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‘A firefly on my palm’ - Hafsa Sayeed

More than our alarm clocks, at PTG Girls School, Netarhaat, we would be woken up by the ritualistic arrival of girls in our room. They would chirp around, like a choir finding symphony. Sometimes linger around us in silence, and stare indistinctly at us sleeping or in the process of waking up. Our little women woke, unfailingly, every morning at around 5 A.M. There was an ease with which they managed their daily chores. Their faces wouldn’t suggest fatigue or drudgeries, which urban cultures imbibe. When it would be our turn to ferry water buckets to our rooms, they would giggle at our clumsy strolls. Perhaps for them it was a technically awkward posture in which we carried our buckets. Yet, they were overwhelmingly kind always, “layiye Didi Hum Kr dengay.” It was a kindness which didn’t seem cultivated as a mannerism or moral conditioning, but a kindness which just seemed fundamentally characteristic to them. It was only the last day that we couldn’t fight them for they refused to give in, when it came to carrying our bags till the gate.

Our ice breaking sessions were imbued with a subtle awkwardness initially. Whether we navigated through each other or struck conversations that died in shyness. Or hesitant sentences which found refuge in whispers and giggles. Brilliant eyes that shone at us in anticipation as well as curiosity. There wasn’t a single time when any of us doubted the genius or intellect of the girls. Our little women were very quick to pick up and learn. For me, it was always a process of negotiating between patience and creativity, because both had to be maintained in sumptuous quantities.

It was pure joy, whenever they joined together for a song. Their voices crackled like a clear stream, which flew through the memories of my childhood. It was gratifying to see them draw and paint, and sing and dance. The moments of their bliss seemed like a consolation to our gaping existential wounds. Sometimes, paradoxically, through the cacophony of their voices, calling to each other, or shouting, a solace would descend. It seemed to revisit that playful part of us which has been long lost in yesterday.

It was always easier to click with the girls through drawing, singing and dancing. For academic interventions, creativity was must. Teaching First Standard girls about addition and subtraction in a simplistic and regular sense was consuming for me as well as the girls. But engaging with the help of colours or UNO cards, and making it playful was fruitful. Also, creative interventions were must because little children exhibit attention deficiency or get distracted easily. It was also easier to engage them with Audio Visual Aids. They would simply be amused if they were shown anything on the laptop or the phone. The idea of being recorded through video and camera on phone and then displayed was very intriguing for some girls. So, in Class 1, some girls would insist that they shall dance and sing and I should make a video out of that. Later, all of them would see it together. On one such instance, a little girl, named Arti, upon seeing her video realised that her voice in the video wasn’t audible. So next time, she was literally shrieking at the top of her voice (as she was singing) and dancing for the video!

Conversations sought a lot more effort in initial days. However, for discussions like menstrual health as well as gender sensitization, one had to retain more rigour. We had to constantly evaluate the silence, whether it was incomprehension or shyness. If it was shyness, they gave enough signals usually to convey they understood your point. But, if it was incomprehension or blank faces, it meant we had to revisit our understanding of their context. One cannot simply go to a different culture or place, and impose ones’ own cultural or urban sensibility. At the same time, one cannot even possibly derive from ones’ own culture to accommodate through. It is only an exchange, and not a superimposition, which is held. The critical junction remains acceptance for each other. One such instance was when one of the Volunteers asked the girls about my Hijab. The conversation was supposed to be an inroad to the session on identity. So the girls were asked, “Do you realize this Didi always wears a Dupatta?” Or, “Do you realize this other Didi doesn’t wear a Dupatta.” To these questions, the girls expressed blatant disinterest. From their banal response of ‘yes’ and no’, it didn’t appear they seemed to care much or care at all. It stood in a stark contradiction to the normative upbringing of religious discourse or other such cultural distinctiveness. We didn’t seem much informed about each other’s exact background.  But the beauty of being was the ease of getting along, and sharing our songs and dances. And laughing together.

Netarhaat, as a place also had to offer discreet memories. For me, some days seemed to fulfill the feeling of winters that were lost over the course of having stayed outside home. One early morning, with the ritualistic chorus of our little women, “Didi Uth jayiye”, one of the girls came and opened the window. There was bare visibility as the dense fog entered our room. Some other time, it was the rain splashing against our windows, as one traced the fierce clouds over mountains.  

The evening before the last day, we held a cultural event. We were all performing various songs and dances. I was the last two songs which mellowed down the joyous laughter. The girls had prepared these songs for us. One sang about separation and the other, literally meant that Didi comes and leaves us heartbroken.  It was like a prelude to our farewell. A farewell that was drenched in the tears of some of our little women, or in the stoic acceptance of some, that our paths might never cross. A farewell encompassed in the collective appeal of our little women, ‘didi khaana khaa k jaatay.’ The girls refused to listen to us, as they carried our bags and came to drop us outside of the gate. And that last time, when we had to forcibly untangle their hands from ours, as we parted ways.  

The times spent at PTG Girls School, Netarhaat, shall resound through the meanings one seeks to find in the dullness of a fast paced life. It shall recur time and again to inform one of the simplicity, which is perhaps swallowed by urban cultures. And it shall shine brightly through the cusps of our nights, like that firefly, which a little girl placed on my palm.  

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Poems by Bree

Dedicated to the volunteers and kids of Sahpathi: 

And I can't wipe

the smile from my eyes.

It won't fade. 

Because I see you fighting 

using your heart and mind. 

Because you feel it all 

and won't let go. Because you're gentle, 

with a caring gaze. 

Because I know you see the gifts of others and more. 

Because there is so much strength

in your silence. Because you shared your all.

Because you dare to do it

a different way. Because you don't give up.

Because you are the thread

that unites us. 

Because your voice speaks loudly

to a tune that takes us by the hand

and guides us. 

Because your laugh rises up 

and lifts dreary eyes.

Because you speak your truths

and they hold power. Because together it feels like

anything is possible. 

Learning with the girls of Lohardaga ST School: 

Arms around shoulders

Fingers intertwined 

Right arms toward the earth 

Swaying, with forward and backward

body movements 

Two steps forward, then across

Two steps back 

Movements merge into one wave-like motion

Momentum uniting us all 

As voices rise, radiating forcefully 

Soaked in rare beauty, in incremental release 

The rhythm and flow reaches all of me 

Swirling between the walls of my heart

Where they remain

My heart sounds different now.

- Bree Alexander

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Sahpathi 2017 Report

Presenting our programme report from Sahpathi 2017 which was our second chapter and conducted in June-July last year. You can access it here, to know more about the aims, objectives, process, experiences of the volunteers, our observations and the future of the programme.

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Tamar Diary (1) by Monalisa Debnath

My new friends in Tamar, you welcomed me with warm hugs, awaiting for my presence with affectionate smile and curious souls and I forgot to keep the doors open.

And how beautifully you made me fall for the brown entrance where you were resting your face. How beautifully you have taught me to keep that door (that I have never opened since last summer) open for the rest of my life.

Have you ever visited Tamar?  Yes,J It’s close to your constructed imagination that your drawing teacher used to show you as a beginner. A village, with a belt of green hills, uneven roads and people. As I entered into the school I felt the year long wait. Kids were in search of the one year old memories, the memories that trying to rejuvenate. Old faces, habit and stories were having a quick recap. One year old ‘history’ splashed over us like fresh rain drops… and went on a journey to make a new one with new faces, new ideas, new experience.  

The experience was totally different from last summer . The children remembered the lines of the songs, the games, the fashion sense of the didis who came the previous year and also their daily habits,conversations with them. At the very first day it seems quite difficult for not to compare but to accept and making a distinct place in our mind (equally for the children and me). Everyone was eager to see the old faces with that same warmth. So we started  sharing memories that had begun on the stairs we were sitting for the weekly programme. Love is meant to be shared.That’s what we did. We  started to talk… talk about rahee didi, sushmita didi, madhu didi, asmi didi and also about my kids in kundi and my dear team mates of last summer.And all of a sudden I came to know the kids of class xi went to summer camp organized in Jharkhand. And some of them knew some of the kids in Kundi School . :D We felt some kind of association by sharing our experiences about the common persons in our life. It took a while to be their Mona didi from “didi aapRahee didi jaise ho.”  

I used to take class ii,iii , xi. One thing I felt problaematic. Everyone is so sincere about their study but seemed weak in basics. When Raginee , a team mate (who used to take English in class xi)told them to look for words starting with A, the response was spellbound. They came up with word like ‘Abuse’ , ‘Abortion’ and so on. And thus it help us to continue the discussion on Sexual abuse, rape, consent . We later talked on Safe sex and marital rape with older section. And we talked about Good touch and Bad touch;idea of beauty perceived through the advertisements (combined - class xi and x – divided in five groups depicted their favourite advertisement as a part of the session); femininity and masculinity(and how they are socially constructed) with both the younger and older sections.  We also took a session on identity.

And I hereby want to tell you about the class on identity. It was the incident of just another day. Raginee, Vanshika and me were returning from our consecutive classes. As we walked on by, Girls, peeping at the door invited us to visit their class someday. As Nikita and Vanshika used to take class vii, the other two didis seemed still unfamiliar to them. And we(volunteers) started introducing ourselves in our own language and asked them to introduced themselves in their own language. We then found that many of them are ashamed to speak in their own language, i.e; Santhali, Panchpargania, Mundari. Majority of them had no knowledge about Birsa Munda. Some of them it was name of a park, one of them said it’s a name of a station. No one did actually tell who Birsa Munda is. They are ashamed to recognize their parents as farmers whereas 65% of the population in India still engaged in agriculture for their means of life. One of them addressed her brother ‘jobless’ as he is a small scale farmer. Now my question is to everyone is this how you imagined India after 71 years of its independence. Where the half of the population’s dignity is on stake? And you are in the middle of a debate on military insurgency? The kids have become the lab rat. I was ashamed, angry, disturbed to see a systematically organized consequence of education. They are getting to watch daily soaps like ‘Naagin’. Why the prime TV do not telecast something good , something that has some reality, rationality and more precisely ideas and not biased to a particular caste and class? They are being sanskritized in a way where they feel like Hindi (Debnagri) is the language that is uniformally recognized and socially accepted. They have started frowning and bowing their head in terms of their identity and have started believing what the people in power portrayed them. They have started trying to understand themselves from the gaze of the Brahmins.

The class went for really long and students were happy. People are singing in Mundari, Santhali, Bhojpuri, Asamees, Bangla. Some of the teachers greeted us saying that we were doing well. The conversation continued for few minutes. He ended with “These kids used to know anything… when they came here they could not speak in Hindi and did not know how to interact.. we make them what they are, hum in bachhoko insaan banaye. ”

But there is always another side of a coin.

4.7.17

It was the day of celebration- celebrating ourselves. Celebrating the homecoming of Rahee didi. Celebrating the essence of free spirit. All that started with theatre workshop.. reciting poems have` seemed to get new vessels. It started with heavy rain and somehow come to an end when it was raining cats and dogs. Though we (volunteers) insisted to continue it after the rain got stopped. The performers of the Nukkad Natak, named after Ulgulan( Revolution) were full on energy and wanted to perform it at that moment. We got that amazing audience watching everything with abrupt attention. But due to the time schedule and the rain all the teachers were not there. So the kids were prepared themselves to perform it again on the next day. As the performance ended with Where the mind is without fear.. the kids from younger section came to me and expressed their urge to sing a song. It began with Jodi tor daak shune keu naa aase, then that Mundari song they taught me and finally the song that they wanted to sing from the bottom of their heart disregarding the ‘social’ relevance.

Paagla Khabi ki

Janjhe more jaabi

Paagla khabi ki!

Shuru theke Shesh porjonto lode jaabi..

Paagla ki khabi! <3 :D

And the oldest teacher shouting from her place fisting the air… “Hum Bharat ke naree hein, phool nahi chingari hein.!”

 There is more to say. There is more to discuss on.There is more to get amazed.  But for now daamakha( good night).  :)

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‘Aisa lag raha hai jaise pittrisatta ke khilaaf ye hamari pehli ladai thi.’

In this powerful post, Somaya takes us through her experience conducting a gender sensitisation programme and a theatre workshop with students at an all girls’ residential high school in Khunti. 

I, along with Monalisa, Surbhi and Prerna spent my days at Government ST Residential Girls High School, Kundi in Khunti district of Jharkhand. My plan was to do some work around gender sensitisation with the girls, so I took it up for 9th and 10th standards. My wish to do this was rooted in this reality: our textbooks teach us the Constitution of India, the right to equality, how women are biologically different from men, but never explain to us the difference between sex and gender, never explain us the roots of this inequality, the various forms in which a historically deprived gender continues to be oppressed, how women are still disciplined to satisfy the needs of the patriarchal society and be ‘ideal’ wives and daughters. Hence, I wanted to do something I feel is essential, which the books will never cover. It was an extremely powerful experience for both me and the girls.

Before the first session that I took, I was quite apprehensive about the kind of things I needed to cover, the articulation of things that I wanted to talk about, the extent to which I was supposed to take things up, etc. My stay started with a small interaction with the girls at night on the terrace when all of us together watched stars and talked about our dreams. When I later told them what I was planning to do the next morning in the classroom, they were quite excited as the plan was contrary to what they had expected.

The first session – on gender stereotypes – went on for almost 3 hours with class 9, and subsequently with class 10. A boy and a girl were made on two different charts. The students got to decide the length of their hair, the type of their clothes, the colour of clothes and how the clothes were worn or draped. (Interestingly, the girl was made to wear a blue frock and the boy was made to wear a pink shirt.)

Then various characteristics that humans possess were written down on pieces of paper. As each tag was picked, the girls were asked to put on the boy / girl / both depending on who the characteristic was more relatable to. After this exercise, there were tags on boys and girls (mostly correspondingly to the gender stereotypes that exist in our society). Each characteristic was then discussed after which, the third round of tagging took place where all characteristics were put in the both (boy + girl) area.

This helped them understand how these characteristics are stereotypes attached to us by the society and there is absolutely nothing natural about them. They learnt how a ‘woman’ is socially constructed.

‘Mai moti hu, isliye ye exercise karne mein acha nahi lagega'

This comment which was made in the previous evening’s theatre workshop made me plan the next session on physical appearance and body shaming. After drawing a girl’s body with an open shirt, I asked the girls to speak out the first things that come to their minds— which happened to be words like ‘sharam’, ‘charitra’, ‘mariyada’, ‘sharirik shoshan’, ‘balatkaar.’ How women are made to look at their bodies, sexualisation of some body parts and the sanctity, purity and honour attached to a woman’s body were the topics around which the discussion revolved.

Acceptance of bodies— covered or naked— was the other aim of this session. Hence, everyone was asked to draw their bodies (preferably naked) however they see it. There was a bit of an awkward silence with giggles here and there when I first proposed the idea. I thought maybe it was too soon, so I told them that it is completely up to them and there was not any pressure from my side. Soon they themselves asked me for drawing sheets and colours, and started drawing.

Sumita said, ‘Iss samaj ki gandi soch ko bohot chot pahunchegi jab hum ye draw karenge.’ This made a discussion around male ego and frames that this society tries to fit all women from the start. They imagined the male domination on women as a balloon and the patriarchal structure as a box, both of which they thought will get a big blow after they draw themselves. Some of them even wrote their message to the society. All the girls kept saying ‘hum box ko todenge aur balloon phodenge.’

Everyone’s messages were read out and pictures were shown (if they wanted). A few things which were said by the girls after the session were— ‘bohot ajeeb si khushi ho rahi hai’, ‘free-free sa feel horaha hai’, ‘abhi bhi sharam aa rahi hai’, ‘aisa lag raha hai ki pehli baar samaj ke khilaaf awaz uthayi’.

The next session was based on the idea of beauty. Different images were drawn on a chart paper in pairs— fair-dark, make-up+big eyes-without makeup+small eyes, saree-gown, tall-short, long hair-short hair, slim-fat, makeup+big eyes+brown - without makeup+small eyes+fair— where one was a representation of the mainstream (stereotypes-laden) idea of beauty and the other wasn't. The class was asked to pick between A and B— whichever of the two they found more beautiful. Results: Type A representing the mainstream idea got more votes. Discussion on social construction of these choices, western influence, patriarchal notions of beauty took place. Lakhi, a student of class 10 seemed quite disturbed post second half of the session. I finally asked her as to what had been troubling her. She said, ‘aaj ye sab discuss karne ke baad aisa lag hi nahi raha ki kuch mera apna hai. Jin cheezon ko, meri pasand-napasand, ko mai apna maanti thi, woh toh sab samaj aur pittrisatta ne sochne aur maanne ke liye bola hai.’

A few others in the class said how they'd been thinking the same and they didn't feel happy at all. I just told them how I was feeling extremely happy that most of them were feeling uncomfortable and disturbed because that means that they understood what was conveyed. They didn't understand why I said that, and I didn't explain it either.

Every evening, for the first 10 days, I held a theatre workshop with the girls from classes 9th and 10th. Initially, many wouldn't do some theatre exercises because they were conscious about their bodies, most of them would only try to make ‘pretty’ faces during the mirror (theatre) exercise because they didn't want to look funny or ugly. The gender sensitisation sessions along with the increasing comfort level that we all started sharing with each other helped the girls to let go of their inhibitions in the following workshops. It was a drastic and a remarkable change which I could observe. It was quite hard for me to believe too.

The next session focused on the concept of consent and sexual violence. After discussion on consent, sexual harassment, molestation, rape (including marital rape), the girls themselves started asking if there is a possibility of sexual violence in sex work. This was followed by an experience-sharing session which brought out several incidents where many girls felt they were harassed and touched inappropriately. The general understanding of sexual harassment or molestation was “kuch bohot zyada kharaab.”  The number of girls who thought they were sexually harassed increased suddenly after the session. “Jab hum haat mein jaate hain ya train se ghar wapis jaate hain toh bohot baar humari breast ko chune ki koshish ki jaati hai. Hume nahi pata tha ki yeh bhi sharirik shoshan mein aata hai aur kanuni saza bhi hosakti hai.” Quite a few of them had instances from a family wedding to share where they were made to feel uncomfortable by someone known. While the discussion was on about sexual harassment by someone known, some whispering started happening. The girls were first hesitant to tell, a few stopping the others who wanted to say something, but finally they all spoke up. Spoke up against Ranjit Sahu, who happened to be a clerk at the school for more than 20 years. The next few days passed by discussing how exactly to deal with it, as the girls from both classes were extremely sure of how they wanted him out of the school premises.

The other sessions were on biology and sociology of menstruation. It was alarming to see how none of the science teachers or anyone else ever told them the reason behind menstruation, not know what sexual intercourse is. They asked questions about transgenders, which furthered the discussion and took it to homosexuality, transsexuality, cross-dressing and the idea of the ‘normal.’ It was surprising how quickly they understood and opined on all that was discussed. It was heartening to see them question things that I myself would have never thought of talking about, question me and each other. The ‘disciplined’ girls had started sitting on benches, demanding to have discussions outside the classroom and started asking all the questions they felt embarrassed about. The major achievement according to the girls was how they got Ranjit Sahu out of bounds of the school within 2 days. There were tears of both joy and anger throughout the process. After the notice of his expulsion from the school came, the girls said some extremely beautiful things which I know will give me strength throughout—

‘Aisa lag raha hai jaise pittrisatta ke khilaaf ye hamari pehli ladai thi.’

‘Bohot zyada strong feel ho raha hai aaj, Somaya di.’

‘Hum itne kamzoor nahi hai jitney humesha hume bataya jata hai.’

‘Aaj ke baad na apna na hi kisi aur ka sharirik shoshan sahenge.’  

‘Ye toh shuruwaat hai, bas hume ek saath ladna parega humesha.’

‘Hum jeet gaye!’

Somaya Gupta did a B.A. (Honours) in Political Science from Lady Shri Ram College, University of Delhi and is currently pursuing an M.A. from Jawaharlal Nehru University.

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Imlee-Mahuaa: A remembered journey (3)

This is the concluding post from Sahib’s memoir. Please leave a comment in case you want to know more about this unique school, and we will be happy to get back to you.

Part 3

Meeting expectations?

On my first day, Prayaag had told me that he had sent a letter to the households of all the children in mid-November, asking the parents and/or guardians of the children about the expectations that they have from Imlee-Mahuaa, in relation to their children.  Many of the households had sent their response back to Prayaag; I did have the opportunity to read this exchange.  Later on, during my stay, for quite a few days, I was to observe Prayaag talking to children of different classes, trying to understand what the children desire. He was kind enough to let me read this list as well.

In the next few days, he was to organise a few classes (of Hindi, being taught by Prayaag himself, and of Mathematics, being taught by Gautam). These classes were a result of Prayaag’s efforts to maintain a very delicate and intricate balance between the desires of the children and the expectations (most of them being academic) of guardians of these children.  The requirements of these efforts were excruciatingly demanding since the common grounds to walk upon – between the desires and wishes of the children and their guardians – were quite narrow and fragile.  On the initial day of my meeting with Prayaag, he mentioned about this delicate ‘expectation management-task’ which he has to undertake. It is a continuous process, primarily to ensure that all the major ‘stake-holders’ involved in this endeavour, called Imlee-Mahuaa, feel a sense of happiness and engagement.  

As I saw him at work, working through these complex modalities, I often used to ponder, painfully, about the simplistic - and so pernicious -  understanding of ‘education’ that so many of us are happy to entrench in our imagination, foreclosing all the subjectivities and complexities at play.

Part 4

Alumni meet

Friday, December 30, was an especially sweet day at Imlee-Mahuaa, for it was the day of the alumni meet.  I had been a witness to all the preparations that had been made, right from the start, through an Organising Committee.  The function was to start at 8:30 in the morning.  As I reached at a quarter to nine, I was ushered into the play-room by a couple of senior children where many children had already gathered, and, led by Prayaag, they were singing inspirational songs.  To be brutally honest, there was not much that I could comprehend in terms of the meanings of some of the words in these songs. But, that did not, in any way, bore me or dull me; for, I felt involved, without any sense of dislocation.  As I looked around, I saw plenty of ex-students and ex-instructors at Imlee-Mahuaa (the school had started way back in 2007), beating the cold of the morning, to be a part of this affectionate gathering.  Once the singing was over, all the ex-members were given flowers – a very sweet smelling bundle of bougainvillea, marigold and rose.  

Thereat, all of us gathered in the courtyard, to chat and mostly, give the ex-students and instructors an opportunity to tell us of their present primary activities/occupations.  The simplistic manifestation of shyness of the children, when asked to speak in front of an audience, never ceases to delight me, primarily due to its gentleness.  Following this, Prayaag said that we could go and play for an hour. While some of us played cricket, a few others, along with Prayaag and most of the girls, played pitrool.  As I stood there with a bat in my hands after such a long time, listening to the wafting of winds through the trees, I realised that playing cricket still takes me into a world which is full of wonder, happiness, amusement, and involvement.  Then, finally, we all settled in different areas to have our breakfast – boondi, kachori, and jhal muri. The 3-hour function was finally wrapped up with a few group photographs.

Fridays are, in general, different at Imlee-Mahuaa. While the school opens for six days a week, with Sunday off, Friday is a half-day, with the opening hours being 7:30 A.M. – 11:30 A.M.  The primary reason for this is the weekly market in the nearby village, Kokori, which happens on every Friday.  Many children go to this market with their parents, filled with an excitable anticipation. In the four hours in the school as well, they do not have a regular day, for, all of the people at the school go for an excursion to some spot near the village, like a dam or a hilltop.  While some of them walk, many others ride their bicycles to this spot, before coming back to the school around 11:30.  

In retrospect, when I am going to think about the most important things that I had the pleasure (and honour) to learn from all the people at Imlee-Mahuaa, the one that shall always stay with me is this – the surest way to calmness, that so often eludes us, is to live . . . in the present.  To end on a rather nostalgic note, I have to say that I shall cherish the memories of a time that flew with utmost innocence, recollecting the joy of being accommodated, accepted and cherished.

Sahib Tulsi has an M.A. in Economics from University of Delhi and is currently pursuing an M.A. in Development Studies from The Graduate Institute, Geneva. He plans to pursue a PhD in Anthropology.

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Imlee-Mahuaa: A remembered journey (2)

Presenting the second part of Sahib’s memoir - with some fantastic photographs this time! 

Part 2

The room opposite to the pottery-space was the second study-room. The arrangement of this room was same as the first study-room.  A few months back, regular classes used to take place in these two study-rooms. However, there was no conventional classroom-teaching going on at the school currently. 

The room adjoining the second study-room was the one which was very seldom empty, for it was the play-room.  As one enters through the wooden door, there are two large cardboard-boxes, filled to the brim with various games and playthings.  These include Frisbees, rackets with shuttlecocks, cricket bats, balls and wickets.  Next to the boxes is a small wooden study-table on which lies, wrapped in a cloth, a carom-board.  Carrom is probably one of the most adored playful activities at Imlee-Mahuaa.  (The other two being pitrool, the local version of Pittu Garam, and cricket, both played in the open spaces outside of the school premises.)  I tried to play one game of carrom daily, at least.  Many times, on being beaten quite comprehensively, I would hear someone console me, “Bhaiya, you will get better by the time you leave, but you need to practice.”  The skills for this game, which was such a sweet companion of my childhood, had taken an embarrassing beating with age.  By the time I left, though, I had gained respect of a few of my friends.

From the windows of the play-room, one could see the spacious courtyard nearby.  It was in this comfortable courtyard that all of us used to assemble at 12 P.M., exactly two hours after the opening time of the school.  First, Prayaag takes the attendance for the day.  All the children need to be present for the attendance; barring that, they are free to indulge in any activity they want, at any place they want (including outside of the school premises), and leave for their homes as per their wishes, unless they have expressed some desire to take a class (more on this, later).  This was generally followed by some announcements from Prayaag or anyone else, if any.

In my first week, children used to share the memories of the month-long trip they had taken along with Prayaag, to some places in Maharashtra and southern Karnataka during November and December, and made plans for the upcoming alumni meet on December 30.  And, in my last week, I was also a part of the planning for the upcoming picnic; I could not be part of this picnic since my departure from Kondagaon was too near.  Then, some of us used to take out buckets from a kitchen room, go to the hand-pump, which was right next to the now dilapidated premises of Ghotul (for which Muria Gonds are quite well-known), to fill them with water.  I spent some time in the premises of Ghotul on a couple of days, trying to whet my imagination with my reading of Verrier Elwin’s, “The Muria and their Ghotul,” but the journey through the realms of time long gone is never a pleasant one.  As I heard people talk about the decline of Ghotul throughout Kondagaon, as a student of Anthropology, it inspired a strange dread in me, with traces of dolefulness.

After washing hands with soap, all of us would then proceed to have our lunch in the courtyard, in the warmth of the afternoon.  Plates were also prepared for those who were hungry but did not bring lunch from their homes, with everyone who had brought some ‘extra’ food, contributing to these plates.  Following the repast, we would wash our lunchboxes/plates with mud before proceeding with the rest of the day.  

I ought to add here that keeping the premises of the school clean is a very important part of the quotidian activities at Imlee-Mahuaa; Prayaag, Milan, Gautam and a few children wash the premises on every Tuesday with cow-dung.  This is in addition to the dusting that takes place every afternoon when it is time to close the premises, at four o’clock in the evening.  The cleaning is undertaken voluntarily by those who do it.  The premises of the school always looked very inviting to me, courtesy of the neatness in which it was draped.  

A few rooms are aligned on the extreme right hand side of the school premises too.  The first one is the only room in the premises which is using an electricity connection.  As I entered the premises at 10:30 in the morning on every working day, the melodious voice of Prayaag practicing on the harmonium, emanating from this very room (the music-room-cum-office), welcomed me.  Quite often, in the afternoons, as Gautam and a couple of other children practiced on the Tabla in this room, its resonance reverberated through the physical spaces, rendering it a contemplative air, reaching my ears in the first study-room.  Next to the ‘music-room’ are the lavatory and a couple of other rooms. While the first one is a kind of guest-house where Imlee-Mahuaa hosts a few guests during a specific time period, annually, the second one is the former kitchen (for the cooking was done till a few months back), quite spacious, now generally used for storage and other logistical purposes. 

We will be posting both Parts 3 & 4 of Sahib’s memoir together on Monday, 20th February, 2017. You do not want to miss this concluding post!

(Some photographs have been added to Part 1 as well - do scroll down to it even if you read it the first time around.)

[sahpathi2016-blog]

Imlee-Mahuaa: A remembered journey

Sahib Tulsi has written a beautiful memoir of the time he spent in Imlee-Mahuaa, a centre of education in Kondagaon district of Chhattisgarh this past winter (as an extension of the Sahpathi programme). In the first post of this four-part series, he introduces us to the ethos of the school through its students and staff. He brings the school alive for us through vivid descriptions of the library and the two classrooms.

Part 1

As finality hung in the air, on January 9 (2017), Nikhil, a student of class I, came up to me and said, 

“I know you are leaving tomorrow. Let us shake hands.”  

And then, many of them followed his queue, shook my hand before charming me with a “thank you,” leaving me in a rather melancholic state. On my first day at the Imlee-Mahuaa school, on December 17 (2016), I had asked Prayaag (one of the three adults at the school): “What do I have to do to break ice with the children?”  He simply told me to keep coming there and leave the rest to the time-inspired familiarity.  On that last day, reflecting on the ties of affection that familiarity can forge, the strength of his advice had finally dawned upon me.    

Imlee-Mahuaa is a centre of education in the village of Balenga Para (Panchayat – Kibai Balenga) in the Kondagaon district of Chhattisgarh.  I still use the word ‘school’ in this write-up, for, the spoils of habit are hard to unlearn.  But, to be sure, Imlee-Mahuaa is far from the conventional perceptions that we cling onto when we think of a ‘school’, as I hope to demonstrate through this brief memoir.  At the time of my stay, there were 54 children in the school, enrolled in classes I to VIII, with a few pre-school children as well.  Later on, I was to realize, very gradually, that all of them are coming to the school because they wanted to, without any trace of coercion from anyone.  Most of them belong to the Muria Gond tribe.  The rest of them belong to Scheduled Castes – Gaandas (traditional musicians) and Pankhas (traditional weavers) – and Other Backward Castes – Kallars (traditional distillers).  There are two children who are also preparing for the class X examinations to be undertaken by the National Institute of Open Schooling (NIOS); Imlee-Mahuaa is not a Tribal Residential School, but is a registered centre of NIOS.          

A journey through memories

As one enters through the iron-door of the school, to the extreme left is a little open mud-space, with a stone-made playground slide occupying the lion’s share of this area.  Very seldom, though, did I see children climb up from the holes in the back of the slide; they preferred running upwards diagonally along the slide, only to slope down from the side railing.  My regard for my heavy build soothed the envy I used to feel at times at the amount of energy these frisky children seemed to possess.

To the right of this space is the library of the school.  A decent-sized room, with a mud-floor, dwelling made of clay tiles and wooden beams with a few open spaces covered with glasses to allow the sunlight to seep through, and concrete walls on both the sides (all the enclosed rooms are built in a similar way), it houses many books – textbooks for all the relevant classes, references books, storybooks, et cetera.  It is managed by two children, who arrange the books in a systematic way every morning on the working days when the school opens at ten o’clock in the morning, with written records of all the books that have been issued.  Recently, both the librarians and Prayaag decided together to change the opening hours of the library from the post-lunch hour to a couple of hours before the lunch since some children preferred to go back to their home forthwith after lunch.

Next to the library is the first of the two ‘classrooms’.  Every morning, the three sides of the room are lined with tables, with various books being displayed (mostly storybooks, reference books and NCERT books like Rimjhim, Marigold, Vasant, Baal Vigyanik, et cetera).  Above the tables, one can see the cloth-bags of the children with all their personal copies, drawing-sheets and pencil-boxes.  Many of these bags have been embroidered with the name of the child, to whom the bag belongs, by the respective child himself/herself.  Children come in the room whenever they want to read something, spend some time immersing themselves in the visual imageries of the books or solve various puzzles and crosswords.  Many times, they would scan various books, pick the one that interested them the most and start perusing through the pages, quietly, sitting on one of the two mats lying in the centre of the room, totally absorbed in their activities.  Many of them would come to me in the morning to greet me: “Good morning, bhaiya.”  This was also the room where I spent maximum time, reading.

It was in this room that I got to know many of the children. For it was here that they would come to me, with their shy and affectionate smiles, showing me their drawings. They are very fond of putting the pictures of flowers, trees, birds and animals on paper.  It was in this room that a few of them would come to me once in a while with a storybook, in Hindi, and request me to read aloud to them.  It was here that I would sit with them and put the jigsaw pieces in the huge cardboard political map of India.  It was here in this room that some of them would talk to me about my life, my family, my studies, and the books that I read; and enquire about the workings of solar system, the lifecycle of plants and forests, Bollywood, and trains and aeroplanes; explore the science kit, abacuses and a spinning wheel, along with me, that Prayaag had so thoughtfully brought for them.  I always marvelled at how each of them would satiate their curiosities, fiddling with these kits and then, spend as much time as it would take to arrange them in the way it was to be done before keeping it back at its allotted place.  And, I do not remember seeing a single book lying on the mat unused.  The books were always put back from where they were taken out.

Adjoining this first study-room was a two-sided open space where I got a glimpse into the life of Kumhars (potters): Pottery Section.  Milan (second of three adults at the school), a potter, sits here, engaged in the intricate threads of his craft.  I spent many afternoons sitting with him, engrossed, observing the metamorphosis of his creative imagination into something tangible, delighting with aesthetic pleasure at the final results (very often, my delight was initiated by Milan’s contended countenance that used to accompany the skilful working of his hands), and trying my hands at pottery as well, albeit maladroitly.  He also showed me the working of the potter-wheel; polishing of the earthen products he was making (animal-shaped piggy banks and incense stands) and finally, drying them in the sunlight before heating them in the kiln.  His delicate use of fingers never ceased to mesmerize me.  A soft-spoken man, he also shared a lot of knowledge with me about the social and cultural world of potters in Kondagaon.  

Next to the pottery-space, behind the boundary of the school was a huge mahua tree, under the shade of which, Gautam (third adult at the school), who has an M.A. in Economics, used to take his Mathematics classes.  I often used to climb the boundaries of the school, to go to another tree a little further from the mahua tree: the tree of Tamarinds.  It was quite an effort to pluck tamarinds from here, using logs of wood, but, the taste of bitter-sweet tamarinds was a frequent source of joy to many children, including me.

Don’t forget to visit the blog again on Friday, Feb 17th 2017, to read the next post chronicling Sahib’s experience at Imlee-Mahuaa!

[sahpathi2016-blog]

The Sahpathi 2016 Report

To know all about the Sahpathi 2016 programme * - including the basic idea behind it, logistical details, the nature of activities conducted with students by the volunteers, and the concerns and issues that require attention and follow-up - please read this report.

* earlier titled Road Teachers programme

[sahpathi2016-blog]

Saathachi ki Chala Aayo (4)

This is the fourth and final post written by Rahee SG!

Part 4

One afternoon after reading about writing letters we decided to write postcards to our families. All of us spent the afternoon writing to our mothers and fathers and brothers, sisters and grandparents and friends. After hearing about postcard campaigns the girls were thrilled about this very empowering tool and came up with interesting postcard campaign ideas like writing to the collector about the falling roofs in the school buildings. And yes, we promised that we would keep writing to each other even after we are at two far-off parts of the country. 

One fine morning while we were learning about human rights in the social science class, we suddenly felt it is important to include all the girls in this session and proceeded with our fundamental rights in the Constitution. All of us shared our observations about this country as a democratic republic, our experiences about violations of these rights and stories of hope and read about empowering policies and discussed how to use this very powerful document called the Indian Constitution, which indeed frames our identity as Indians while also protecting our organic identities as humans. We were reminded of Kamla Bhaseen’s Azaadi poem- and came into the open to recite it out loud. Each line stood up as a slogan and we together chanted the slogans of freedom of girls, children, women, workers, tribals, underprivileged- from riots, violence and humility. From patriarchy and all hierarchy. As we shouted the slogans one by one, I could virtually see my idea of one Indian nationality shaking. The attitude of almost all entities responsible for providing education to the tribals in India is severely charity-like. Though the policies through these years have recognized education based on social justice, the ‘skills’ the government wants the tribals to learn are still farming and handicrafts. There are repeated proposals of vocational training programmes designed for tribals which include these job-oriented skills seen immensely helpful to the tribals. The NCERT books put a whole rainbow of dreams for the young people on the table. Books raise awareness. The resources accessible to them however do not match the raised awareness. The Nagpuria songs are repeatedly and loudly speaking about a different set of dreams. Most of the non-tribal teachers feel that the education offered to the tribal children is a hugely generous act of the Indian state. The warden once told us how the girls look thin and pale when they are back from the summer holidays. The school feeds them and helps them sustain, lowers the burden on the family, which is such a good thing. Food and education as rights are unfortunately never viewed. This attitude results in teachers justifying their repeated acts of siphoning the food and treating children as personal labour in many schools (some teams came back with some really horrible stories of child labour). Nobody has asked the girls and their parents what they want. This country suffers from Constitution illiteracy. Citizens unaware of what defines them collectively as citizens- unaware of our collective manuscript of dreams. 

We spent another evening in telling each other our stories. Stories of our families, our villages and cities. Stories of our mountains and rivers. Stories of our dreams. Later some of the girls found their stories so compelling that they wrote it all down- and these stories are indeed very compelling. Here’s Poonam’s story:

“My name is Poonam Kumari. My village- Zargaon is in Ranchi district in Jharkhand. My mother’s name is Sushila Devi and my father’s name is Sukara Munda. I study in the 10th class in the Government ST Residential High School for Girls in Tamar. 

When we stand in the huge ground behind our school we can see the horizon lined with hills and mountains. This mountain exactly in front of you is called Sonahatu. And the one there- is the hill of Ulihatu. Ulihatu is the village from where Birsa Munda- our Birsa Bhagwaan hails. The forest in the foothills is called Arki. It has all sorts of animals- even elephants and tigers! After you cross this forest, the first village you come up to is our Zargaon. It is just next to the forest. We fear the forest only for the elephants. We are always worried about them entering our fields and ruining the crops. Once a herd enters the villages, we cannot think of any job other than shooing the elephants off to the forest again. 

Our village has a beautiful river. It has magical waters, because there is gold under the soil of the riverbed! Maybe that is the reason behind the beauty of the river. My uncle says that in order to take the gold out, we will need to stop the waters. The stopped waters would then enter the village, drowning everything. We would all have to shift to some other place then. Only then a mine can be created and the gold can be removed. But then there will be no village and the river will be gone. But then- how will the magic live if there is no river? Here’s a story of me when I was seven. We had all gone to my aunt’s place in the summer vacation. It was my cousin sister’s wedding. My aunt’s house was filled with guests. The bride Didi was running around here and there in the chaos. There is a custom on the wedding day where three Didas (unmarried sisters or cousin sisters) of the bride bathe her. Fetching water for this bath is a big ceremony. All the friends and relatives and guests were walking to the nearby lake to fetch water. I, with my friends ran and skipped overtaking the guests. Twilight was falling and we reached the lake singing. Nagaras were beating loudly. I went to the water with my friends to wet my feet. I removed my slippers and put my foot down when suddenly a snake bit my ankle. I bent down to find a Dodh snake! Dodh snakes are considered to be of lower caste- untouchables. It is said that if we step in cow dung after the bite of a Dodh snake, we are sure to die. I was very scared. I left my friends and ran away from the lake to the people where there were torches and lanterns. Everybody was very happy. All the women were singing this Panch Pargania song in one voice: “Aaij hander hudu munur vivah re, aaij hander hudu munur vivah Mod khabo dumae dumae, mod khabo dumae dumae, Naybo ziya dikka re, aaij hander hudu munur vivah!” Meaning today is the day of our younger sister’s wedding, let us drink Handiya from a big pot and let us forget all our sorrows, let us dance. 

The procession reached home singing and dancing. But I couldn’t even think because of fear. I searched for my Ma but couldn’t find her anywhere. She had gone somewhere in the chaos. I dozed off in the middle of all the mess. Ma came sometime late at night, woke me up and said, “The wedding is about to start. Don’t you want to come and see?” My entire body was aching. But I didn’t tell Ma. “I am very sleepy Ma. I will just sleep,” I told her. I thought that if I told anybody about my condition, everybody will panic and the frenzy will ruin the mood of the wedding. And mind you- a Dodh snake had bit me! I didn’t want everybody to be terrified. It would be better if I died silently. 

I woke up the next morning in great surprise. I was alive! I washed my face and hugged Ma. She told me that when the groom arrived last night, everybody started bursting fire crackers- and some of the crackers fell in the farm. There was a big fire and it couldn’t be extinguished with the help of wet carpets and mattresses. Buckets and pots of water had to be repeatedly fetched from the lake until the fire was finally extinguished. I felt sad. Thank goodness I didn’t tell anyone about the snake bite. Everybody would’ve been so frantic- a Dodh snake bite to add to the fire-frenzy! Thank god, everything is fine now. But a big part of the farm was burnt. If there were any standing crops the loss would be huge.

Once teeth of a Dodh snake touch you, no snake from the upper castes can bite you. This Dodh saved me from the big, vicious upper caste snakes. I am not afraid of snakes any more. I can catch any snake easily. Once in a while a snake or two enter our school hostel. Then it is my duty to catch the snake and free it in the wild, away from the school. Our teacher says that it is better to call a man and get the snake killed from him. But if I can catch the snake without killing it, why should we call someone for help? I ask her. She says, “Girls shouldn’t catch snakes.” But only Tusudidi and I- among my siblings- can catch snakes. What should we do if a snake enters our house? Teacher says we shouldn’t live in such a house.

After we came back home after my cousin sister’s wedding, I gathered courage and told Ma about the snake bite. I told her that I am safe now and there is no need to worry. A Dodh snake has bitten me so no snake can bite me now. I told her that I would’ve preferred silently dying to adding to the frenzy. Her eyes were filled with tears. She hugged me and said, “My dear mad girl, we are Veer Birsa’s children. No snake, irrespective of its caste can frighten us…”

[sahpathi2016-blog]

Saathachi ki Chala Aayo (3)

The third in the series of posts written by Rahee, from her days at Tamar. Here she talks about the wonderful evenings that she had spent at the school, filled with folklores, fairy tales and football!

Part 3

The evenings in Tamar would be usually spent in the playground. We went to the big open ground behind the school to play football or kabaddi. Or we would play theatre games in the school campus and act out folktales. All of us together had a very interesting collection of folktales from our places. We spent the evening of the World Music Day singing folksongs. The girls sang songs from Mundari, Panch Parganiya, Kortha, Oraon, Santhali, Puraan Bhasaa, Sadari, Tamaria and Chhota Nagpuria. Songs they sang back home in their festivals, during wedding processions and Bidai. There were a number of songs about Birsa Munda and his epic fight with the British. Sushmita sang a Bhojpuri song, followed by Madhu’s Bangla songs. I joined in with my Marathi songs. 

After the prayer in the evening, we would all read stories from the books we carried from Ranchi. Each colorful page of all the NBT and Eklavya books was so well appreciated. The girls had never seen any books apart from their textbooks and hence all of them- from class 1 to 10 hungrily finished the books and Chakmaks and exchanged stories and poems and ideas from the books in the evening assembly. With their initiative our small rooms in the hostel turned into mini-libraries where the girls would walk in any time to exchange a book, browse through a dictionary or just cuddle around the Didis and demand a story to be read out loud. The girls in the school came from almost 10 different tribes and spoke 8 different languages. Hindi as a medium of instruction acts as a unifying factor but poses a threat to these tribal languages. But what really unifies girls across the tribes is a good Chhota Nagpuria song. We didn’t pay much attention to these songs initially- and merely labelled them as cheap and sexist- until we were dragged into the daily ‘dance-circle’ at night in the hostel. As we danced to the catchy tunes and on the Nagpuia rhythm, a lot of elements otherwise overlooked came up. The Nagpuria song industry is quite an interesting thing. All the marriages in the tribal culture are filled with music and dance all along. And alongside the traditional folksongs, the Nagpuria songs have become an integral part of the ceremony today. The songs speak the language of the newly educated aspirational youth in Jharkhand. They script down the dreams of this generation- a clear affiliation to the sparkling Bollywood-like city life, but not leaving behind the Handiya (local traditional alcoholic drink) culture- with a melody of modern love stories. This pop- BA song shouts out the all too popular dreams: IA padhalo, na BA padhalo, Mai to padhalelo re goriya- dhai akshar prem ke... Shehar mein padhe-likhe sabhi hero lagena, College mein chhora chhori bag tange ghumena... (I passed my 12th grade and passed my BA, but I learnt my love, the word of love. The educated in the city look so smart, young ladies and lads roam around the colleges with backpacks on their backs... the song goes on celebrating the free and happy life in the city- talking about how everyone says ‘Tata’, ‘Bye’ and greets each other in the city when they meet etc.)

[sahpathi2016-blog]

Saathachi ki Chala Aayo (2)

This is the second in a series of posts written by our volunteer Rahee S G. In this post, she reflects on how her team was able to bring about many ‘firsts’ at the school. Read on!

Part 2

On the first night, On the first night, after dinner in the school playground under a starry sky, Tusu and Rinki came to me with their friends after getting to know that I am from Pune.

“Didi, Savitribai Phule lived in your city! Have you seen her house?” 

Apparently they had a lesson on Savitribai in 8th class and the name of my city rang a bell. I felt that I owe so much to NCERT books and the syllabi making committee. We sat there, under a big mango tree in the playground till it was past bedtime, exchanging stories of Savitribai-Jyotiba and Birsa Munda. Savitribai was the first woman from her community who learnt to read. She read stories of people from the world. We read her story today. Maybe tomorrow people will read stories Tusu and Poonam and Rinki and Julie and Malavati. 

From the next day onwards we- Asmi, Madhu, Sushmita and I took charge of the classrooms which were without teachers. We taught English, History, Science and Mathematics and learnt Mundari and making flowers and whistles from grass blades and old plastic straws. 

The school had a well-stocked science laboratory which was closed. It was last opened 6 years ago when the government sanctioned stock of equipment and chemicals arrived. There was no science teacher in the school. The science equipment was apparently dangerous for the girls and prone to breaking, so the teacher in charge of the lab didn’t want to take any risk. We opened the lab which had become a home to rats and there were Maina nests in the test tube boxes. We cleaned the lab and took out the equipment. The girls for the first time saw what a test tube looked like. We spent a day learning about our bodies with the help of the NCERT biology textbooks and the models of human body which we found in the lab. The skeleton resting in the lab which usually just scared the young girls while walking past the lab at night came out. Madhu took a longish session on puberty and sexuality with the help of ‘Beti kare Sawaal’ (a Jaagori publication) which received a very curious response from the older girls. 

There was a Primary Health Center some 8 kilometers away from the school in Tamar. We paid a visit to the Center in order to arrange a health camp. The school did not have even any primary health check up at least for the last 10 years. We walked to the Center only to find that the officer-in-charge had his private clinic in the village and was usually there. So we went to his house and asked for an appointment; and after a couple of repeated visits to the PHC, finally a health camp was organized. The doctor, Jafar Iqbaal saab from the PHC was however very helpful. He, along with his two assistants checked the girls and provided the schools with primary medicines. Most of the older girls had iron deficiency and were happy to get the iron syrup bottles. There were many girls who had seen a doctor for the first time in their life. Their only encounter with doctors was when a team would visit the villages for vaccinations. The doctor, amused by the girls’ response after being medically examined, promised that he would see to it that regular check-ups are arranged in the school before he left.

The third post written by our Rahee S G, in which she  recounts how wonderfully the evenings at the school were spent, will be published tomorrow. Come back for more!

[sahpathi2016-blog]

Saathachi ki Chala Aayo

We launch this blog with the first of a series of posts written by our volunteer Rahee S G. Rahee is pursuing a BA in Political Science at Fergusson College, Pune.

Part 1

Exploring the schooling and education system in the complex Indian context challenges the dominant understanding of our notions of one ‘Indian’ness taken into account while providing any essential public service to the country as a whole. It questions the established idea of formal education itself. In this context the fact that the diversity in India is magnificently great, compels a student of humanities especially interested in all-accessible education to explore different sub-regional contexts of the country and the schooling system therein.

Jean Dreze and Reetika Khera along with Apurva Bamezai and Akash Ranjan designed a project this year around the government residential schools for underprivileged children in Jharkhand. The project was aimed at restarting or rejuvenating these government schools (which were near closure due to a number of issues) in collaboration with the Welfare Department of Jharkhand.

Student volunteers from different parts of India gathered at Ranchi for the briefing and training session on the 17th June. We were the first batch to spend 15 days at the government schools for tribal and Dalit children of Jharkhand. We were students of different branches of social science and had come with different ideas about education and about how to go about the project. The brief interaction that we had on the very first day revealed a number of concerns we had about the public education in India. From the old ‘should formal education be allowed to ruin tribal culture’- versus- ‘shouldn’t tribals be given equal access to the opportunities the formal education has to offer’ conflict to ‘whether formal education itself has done any good to us at all’- we had a whole array of views and opinions and beliefs about education and society.

After the one-and-a-half day long semi-formal training session where we learnt mainly about different educational tools we headed for the schools on the 19th morning. I, along with Asmi, Madhukari and Sushmita as a team was posted to ‘Government ST Residential High School for Girls’ in Tamar. Tamar is a small tribal village in Ranchi district off the NH 33. We got off from the bus at the highway at Raidih and walked to the school in the abandoned old block office campus, where ruins of the old one- storey office buildings were flashing posters of MNREGA, Aadhar and wearing out advertisements of ‘Acche din’ from the last Loksabha elections. A couple of handouts of ‘Siddhu-Kanu-Birsa-Mahendra Singh Vaam Vikalp’ and ‘Krantikari Adivasi Rajy Sammelan’ on the walls were hanging half-torn. This old block campus came to life only on Saturday mornings when the BDO would come to address the issues of people from the block.  

We reached the school in the evening. The principal, Manki sir had come to receive us. He showed us around the school and introduced us to the residing warden before going home. As we sat with the warden, Shail madam, sipping tea, all the girls from the hostel crowded around us to see how the new ‘Didis from outside’ looked like. Shail madam welcomed us warmly but almost immediately felt that she should ‘acquaint’ us with the school before we started work from the next day.

She told us that the school should have 21 regular teachers according to government regulations to fulfill the student-teacher ratio (the school has 248 students). Out of these 21 only 14 appointments were done formally, of which 9 teachers regularly come to school. The school is from class 1 to class 10 and there wasn’t even one teacher allotted per class. There are no new appointments since 2002. There was no science teacher for the classes 5th to 10th. A contractual history teacher for classes 5th to 8th was appointed only last year. The girls in 9th and 10th had never formally learnt natural and social sciences in high school. Of the teachers who do come to school, the principal who teaches English to the high school has to attend lots of meetings now and then, attend government training sessions and has mountains of administrative work always piled up for him. He can rarely complete the syllabus in any class. There isn’t a fixed post for the hostel warden or caretaker. So the four female teachers share the responsibility in turns- every teacher working as the warden for a term of approximately 3 months. When acting as warden, the teacher cannot practically teach. So naturally the teachers expected us to teach and help with the syllabus during our stay- as much as possible.

The infrastructure of the school was terrifyingly bad. To start with, there was an accident last year in the school about which Shail madam talked on this very first day. During the 10th prelim exams last year, when the girls were writing a paper, a big part of the roof suddenly fell off- right on a student’s head! She very luckily survived a serious skull injury. A couple of students and the teacher present in the class were also injured. There are six buildings in the school campus, but zero maintenance and poor quality of original building materials has resulted in abandoning the existing buildings and suffering the scarcity of space. In some of the schools where other volunteer students went, it was observed that this scarcity resulted in 8 to 10 children sleeping in one room (4 to 5 in one single-bed). The school in Tamar didn’t have that bad of a situation, but the smaller girls were the ones who had to face the space scarcity more severely than the older girls.

Most of the Government ST schools where the first batch volunteers went had severe power cuts or in some cases electricity hadn’t even reached the villages yet. This resulted in no water supply, as motors couldn’t work in the absence of electricity. Hand pumps are used as a substitute water supply. Most of the times the water has iron content which makes it unfit for consumption. So water from nearby rivers and ponds has to be fetched for drinking.

Toilets are constructed, but are mostly seen to be non functional due to lack of water supply. Open defecation in almost all the government schools was observed. Non functional toilets, especially in girls’ schools mean a lot of health and safety issues for the girls. To add to this, the school in Tamar was almost in the vicinity of the great forest of Arki. During our stay we had a poisonous snake, families of scorpions and many other small guests paying regular visits. Hence it is a nightmare to get up at night to pee, even for all the girls who know how to catch a poisonous snake. A comb of forest bees hangs in the entrance of the first hostel building. When asked why we don’t get it removed, the girls from 8th class said, “Why should we get it removed? Let them live. Even if a bee bites, what is wrong in that? We will get fever and get better in a couple of days.” And they had a point. The tribal culture is not anthropocentric as seen in the India of the cities and metros, which is a fact we usually neglect. Viewing humans as a part of the entire organic fabric was the base of the girls’ understanding of the world around.

The next three parts will be posted on the blog on consecutive days starting tomorrow, so stay tuned or better still, follow the blog to receive updates!

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The 2016 volunteers and coordination team (almost all of them!) after the joint session in Ranchi on July 2nd.

Photo credit: Asmi Saxena