpose is to help you, not criticize you.”

The meeting was futile and the next morning when I met her in the sports field, she was standing with her Year 3 group. I approached her with a smile thinking there should not be any awkwardness between us as we had to work through our issues. She smiled hesitantly and I asked her, “All ok now?” She looked at me in the eye and said, “Yes, of course! I went home quite upset but when I spoke to my husband I realized that you were pregnant and probably having your mood swings!” I was taken aback by her comment. She laughed a little sarcastically and I didn’t know how to respond to her sudden revelation.

I was cross in my mind because of the statement. What did my pregnancy have to do with her inability to plan her lessons? “Ms. Shama, please can you conduct one audio visual class for me next week. It will help me understand the objectives better.” The Year 1 teacher pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked at her and asked her, “Do you have the plan on paper?” “No! The Junior Head wants me to update my corrections and submit the notebooks to her in two days. I can’t seem to find the time to do it.” She was honest. I nodded my head but told her, “You will not sit through the class but will assist me through it ok?” She thanked me. It helped erase the sour experience of the morning.

“Please can you check the Year 3’s for me. Are they writing the objectives on the white board or not? They were reminded again yesterday. Just walk through the corridor and have a look.” It was an instruction from my Head. I was disappointed to see that none of the white boards had any objectives. One of the classrooms was without the teacher and so I entered to speak to the children. I asked them if they had rubbed the objectives from the board. “No Ms. Shama. We never write the objectives. Our teacher says there is no time.” It was the same lady. I ignored the comment and spoke about the importance of knowing what their learning was all about. I addressed their understanding of knowing what they had learnt through the day. I advised them to keep a diary to begin with the habit of jotting down the targets that they achieved everyday in each period. To comment on whether they had grasped the concept or not and let their teachers know about it.

The Sports day had come to an end and I had enjoyed being out and about with the students. The summer heat was setting in slowly. My tummy now showed quite visibly. I was almost 8 months pregnant. “The water content in the sack is too much lady,” said the doctor. “You need to take some rest. Look at the swelling.” I smiled and said, “I’m at school. No chance of a rest!” She smiled back. “Alright then, try to keep your feet up every now and then. The 8^th month is crucial. You have to be careful.” I understood well but could not imagine sitting in my office with my feet up! Work is work, I thought.

“The Headmistress would like to see you.” The secretary called and informed me. I was busy decorating the reception with the Year 1 and 2 project work. The receptionist was admiring my commitment, “The baby is going to be a fighter! No odds will stop him from winning!” I was standing on a chair pinning up the chart paper work. “I hope so! The scans all show him sleeping!”

“What were you thinking? Asking the children to spy on their teacher!” I sat completely stunned by the anger and disappointment. “The teacher is so upset, she might not show up tomorrow!” I was still thinking. What spying? “I did not ask the children to spy at all. I only asked them to write about what they had learnt through the day and show that to the teacher.” I could not believe the nonsense that was coming my way. “But the child was brought to my office by the teacher who claims that you purposely asked her class to report on her activities.” It was too much to absorb. I was being questioned about my loyalty to the job and my commitment to the cause. “It simply appears to be a poor interpretation on part of a child. I’m sure she isn’t lying but I would like to believe that you know me far better than this teacher or child.” I was struggling to keep the tears from flowing. “What impression will this teacher carry from our school now! Your hormones have really played up your mind!” And that was that! I stood up and left the room.

It was nearly home time. I packed up my daily files, picked up my laptop and with a heavy heart walked to the bus. My children were noisy as usual. All seats had been taken and so I fitted in and shared the space in the extended middle seat. “Mama, I’m hungry!” shouted my younger son. I quietly handed him a biscuit pack. “What about me?” My elder one complained. “Please share,” and I closed my eyes to hide the immense pain that I was feeling. Quite a few teachers witnessed my tears on the bus that afternoon and in hushed voices had already calculated the magnitude of the reason, having never seen me cry before.

I carried on with my tasks as usual. In my 9^th month, I stood in the hot sun fulfilling my break duty. I completed all my classroom observations. I was thorough with my folders and files. The computer files were transferred in time. The lockers and chest of drawers were labelled and I tried my best to streamline the lessons for my teachers whom I was going to miss so much.

I left the school premises not knowing if I had contributed enough or had simply failed their expectations. What was most disappointing for me at that time was the camouflage that they had created to disregard my role in the name of my pregnancy. And while the men admired my strength and energy that I carried to work everyday, it was the women who time and again blamed my conflict of opinion and strong stance over issues as a hormonal dysfunction. It was an emotional blow to my strength as a Woman.

I had worked through all my pregnancies till the end. I had never expected any special treatments or adjustments in life. Pregnancy is not a disease. It empowers a woman with the ability to give life. It does not cloud her decision making powers or dilute her capacity to make logic. There are no hormones that can push her to frame untrue stories. No mental imbalance that can elude her from the truth. This may be true for those who find in it, the great escape!

The true definition

I often reflect on a phrase my parents always believed to be true, "educated enough to get through life." It was annoying to hear and appeared as some sort of dead end to me. Being a rebel, I found the idea not only offending but unfair. And although I was considered a good student, I believe the resonance of that notion never allowed me to become too serious about what I learnt at school, college or university. 


And as fate would have it, I grew up to become a teacher. I entered the profession with a non-serious attitude and the joy of earning my first salary. Little did I realize that this casual infatuation, as I looked at it then, would become a life long journey.


My first batch of students were 8 year olds. They appeared small and easy to handle. And every single day there was something new to learn and discover about them. I remained a figure of authority to them as I had always been with children, but could not help enjoying the sunshine that they seemed to spread so effortlessly.


In the years that followed, I found out that not any singular plan ever repeated itself. It was always a new year with new faces and new plans. Strangely, the books remained the same and so did the curriculum.


I used to wonder, "Can this book alone meet the needs and intellect of each child in this class?" Each time the answer came in a negative.
So, What is education really? Is it information in text books, revision done in note books or simply an examination of your nerves?


As much as I found it hard to define, education is more than a classroom experience. It is about being in a conducive environment with individuals coming from different mindsets. It is a forward motion that doesn't necessarily have the same pace for all. It is understanding that there will be strengths and weaknesses to meet the eye. The belief that it is the strength that will help establish the right course in life. It is the ability to see through shut windows to instill rays of hope and light. It is Equal Opportunity. The right of each child to excel at his/her strengths.
It broadens our horizons and provides us with the tools to accept diversity in people and ideas, in perceptions and priorities, thus, enlightening us with the greatest tool of all, reason.


Therefore, as much as the rules of literacy, numeracy and scientific facts carry us through our student lives, we are really learning and being educated with "life skills".
And that takes me back to my parent's ever popular phrase, "educated enough to get through life!" Today, the relevance of this phrase is much understood by me. Life is the greatest exam and your chances of survival quite rightfully depend upon your true definition of education.

The Butterfly Fish...

Dubai Schools have now got to go through the horror of the KHDA (Knowledge and Human Development Authority) inspections. The purpose of these inspections is to observe the quality of education and create a report on the various school departments and their effectiveness. At the end of each inspection, the schools are given a rating. These inspectors spend about 3 to 4 days in the school campus, visiting running classrooms and meeting with the staff and students.

In the beginning, the hype of these 3 days was immense. As a teacher, I remember the stress that came with the inspectors walking in your classroom and observing your lesson in action. The formalities had to be met with efficiency. A table was set at the back of the classroom with two chairs. The lesson plans were photocopied and placed neatly on the table in a file. They could come in any time and we had to be prepared.

Every teacher had her own nightmare. Some were less organized and struggled to get their folders updated. Some were worried about the class discipline while others got hassled with a third presence in the class. For me, there was always anxiousness to complete the lesson in time, as planned and meeting with all its objectives with accuracy.

Lesson planning was my forte. I enjoyed it thoroughly. While it was a horror for many, it was the best part of the deal for me. I always designed a new idea and exercised my creativity to the fullest, only to help my students benefit from the experience.

And so, when it came to the inspection, I paid extra attention to my lessons. Here lies a beautiful memory of how my Year 3’s helped me sail through a Literacy Class Observation.

Normally, I never worried about the class discipline. My students were my pals, and that meant a lot both ways. They knew instinctively that the lady in the room was there to watch me and so, everybody followed the code of conduct to the very core of it. I was also a disciplined teacher, so my children were quite well trained in class routines and rituals. I did not have to pretend or prepare them for some emergency drill. There was trust and loyalty.

I was informed in the morning that the lady inspector would be coming in my classroom to observe my English class. I was thrilled. I had planned a brilliant ‘Remedial Exercise’ to help my students come up with conclusions on common mistakes they make while writing a composition. I was sure, she would like it as I had incorporated all the Literacy skills to cover those forty minutes.

She was waiting outside the classroom and we greeted each other with a smile. As we entered, the students stood in courtesy and greeted us both. Suddenly, the little lady in my students walked up to the inspector and motioned her to take her seat. I’m sure she must have taken the gesture as pre-planned. But reality was that the children were every bit prepared to take her down! I smiled at my darling angel and she almost winked.

My children were seated in groups of four. All my activities had been planned likewise. The first activity was to determine the ‘setting’ in a story and its relevance in a composition. I wanted them to understand that the setting actually defined their choice of vocabulary and the words that they used had to be related. And so, to help them come to that conclusion, I drew an ocean setting on the board. They were quick to identify that. Then I drew various fishes and sea plants. They watched carefully. In between, I drew a butterfly and expected them to shout and protest about its improper habitat. Instead the class remained quiet. It was an awkward moment for me.

I initiated the discussion. “What do you see in the ocean here?” They all chanted the names of the fishes, completely ignoring the butterfly! The lady instructor had started to enjoy the lesson now! I smiled at her. I asked the students again, “Look at the picture carefully. What else do you see?” I could make out that they were keeping the silence on purpose! I got a little desperate and pointed at the butterfly. “Now, what is this?” The answer was instant and unanimous, “Butterfly-Fish!”

I saw the inspector break into peals of laughter while I stood there absolutely awestruck by their love. They thought that I had made a huge error by placing a butterfly in the ocean and had been trying their level best to ignore its presence! They did not want me to look bad or be complained about and so had decided to label it as a fish!

I had to rub it and draw a chair instead, much to their horror. “Ok, will one of you come to the board and circle the picture that DOES NOT belong in the ocean?” Finally, the message went across and the lesson continued. There were about six activities which went quite smoothly with a 100% participation from all the children. They extracted and framed the targeted conclusions which covered all important aspects of composition writing. Students worked in groups, helping each other to create a plot, characters and discussing emotions. Each group stood up to read their creative story. The class ended successfully by a role play based on the best loved story created in the class, enacted by student volunteers. They dragged me into the story as a character as well and made most decisions related to the theatrical presentation.

The lady stood up and thanked everyone. She left the class and I met her later for a feed-back. This is what she said, “An environment of learning is defined as one which resonates safety, security, freedom of expression, inquiry, positive interaction and individual growth. Often we believe that these factors are transferred from the teacher to the students. But I was amazed today to witness just the opposite. Your students were looking out for your safety, gave you all the space and opportunities to correct what they believed you had done wrong. They were worried about you and were probably reciprocating the efforts that you put in for them and their betterment. They will prove to be the most vital element in your growth as a teacher Ms. Shama. Congratulations on achieving that kind of love and trust. It was a memorable lesson.”

My students had made me proud. They had glorified my presence in their lives as a mother, friend and companion. They had taken care of me from the beginning till the end. 

Surely the KHDA directs our focus as teachers, on the quality of our lesson plans. We plan with accuracy, time our sections, prepare our materials, but in reality, a butterfly remains a butter-fly till you create the magical possibility of turning its wings to fins!

The Dream Team...

I was asked to teach Year 3 when I joined school in the Year 2006. There were two sections and the ladies in-charge came across as good friends and colleagues. I was replacing one of them who was being moved to teach Year 2. She appeared a little occupied with the change which required a lot of files being transferred to me and lesson plans that needed to be filed yet.

I tried to make the process as smooth as possible but couldn’t help feel like the outsider who had broken a comfortable set up and relationship.

The other teacher, whom I was going to team up for the year was a young unmarried girl from my own country by origin and came across as reserved. She had heard about me from older colleagues and friends that I had worked with, before taking my leave of two years after delivering my second baby. She spoke about relevant matters and kept the conversation short and limited to work.

My two year old son had joined with me and I was going through a lot inside my mind as well. The students had not joined yet and so he often dropped into my classroom crying or wanting to go home. I tried to deal with him keeping my patience, but in between a lesson planning session, I would sometimes lose my focus and my frustration would come through my voice. My colleague’s expressions indicated her reservations about me and the kind of year that would follow.

The year began. The children came in and as always, there was no time to chat. We had rooms opposite each other. The mornings began with a formal hello and we sometimes sat together at break time, only to enjoy our snacks. She carried a home-made sandwich, while I would always buy one for myself. She walked into my classroom to teach Math and I entered her classroom every morning to teach her class English.

There was a structure to her classroom. It was bright, clean and the borders on the soft boards were neatly pinned up with no edges. She had the book shelf labelled with subject tags and the notebooks were placed accordingly in piles in their respective spaces. She was every bit organized and planned all her tasks well.

My classroom was bright with many coloured boards. The corners that I had selected to border my soft boards were all abstract in shapes. My book shelf was labelled as required and the activities that happened through the day did not allow much time for a lot of cleaning. Still, before the children left each day, I made them collect the rubbish from the floor and dump it in the bin. I was always coming up with a new idea and being organized in such a frame of mind was very difficult for me.

We sat in my classroom discussing the lessons we had planned for the coming week. Her structured manner had made me a little careful with my planner and I had to keep everything updated to ease her discomfort. She on the other hand, was struggling with my last minute changes and additional ideas. She listened to them with interest and added her own views on them as well. Often, she said to me, “This appears quite attractive on paper, but I doubt if it will work in reality.” But she never refused to give it a try. I started to admire this quality about her.

As time went by, we began to understand each other better. She was not very expressive but registered all emotions surrounding her. I was a complete extrovert, and my manners and cheer helped break the ice that often never allows people to give each other a chance.

I had my strong influence in most of the school departments and each time we planned something new, I took the responsibility of collecting the matter and looking after the relevant arrangements. I felt responsible for the frequent changes in our plans and thought it was necessary to provide her with all the required materials. She appreciated my thoughtfulness and slowly began to volunteer and contribute generously towards our challenging planning. I met all my deadlines and she likewise, always kept her part of the deal.

Being married, I was a little more caring about her needs. Each time, I would visit the store to collect my monthly stock of board markers, pens and chart papers, I always made an effort to collect her requisition materials as well. She always thanked me and somewhere deep down, we had become good caring friends.

The corridor was filled with our laughter and silly jokes by the second term and it was then that she got engaged to be married. The news thrilled everyone and especially me. I was happy to see her smiling face each morning. She would sometimes run to my classroom to show me a special gift.

The year was coming to an end and we had to plan our Annual Exhibition. That meant, we had to think of a theme for our classrooms and exhibit the students work accordingly. Both of us wanted to create something big. We decided on drawing and painting huge cut-outs that would carry the student activities. We embarked on this cumbersome journey and it took us two complete weeks to create our magical cut-outs with the help of our students. The last two pieces were painted and we left them all to dry closing the door to the classroom. As we walked to the gate, we shared our joy at being able to complete the task in time to put it up on the walls for the exhibition which was marked in two days.

The next day, I entered the corridor and found my friend in a state of shock. “What happened?” I asked her feeling worried. “All our work has vanished! There is nothing in the classroom!” I comforted her a little, “Maybe, it was collected and placed somewhere else.” “I have asked every one about it. I have a bad feeling Shama. Maybe, the cleaners who come in the afternoon have thrown it thinking its garbage as it was lying on the floor.” I was not ready to accept that story and so I rushed to our Supervisor for some help. “If you left it so carelessly, and did not inform anyone about it, it’s plainly your fault. You won’t be able to recover it now. My advice is, replace it with something else now. And please remember, there is no time, so don’t indulge in something too fancy.”

I returned from her office feeling a complete failure. All that hard work had completely vanished. My friend met me at the classroom door. “What are we going to do Shama?” I wanted to cry but as I looked into her eyes, we burst out laughing! It was a strange reaction to a very complicated situation. We laughed for quite some time analysing our fate! Then suddenly she said, “Ok, let’s see how many charts are left with us.” I looked at her in disbelief. “You mean, we will do this all again?” I asked her with my eyes wide open. “We can if we want to. We will have to stay back after school to complete the whole décor and I’m sure we can do that.” 

We were fighters. We took to the task of reproducing our project work in a matter of hours which otherwise had taken us weeks. Everyone left at home time to come back refreshed for the exhibition the following day. We were the only two teachers who stayed back pasting pictures, creating borders and sticking 300 small footprints to guide the parents to our classrooms.

It was evening when our work finished. She had the car and offered to drop me home. We celebrated our victorious spirit by stopping at the grocery and buying ourselves a sandwich with a soft drink.  All through the travel we laughed about our hop scotch painting, hurried cutting and camouflaged taping. We had come through a crisis letting go of our perfections and understanding the need to rise to the occasion with respect and dignity.

The year ended and the school staff held a special music ceremony for her wedding which was planned in the summer break. And when the time came to bid farewell, we hugged each other. She held on to me and cried telling me how much she would miss me. I was touched by her love and knew that I would miss her just as much.

The year was a successful one because, we had given each other a chance despite our initial reservations and opinions. I had become more organized and she was able to express herself with much more warmth. We were different people. But what remained common between us was the desire to experiment on each other’s ideas, and let go of our perfections to be able to become a Dream Team!

The Second Language

A baby comes into this world and the communication begins with his first crying. Without any words, the mother attends to his needs instinctively. She struggles with a few lapses here and there, but generally is able to meet all his demands. The baby learns his first few words quite early and mostly they consist of frequently used vocabulary such as ‘mama’ or ‘baba’. The language spoken at home is the language that he adopts as his first language. It comes to him naturally and without much effort. That is the joy of having a First Language.

However, that joy is short-lived as the moment he enters school, he is required to learn a ‘second language’. Urdu, Hindi, French, Arabic, Tagalog, Persian and so many more to choose from. Mostly English is the primary language to begin with.

In my initial years of teaching, I often taught language with a lot of dedicated formality and set methods. The results were brilliant with the comfortable learners but mostly the methods failed with the absolute beginners. Unfortunately, I had only little experience of knowing what would work and so it got me to think how I had managed to learn the English Language myself.

Although, I was educated in well reputed schools, the methodologies that were incorporated at that time were quite similar to what I was practicing as a teacher myself. Those were the methods that I was familiar with. It is also a fact that I was not introduced to the British Curriculum till I began to teach. My entire education has been with the Pakistani Curriculum. The failure to achieve a 100% result, got me thinking.

I believe there were invisible factors that lead to my love of learning the language and striving to accomplish this difficult task.

Every year, my aunt and uncle along with my cousins used to visit us in Pakistan all the way from Canada. And while they understood the Urdu language well, they mostly made conversation in English. I fell in love with the accent and the fluency and like a parrot began to imitate their manner of speaking. I was never shy about making errors and my parents celebrated my desire to learn the language at all costs. I would spend lots of time playing with them and though they were much older than me, they taught me lots of short fun expressions and adored me for my keen interest to use them all day long.

They would stay with us for about a month and before they left, I took their address to ensure that the learning would continue through letter writing. I remember the thrill of receiving mail and read the letters so many times that introduced me to not just another part of the world but also the many ways of expressing oneself. I would often seep this knowledge in my Literacy class at school and the teachers would be amazed by my ability to think out of the box and appreciated my creativity in writing. I had won their admiration and the encouragement proved vital in climbing the ladder further.

It was a blessing to have been born in a house that had deep rooted love and inclinations to all forms of art. Music, drama, theatre and poetry, all had their special contributions in inducing this love of learning a language in me. Whether the songs, drama, poetry or theatre was in Urdu or English, the effects were similar. They produced a sense of inquiry and need to understand the meanings. The love of singing, further provided a platform to exercise my application skills. The day I found out an old college magazine that belonged to my mother, I was introduced to the world of Poetry. I had always read poetry written by famous poets but reading a poem in the magazine, that had been framed by my mum, opened my eyes to the possibility of writing on my own. That very day, I wrote my first two poems. Again I was applauded by my parents for the simple yet touching verses. I was only 10.

I remember, as a teenager, I would make huge collections of music albums and in doing so, went a step ahead to create a book of lyrics for all these cassettes. I would write whatever I would understand and a few years down the line, I used to laugh at the bizarre language that I had interpreted at that time. But the book itself reflected the deep love that I had for this language.

My elder sister was an ardent reader. She had a handsome collection of Enid Blyton books and the Famous Five series. I liked reading books but serious reading began after she got married and the book shelf became mine. She left many books that would interest me and I read them all one by one.

Each time my younger brother and myself would get our pocket money, we would consume it in buying short Urdu story books, and the purpose beyond reading them was to create a library of our own in the extra room on the first floor of our house. We would proudly make a list of all the literature that we possessed and this activity was another form of strengthening our ties with the language.

My elder brother was a smooth organ player. We teamed up for many years creating our own music and here again, he encouraged me to write the lyrics to all our songs. It was pure fun but the growth that happened as a result of this collaboration was phenomenal. Being able to write and create something of our own gave me the confidence and faith in my abilities and immense optimism to carry forward this confidence to communicate my thoughts with the rest of the world. 

Another factor that I hold dear in language learning was my hobby to write my ‘personal diary’ every night before I slept. This habit stayed with me for about three years and when I read my diary today, it clearly indicates that I was a confident writer by the age of seventeen.

All these factors indicate that learning a language requires some form of motivation, an open channel of conversation, indulgence in literary activities and most importantly an environment of encouragement.

Therefore, I decided to completely revamp my methodology to teach a language. Whether it is English or any other optional language that our children opt for, we need to provide them the motivation to learn it, the platform to apply this learning, to keep the conversation flowing and encourage activities in school and at home that would greatly contribute to their love of learning a language.