GOING TO SCHOOL IN THE CLOUDS. By Rukmini Banerji. Director ASER Centre. Hugging the lush green mountain side, past pict
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GOING TO SCHOOL IN THE CLOUDS By Rukmini Banerji Director ASER Centre
Hugging the lush green mountain side, past picture perfect waterfalls, the road took us away from the city. But below and beyond, we could see Gangtok spread out and nestling against the hills. This was my first time in Sikkim. How do you quickly get a sense of a new context? I work with schools and children and so having seen schools in many parts of India, I have come to believe that to understand a society, its culture, its people and its values, there is no better place to begin than schools. So, we drove out of Gangtok looking for schools. About ten kilometres out, we saw a school just above the main road. A short climb led us straight to the big playground. Beyond that was a cluster of buildings. This was a government secondary school. From Class 1 to Class 10, they had more than 400 children. Today like other days, the attendance was high. Hardly two or three children were absent in each class. It was almost time for the mid morning short break. Boys and girls in blue sweaters and grey trousers and skirts began streaming down the staircase to go to the playground. The children were curious but exceedingly polite. Teachers explained to us that in the seventies this was a community school, where people in the community collected cash and kind to compensate teachers. Today, the government provided funds and support. Enrollment had swelled and the school was working hard to cope with space. The Rotary Club had built a one or two of the buildings that belonged to the same complex, but dues to lack of rooms, the primary grades up to Class 3 were in a rented building down the road. A ten minute walk down a residential street, we heard the unmistakable sound of busy children. The school occupied the lower two floors of a brightly painted building. In each room, there were little children - books and notebooks open, working hard. On the walls hung colourful pictures painted by children. Even from a distance, it was obvious that teachers were teaching and children were learning. I thought
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about schools in so many other states that I have been to in the last ten years. Rarely have I seen such an active learning environment. We had arrived during the language class time. In Sikkim, for all subjects, the language of instruction from Class 1 is English. But all other local languages are taught as well. In our school, the two larger rooms on the ground floor had Class 1 students. They were learning Nepali. The teacher was writing matras and words on the blackboard. In a smaller shed like room, three little ones were working on Bhutia alphabets with their teacher. We were quickly given a short lesson in Bhutia letters. The little ones were amused ! A smile broke through the broken teeth of a girl in the front row. She found it funny that even though we were grownup, we did not know anything. There was no Lepcha class at that time but the teacher showed us Lepcha textbooks. Nepali and Hindi use Devanagri script, but Lepcha and Bhutia, each has a different script. Up the stairs and along a narrow verandah were two classes for Class 3 and a larger room for Class 2. We were told that the head teacher was there. At first we could not see her. Then through the crowd of children surrounding the desk we saw the head teacher. There was a big discussion going on, she was talking to them as she looked at their notebooks. The headteacher welcomed us but very soon went back to the work that she had been doing. She was like the rest of her teachers, professional, friendly and actively engaged with their children. Further down the same road, maybe five kilometers or more, past a big army area, just before the turn off for Nathu La we found another school. This too was a secondary school instantly recognizable by the big playground around which the school was laid out. It is no wonder that Bhaichung Bhutia is from Sikkim. The playgrounds encourage every one to play. The headteacher was a very poised lady in a traditional baku. Her room was neatly laid out; spic and span - just like her. shelves full of trophies, pictures on the walls and cupboards neatly stacked with books. As the pink curtains fluttered behind her, she chatted with us. She was curious about schools in other states. 'I want to start Hindi earlier than Std 4", she said. "I want my children to be well prepared to deal with the rest of the country." The headteacher took us to visit her
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Class 9 students. There were two sections of Class 9 in her school, neither had more than twenty children - all dressed in the grey and red school uniforms, neatly tied plaits and shy smiling faces. We began to chat. "Where shall we visit in Sikkim?" we asked. At first, the suggestions were slow to come. The headmistress coaxed them to speak. "Our children are shy" she said, "our culture encourages children to deferential and respectful to adults. But they must learn to speak their mind and communicate well". A young man at the back of the class wanted us to go north to see flowers and rhododendrons; others suggested monasteries. It was time for lunch. The headmistress invited us to join them for the midday meal. The little children ate first. From their faces you could tell that they had enjoyed their meal. What would schools far away from Gangtok be like? Which direction should we go? That afternoon we visited the state office for education. The state government officials were bemused at our admiration and enthusiasm for the schools we had seen. "It is such a pleasure to see schools like they should be" I said. The officials were polite but asserted that they are not satisfied with the state of their schools. "There is much much more to be done." Sikkim is a small state. There are less than 800 government schools . Apart from the few main population centres, schools are scattered across the countryside. The challenge is to provide good education to remote villages and diverse small populations. The state has well qualified teachers. With 15 to 20 students per teacher, teacher-student ratios are among the best in the country. Other than Hindi which is introduced in Class 4, the state attempts to teach 11 other local languages to its children so that their home language is kept alive and integrated into the school system. Sikkim is the first state to have notified the state's model rules for implementing the Right to Education Act and currently are very busy in communicating the main thrust of the Act to all their teachers. In the context of the state's development, the current chief minister and the administration give high priority to education; close to 21% of the state's budget is spent on education. Armed with school lists and letters for the headmasters, we headed out early next morning to visit schools in North Sikkim. Of the four districts in Sikkim, the north district is the most remote. Leaving Gangtok behind, we went travelled on a narrow un-tarred road towards Mangan. It had rained the night before and even now the clouds hung low in the valley. Past thick wet glistening green forests, slushy rock strewn tracks, the bumpy ride took us through frequent landslide zones, over iron bridges, and across rivers. We travelled for 30 or 40 kilometres. For the first hour or more, there were no villages or habitations. In the first village, near Kabi, we asked about schools. Villagers pointed to a school high above the road. Off we went. This too was a government secondary school, established in the sixties. The steep path wound up and up and finally ended in a small but very well tended garden. This school also had a big
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playground, clusters of buildings and professional English speaking teachers - no different from those we had met in Gangtok. Today was a Saturday so children were in the their gym clothes. Track suit pants and blue, green, yellow and red colour t-shirts representing different houses. The houses were named after important places in their district. This was the only secondary school in the area and so children came from quite a distance. The total enrollment in the school was a little over 250 and like in Gangtok, attendance was high even on a rainy Saturday. Our search for a primary school took us further and further into the district. In sparsely populated areas it is hard to find people to ask. We finally reached a path that led us off the road. We were told that there is a SSA school about fifteen minutes down that path. The path was narrow; covered with wet leaves and moss. It zigzagged up the slope. Through the dense vegetation we could see a fast flowing river thundering down below. The roar of the water against the rocks was audible even high up on the mountainside where we were. Finally we saw a three room building. As our path reached the school we saw 10 small children and two teachers very busy clearing the undergrowth in the school yard. Some of the children themselves were not much higher than the bushes they were trying to uproot. There was nothing but forests on all sides of the school. High above the school till the top of the ridge were thick tall trees. The teachers told us that sometimes they could see bears. The cleanup operation of the school yard was essential because there were snakes. The enrollment of the school was less than fifteen for classes up to 5 because the school was far away from any habitation. In addition, crossing the murderous Bagcha Khola river even on the bridge far below was considered dangerous by parents. It seemed that the fast current of the angry river "ate" a few people from the village each year. To come to the school, children had to pass a graveyard. This further discouraged children from the villages across the river. There were four teachers assigned to the school. Despite being a small and remote school, each classroom had maps and pictures on the walls and the children had their full complement of uniforms and books. The toilets were spotless and no lack of flowing water in the taps. Like teachers we had met elsewhere, they spoke
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English, were well qualified and some came even from Gangtok daily. They talked of the challenges of teaching in a remote school but most of all they said "we don't have fun because we don't have enough children". Saying that the school children of Sikkim are among the cutest in India would be stating the obvious. But the children in our remote mountain school were perhaps among the most beautiful I have ever seen anywhere. Though the number of children who are enrolled in very small, they are devoted to school - they come daily even in bad weather. Most of these children are children of labourers. The wealthier people send their children to schools in Gangtok. Little Chhetri has a shaved head. He shows us his house - it is all the way down the valley and then across on the other side. Almost a small spec in the distance. But he walks from there every day. Chhetri's friends are shy but friendly and able to understand English. And clearly very happy to have visitors. As we made our way back to Gangtok, we could see children going home. It was afternoon. Clouds settled in the arms of the mountain ridges. Rivers relentlessly thundered down the valleys. Another week in school was over. The sounds of happy schools, the sight of busy teachers and active children would be back on Monday. For me, the trip reaffirmed my faith in schools as the places where important foundations can be built and a society understood. Pictures: Ranajit Bhattacharyya September 26 2010
