I had never in my vaguest dreams aspired or wanted to be a teacher. I still remember when I was pursuing my Masters Degree in Sociology, a friend suggested I should look at teaching as a career, I scoffed at the idea and called it the most “boring” and “uninspiring” career. Now, I’ve just completed a wonderful decade in the teaching profession and looking back, I have absolutely no regrets.
How did I enter this profession after having sworn never to get into this field? Marriage made me leave Bangalore. I moved to a small city in North Karnataka. After the initial enthusiasm of settling down ebbed, I could feel an utter sense of loneliness and desperation. My better half could not help as his work entailed a lot of travelling, leaving me to fend for myself. However he wasn’t immune to my growing restlessness, and one Sunday he suggested that I apply for a lecturer’s position at a reputed college. Much against my will, I applied and got the job.
Day one, I went bundled in a sari (feeling most uncomfortable) and heavily armed with loads of reading done, albeit a little nervous. The class was students of the final year of BA, the paper Indian Society and Social Problems; the lesson I had to start was “Prostitution”. When I entered the class, I got the shock of my life! There were about 35 faces staring at me, about 20 males, almost my age or older. Trying to keep a straight face, I started with my talk, what I assumed would be a great lecture .30 minutes later, I had exhausted all that I prepared for .The session was supposed to be for an hour and I was aware the principal was outside doing the rounds .So I started with the same stuff I had spoken the previous 30 minutes. When the bell rang, I did not know who was more thankful, the students or me.
By the end of week one, I had overcome the two major challenges I was faced, I could walk without stumbling in a sari, and the time frame for my discussions did no seem so unmanageable. Three lectures later, I had students raising questions and healthy discussions being held.
The acid test was to begin the following week, where I had to teach 120 students, a “dry” paper, which was a paper crammed with theory, sociologists with long alien unpronounceable names. I started with the class with a lot of mixed emotions, since my predecessor was well liked and was asked to leave since he did not have the requisite marks as required by UGC. (University Grants Commission). I could see a lot of faces unwilling to accept me as their new teacher. Perhaps it was a boon for me, as it spurred in me a desire to be accepted as a “good” teacher. After two weeks, I could sense a comfortable rapport developing between the students and me. So this was battle two which I won.
Then came the final battle, which taught me my biggest lesson in life. The class PUC I, 130 students, the classroom –huge with long French windows (through which I had seen students ducking out of classes, when it was not “interesting” enough for them) and the students –a heady mix of youngsters from English, Kannada and Marati medium schooling. I started my lessons in all earnest and I generally had classes at the unearthly hour of 7 am .I had often observed a student who used to sit in the corner of the fourth row, usually alone, sometimes gazing intently outside and usually dozing in his seat. It did unnerve me to a certain extent and one day I called him and asked him why he often slept in the class. He did not reply and seemed at a loss for words. Fortunately, a friend came to his rescue and translated to him in the local language, “Madam wants to know why you sleep in every class?” To this he replied saying that he had to wake up very early to tend the cattle and as a result was very tired when he reached college. From his body odour and the remnants of dried cow dung around his toenails, I knew this boy was not lying. I felt assured that it was not my lecture, which was driving him to sleep and decided that it was better he comes to class and sleep rather than not come at all. So my friend went on dozing in class (of course now he woke up every now and then since he was aware I was observing him).
One morning when I came to class, my fourth bench friend was awake when I started teaching and remained wide-awake throughout the class. The topic was one, which was close to my heart, and though I was so deeply involved in discussing it, I was constantly aware of the fourth benchers gaze on me. When I stopped my lecture, I asked my friend, in a mixture of the national language as well the local language (which I had picked up a smattering by then), why he was so wide-awake? I expected that he was going to complement me on my "excellent" talk and waited with bated breath for his answer. My friend answered with a smug look on his face that, that morning the buffaloes were taken care of by his brother and thus he did not feel sleepy in class. I was stung by his reply and the disappointment must have closely shown on my face. Probably to soothe me he said, “ But madam, you teach very well!” The words were like a soothing balm to me until he said “But the only problem is that I don’t understand any thing!” I was confused and almost lost my cool .So I asked him, how could he call me a good teacher and claim not to understand anything? Fourth Bencher replied, “Madam, your expressions, your gestures and your voice make me feel you are a good teacher but your long English words and sentences make no sense to me .I am from a vernacular background, where the only English I have been exposed to is A for apple and B for Bat, suddenly you come and bombard us with these complicated terms .How do you expect me to understand?” That’s when I learnt my first, biggest and best lesson on teaching. I made a conscious attempt to use simple words and not jargon, made a list of sociological concepts, translated them into Hindi, Kannada and Marati .I learnt how to make my lectures a session where every one could speak out regardless of whether they were good in English or not. Most of all I learnt to teach students and not subjects.
