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This is an archive article published on October 4, 2004

Remember these classrooms?

Recently I visited my village middle school after more than 20 years. While driving, I remembered a building surrounded by a beautiful garde...

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Recently I visited my village middle school after more than 20 years. While driving, I remembered a building surrounded by a beautiful garden, four big rooms with desks and benches, one each for classes four to seven, a big hall for classes one to three, a staff room for six teachers, almost all belonging to nearby villages. Soon, I was looking at a dilapidated building standing on barren land, with rubble and rubbish around. There were one and half teachers in the school — one full teacher and one para-teacher under the Sarva Siksha Abhiyan. I told the terrified teacher that I was not an inspecting officer, that once I had studied in this school. There was one isolated small room constructed under the Vidhayak Quota, partly filled with rubble and rubbish, with a small verandah. Class one and two were running on the verandah and children in classes three to eight were sitting inside. The visitor could initiate a dialogue with the teacher.

“There are 200 children on the register, but all do not come. There are two teachers and one ‘siksha mitra’ has joined recently. One teacher is always sick and so she has got posted here. Many children have gone for work. Some go to the private school and pay Rs 20 per month, but they have their names on the register here.” What about the mid-day meal? “Yes, we give to all; villagers insist that they should not be deprived of what they get rarely. This year we have got it only for two months.”

Hearing that the visitor was a senior government officer, a demand came from a small group of villagers that had assembled in the meantime, “we must have a high school here.” What would they do with a high school when they can’t manage a middle school? What about the VEC (village education committee) that’s supposed to make sure the school functions and functions well? “One officer had come two years ago to organise the VEC. He called whoever was available. He announced the VEC and put up signatures of those who were not even present at the meeting.” I later recalled his observation to a World Bank official when I was involved with restructuring primary education in the state. “A VEC can’t be formed,” I said. “It has to evolve. We could at best trigger a process, act like a catalytic agent.” The Bank official replied, “Convince your bureaucrat colleagues in Delhi!”

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Meanwhile, in the school the conversation returned to the high school demand. “Think about the girls. Where will these adolescents go if there is no high school?” I finally had a reason to be hopeful. Half the children in the tiny room and the verandah were girls. I could hardly recall a few female faces from my time in the school.

Many questions were racing through my mind. Could I ask the villagers to run the middle school first, and think of a high school later? Could I advise the teachers not to be absent when someone calls “from above”? Could I ask them to oppose the opening of private schools and charging money for an education that ought to be free and compulsory, guaranteed as a fundamental right under the Constitution?

And then, in the silence, even more questions. Should I promise a high school? Or, should I disclose that the Kothari Commission had recommended the Common School System with neighbourhood schooling aimed to equalise educational opportunity, remove the caste system in school management, prevent segregation of social classes, encourage involvement of local communities and give freedom to schools for experimentation and creativity? That the 1968 national education policy had fully accepted the commission’s recommendation on the CSS? That the NPE in 1986 and again in 1992 had reiterated the policy on the CSS, but the powers that be has made sure that the CSS was ousted from educational and social discourse, so much so that we have now invented hundreds of reasons, excuses, using beautiful terminology and jargons to say, para-teachers for your children and trained teachers for mine, learning centres for your children, and private schools for mine, literacy for your children and education for my children?

I could not utter a single word, while the villagers kept asking for teachers, for action against the contractor and for a high school. I felt like crying.

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Some time later I was running a workshop with some school administrators elsewhere, and I narrated this story without naming the village or the state. Practically every teacher claimed it could be the story of the school in his/her state.

The writer, a civil servant, is researching inclusive education at Oxford

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