I am really happy to announce that the end of the world (predicted by some to be caused by an inter-religious war in which no side will win, all will lose), has been deferred indefinitely. The reason may be found in the following news item:
CLERICS URGE CENTRE TO RETHINK GAY STAND BEFORE GOING TO SC (TOI, 10 July 2009, pg. 13)
or at:
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/India/SC-admits-petition-challenging-HC-gay-ruling/articleshow/4760022.cms
Hmm…. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Usually, they don’t agree on whether to break an egg at the big end or the small end (sorry, Mr Swift, for plagiarising), but the minute there’s talk of “making dem queer guys legit”, they come together to form the homophobic morality police, warning the courts and the government that the moral fibre of human society will be destroyed forever.
Wow! With utter delight, I watched leaders from various (otherwise) warring religious groups take the platform together (AHA!) and jointly address a press conference about the HC’s ruling on article 377. Just as, according to the history books, Indians of every hue came together to fight for “freedom” from British rule in 1857, all religious leaders have decided to pitch their lot with each other in order to fight this GREAT EVIL called homosexuality.
I don’t think there’s any point, in fact, of countering any of their arguments. Many fellow scribes are already doing that and we really can’t know for a fact whether God would actually object or not to the High Court’s view. What is of great importance here is that they CAN agree on something! Call it “unity in diversity”, the “sangam” of opposite minds, the basic commonality of religious streams, whatever…
So, I see this as a reason to celebrate; to call it the harbinger of religious harmony. What we should do is quite simple: place a challenge before this august board of homophobic fanatics – set them a task that REALLY needs to be done. And in our country there are far more important goals to be achieved. Let them come together to eradicate poverty, illiteracy, unemployment, ill-health, etc. etc. etc. We must capitalise on this rare moment of camaraderie between forces that at other times tear apart the very fabric of social harmony they are now together to protect.
Let us allow them to exercise their moral superiority over lesser beings who are obviously not as connected to God – by turning their hand to something constructive for a change, so that they cannot see through this act of God.
Really, I’m serious!
We need to act quickly to divert their minds from this path-breaking chapter in God’s plan for humanity… You see, they have missed the sub-text in God’s script: basically, the religious clerics have got the obvious part of the Delhi High Court’s ruling that the following two things will happen to humanity immediately: 1) by legitimising homosexuality, all the closet gays and lesbians will come out into the open, thereby destroying the (out-dated, patriarchal) institution of heterosexual marriage; 2) by ensuring that heterosexuals begin to feel hopelessly out of place in the newly-expanding gay milieu, that they too will turn gay to keep up with the Joneses.
Like I said, our sage leaders have got this part bang on. But they have missed the reason behind this grand plan: why, to bring down the human population by 2050 so that every (gay) human that survives this Immoral Flood (and the one connected with global warming) actually has a bit of earth on which to live!
P.S. This may actually indicate that God is female rather than male since such delicious lateral thinking for problem-solving has usually been beyond the capabilities of men!
By the way, Sara (who goes to church as often as she can hitch a ride) was INCENSED the other night at Father Emmanuel’s suggestion that homosexuals were usually from broken families. According to her, "Well, du-uh! this is totally ridiculous!"
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
The Labour of Love
When the D’Avrincourt family were leaving for Mauritius three weeks ago, they discovered a lot of uncooked stuff in their kitchen. Some of it, being the immediate neighbours, was inherited by us. Early in the morning (it was about 5 a.m.), Sara was handed various packets and bowls, and asked to put some into the fridge, some into the freezer and some into cupboards. One such freezer-destined bowl had something, she said, called calamari.
It looked like nothing I had seen (and certainly never cooked) before. (In case any of my readers are vegetarian, and/or squeamish, perhaps I’d better not try to describe it here.) And, I’m ashamed to admit this since I edited several books on cooking and eating out during my tenure with Penguin Books, my culinary vocabulary is rather limited. Not only that, the title of my autobiography may well end up being The Rather Reluctant Cook. Those who know me well, or have asked me, “Are you fond of cooking?” already know that the stock reply is, “I HATE cooking, but I love my kids!”
Anyway, I invoked the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Dida, for inspiration. For, if I hate anything more than cooking, it is wasting any kind of food (perhaps I was a Native American in a previous birth since I’m almost fanatical about this!). A quick Net search later (yes, the Net was running faster that day) I discovered that calamari was actually squid. However, since I wasn’t any better equipped to handle cooking it now that I knew it was squid, I fished for some recipes. To cut this long story short, I managed to turn it into something edible (which both Sara and Tyger enjoyed – really, it was cooked beyond recognition) within a day. What’s important here – all the while I was cooking it, I kept thinking of Dida and how much she cooked and how much variety there was in the dishes she churned out with seeming effortlessness.
A few days later, I discovered a frozen packet in my freezer, which, upon opening, turned out to be some type of gigantic prawn, in its pristine glory. OK, again will not describe what this looked like, but the smell was crazy! The smell reminded me again of Dida. She did cook prawns for us, many times, and only because I spent a good amount of time hanging around the kitchen that I remember how they have to be cleaned. Banning the squeamish Sara from entering the kitchen (what’s the point of cooking it if she won’t eat it?), and firmly pushing Tyger out as well (although he isn’t squeamish, and decided that it looked like catfish) I embarked on a journey Dida had undertaken several times.
Through the whole process of cleaning, washing and cooking, she was there in spirit beside me, guiding my hands, reminding me of spices and procedures, making sure that I did not overcook or undercook. Although acute memory failure reigns, I have a sense that she used to keep up a running commentary on how to cook different stuff, so I learnt a lot by just hanging around. Again, the dish that turned up on the dining table had suitably disguised the raw material. But when I sniffed my hands, I could have cried. For it had the same smell that Dida always had after cooking prawns. And now, having cleaned, washed and cooked them for the first time, I recognised for the first time that every day that we spent with her during the summer vacation, she laboured in the kitchen to bring tasty dishes onto the dining table – her labour of love.
I’m not sure whether she was truly fond of cooking or not. But I’m definite about why she cooked – she REALLY loved feeding all of us. The only one who protested once in a while was my younger cousin (who lived in the flat opposite theirs) who was the designated taster throughout the year as Dida tried out recipe after recipe in that little kitchen of hers. The rest of us always went back to school after the summer break much fattened!
Unfortunately for me, she passed away before I really had a chance to get to know her. Injured in an accident (she was 73 and completely fit and active), she struggled on a hospital bed for a month before moving on, just a day or two before Durga Puja. I was just 21. Receiving the news from my uncle’s office over the phone, I was shocked and shattered, and alone since both my parents were in Calcutta with her. When I spoke to my grandfather, Dadu, later that day, his words were broken for the first time in all the years I had known him.
And again, drama comes into real life with Dida. A couple of years before she died, she and Dadu were in Delhi on their annual visit. She had just visited my maternal uncle and family in Pune, and arrived at the railway station with armloads of shawls. Apparently, she had spent the long train journey knitting shawls for the entire family. The one for me was a beautiful pale peach colour – I treasure it till this day, especially since it turned out to be the last garment that she knitted for me. But where drama comes into it is my involvement with a play and how she bridged the gap between my mother and I that autumn.
We were preparing an adaptation of a play (I’ve forgotten the name of the original – but please forgive me for it has been 23 years!) which we called Sher Nikalkar Bhaga. As the “senior” members of the theatre group, we took on all the back-stage responsibilities for our productions, and for this one I was working on the sets. Since the target audience was to be children, the sets were elaborate, colourful and very expressive. There were 6 flats, 9 ft by 5 ft, to be painted on both sides, and one cut out of the Delhi skyline. So, I was spending nights at the Nizamuddin flat which the group used as a base, painting till my arms hurt (luckily, I’m partially ambidextrous), sleeping for a couple of hours, and then getting onto the first Mudrika of the day, attending college (mostly dozing through lessons except the ones involving Macbeth), going back to Nizamuddin, etc. etc. etc. I’m sure you get the picture. For approximately three weeks, my mother and I had not seen much of each other as I only stopped by the house to bathe and change – and she was miffed. Well, that’s putting it mildly. She was angry enough to declare on one of those occasions that she, for one, was NOT going to watch the play.
That’s when Dida and Dadu arrived, and over lunch one day, Dida asked which day they were going to see the play. I continued to eat silently, waiting for the explosion. It came. My mother said, without mincing words, that as a general protest over my sudden lifestyle change, she was not going to see the play. First Dida looked shocked. Then, in a very gentle voice she asked, “My grand-daughter is doing a play, and we won’t go to watch it?” With great difficulty, I kept out of the discussion, and focussed on the food (some of which was cooked by Dida and was extremely tasty!).
The decision was taken. EVERYONE, due to Dida’s gentle diktat, was to watch the play, and I was asked to book enough seats as near the front as possible. Hiding my relief, for if Ma had persisted, no one from the family would’ve dared to oppose her, I quietly left for the evening rehearsal.
And, since the sets were there, going on and off in each scene, Ma was able to see how much work had really gone into it. Though not much was said, she was proud of my work – which, but for Dida’s intervention, she would not have even got to see – and said so when I reached home later that night. It was not the last time we clashed over my passion for theatre, but at least this one ended well.
For many years after Dida’s death I spent as much time as I could with Dadu, who was really lonely without her. I did not want to miss the opportunity to get to know him too. I travelled to Calcutta between jobs, and he, till the last year of his life, always made a visit to Delhi once a year. That was his labour of love; at the age of 85+ it couldn't have been that easy travelling up and down by train. We had a connection that went beyond DNA, I think. He could tell when I was upset even if I put up a cheery face. And just a hand on my head was enough to calm me down or, make me break down completely. He left me his precious Roliflex camera and books on photography as he saw how involved I was with it, appreciating the dark room where I developed and printed roll after roll of b-and-w photographs, teaching me about angles, light and shade, composition. Even more importantly, he taught me a lot about pranayam, meditation and yoga – what to do and what to avoid. In terms of a life-style, I can’t think of anyone else who worked so diligently on leading a clean, healthy and active life.
Well, not to be too uncharacteristically mushy, in the years after they both moved on, I think I missed not having them around to a point of feeling physical pain sometimes. There are so many times that I know they would’ve really appreciated what I came up with – stuff that no one else has ever really been interested in. Like the teddy bears I knitted for Sara and Tyger two summers ago. Or the blankets I am still trying to complete knitting. Dadu would’ve been delighted with the photographs I’ve taken recently of the hiking trips around the school.
And Dida would certainly have been very proud of the culinary achievement with the calamari!
It looked like nothing I had seen (and certainly never cooked) before. (In case any of my readers are vegetarian, and/or squeamish, perhaps I’d better not try to describe it here.) And, I’m ashamed to admit this since I edited several books on cooking and eating out during my tenure with Penguin Books, my culinary vocabulary is rather limited. Not only that, the title of my autobiography may well end up being The Rather Reluctant Cook. Those who know me well, or have asked me, “Are you fond of cooking?” already know that the stock reply is, “I HATE cooking, but I love my kids!”
Anyway, I invoked the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Dida, for inspiration. For, if I hate anything more than cooking, it is wasting any kind of food (perhaps I was a Native American in a previous birth since I’m almost fanatical about this!). A quick Net search later (yes, the Net was running faster that day) I discovered that calamari was actually squid. However, since I wasn’t any better equipped to handle cooking it now that I knew it was squid, I fished for some recipes. To cut this long story short, I managed to turn it into something edible (which both Sara and Tyger enjoyed – really, it was cooked beyond recognition) within a day. What’s important here – all the while I was cooking it, I kept thinking of Dida and how much she cooked and how much variety there was in the dishes she churned out with seeming effortlessness.
A few days later, I discovered a frozen packet in my freezer, which, upon opening, turned out to be some type of gigantic prawn, in its pristine glory. OK, again will not describe what this looked like, but the smell was crazy! The smell reminded me again of Dida. She did cook prawns for us, many times, and only because I spent a good amount of time hanging around the kitchen that I remember how they have to be cleaned. Banning the squeamish Sara from entering the kitchen (what’s the point of cooking it if she won’t eat it?), and firmly pushing Tyger out as well (although he isn’t squeamish, and decided that it looked like catfish) I embarked on a journey Dida had undertaken several times.
Through the whole process of cleaning, washing and cooking, she was there in spirit beside me, guiding my hands, reminding me of spices and procedures, making sure that I did not overcook or undercook. Although acute memory failure reigns, I have a sense that she used to keep up a running commentary on how to cook different stuff, so I learnt a lot by just hanging around. Again, the dish that turned up on the dining table had suitably disguised the raw material. But when I sniffed my hands, I could have cried. For it had the same smell that Dida always had after cooking prawns. And now, having cleaned, washed and cooked them for the first time, I recognised for the first time that every day that we spent with her during the summer vacation, she laboured in the kitchen to bring tasty dishes onto the dining table – her labour of love.
I’m not sure whether she was truly fond of cooking or not. But I’m definite about why she cooked – she REALLY loved feeding all of us. The only one who protested once in a while was my younger cousin (who lived in the flat opposite theirs) who was the designated taster throughout the year as Dida tried out recipe after recipe in that little kitchen of hers. The rest of us always went back to school after the summer break much fattened!
Unfortunately for me, she passed away before I really had a chance to get to know her. Injured in an accident (she was 73 and completely fit and active), she struggled on a hospital bed for a month before moving on, just a day or two before Durga Puja. I was just 21. Receiving the news from my uncle’s office over the phone, I was shocked and shattered, and alone since both my parents were in Calcutta with her. When I spoke to my grandfather, Dadu, later that day, his words were broken for the first time in all the years I had known him.
And again, drama comes into real life with Dida. A couple of years before she died, she and Dadu were in Delhi on their annual visit. She had just visited my maternal uncle and family in Pune, and arrived at the railway station with armloads of shawls. Apparently, she had spent the long train journey knitting shawls for the entire family. The one for me was a beautiful pale peach colour – I treasure it till this day, especially since it turned out to be the last garment that she knitted for me. But where drama comes into it is my involvement with a play and how she bridged the gap between my mother and I that autumn.
We were preparing an adaptation of a play (I’ve forgotten the name of the original – but please forgive me for it has been 23 years!) which we called Sher Nikalkar Bhaga. As the “senior” members of the theatre group, we took on all the back-stage responsibilities for our productions, and for this one I was working on the sets. Since the target audience was to be children, the sets were elaborate, colourful and very expressive. There were 6 flats, 9 ft by 5 ft, to be painted on both sides, and one cut out of the Delhi skyline. So, I was spending nights at the Nizamuddin flat which the group used as a base, painting till my arms hurt (luckily, I’m partially ambidextrous), sleeping for a couple of hours, and then getting onto the first Mudrika of the day, attending college (mostly dozing through lessons except the ones involving Macbeth), going back to Nizamuddin, etc. etc. etc. I’m sure you get the picture. For approximately three weeks, my mother and I had not seen much of each other as I only stopped by the house to bathe and change – and she was miffed. Well, that’s putting it mildly. She was angry enough to declare on one of those occasions that she, for one, was NOT going to watch the play.
That’s when Dida and Dadu arrived, and over lunch one day, Dida asked which day they were going to see the play. I continued to eat silently, waiting for the explosion. It came. My mother said, without mincing words, that as a general protest over my sudden lifestyle change, she was not going to see the play. First Dida looked shocked. Then, in a very gentle voice she asked, “My grand-daughter is doing a play, and we won’t go to watch it?” With great difficulty, I kept out of the discussion, and focussed on the food (some of which was cooked by Dida and was extremely tasty!).
The decision was taken. EVERYONE, due to Dida’s gentle diktat, was to watch the play, and I was asked to book enough seats as near the front as possible. Hiding my relief, for if Ma had persisted, no one from the family would’ve dared to oppose her, I quietly left for the evening rehearsal.
And, since the sets were there, going on and off in each scene, Ma was able to see how much work had really gone into it. Though not much was said, she was proud of my work – which, but for Dida’s intervention, she would not have even got to see – and said so when I reached home later that night. It was not the last time we clashed over my passion for theatre, but at least this one ended well.
For many years after Dida’s death I spent as much time as I could with Dadu, who was really lonely without her. I did not want to miss the opportunity to get to know him too. I travelled to Calcutta between jobs, and he, till the last year of his life, always made a visit to Delhi once a year. That was his labour of love; at the age of 85+ it couldn't have been that easy travelling up and down by train. We had a connection that went beyond DNA, I think. He could tell when I was upset even if I put up a cheery face. And just a hand on my head was enough to calm me down or, make me break down completely. He left me his precious Roliflex camera and books on photography as he saw how involved I was with it, appreciating the dark room where I developed and printed roll after roll of b-and-w photographs, teaching me about angles, light and shade, composition. Even more importantly, he taught me a lot about pranayam, meditation and yoga – what to do and what to avoid. In terms of a life-style, I can’t think of anyone else who worked so diligently on leading a clean, healthy and active life.
Well, not to be too uncharacteristically mushy, in the years after they both moved on, I think I missed not having them around to a point of feeling physical pain sometimes. There are so many times that I know they would’ve really appreciated what I came up with – stuff that no one else has ever really been interested in. Like the teddy bears I knitted for Sara and Tyger two summers ago. Or the blankets I am still trying to complete knitting. Dadu would’ve been delighted with the photographs I’ve taken recently of the hiking trips around the school.
And Dida would certainly have been very proud of the culinary achievement with the calamari!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
And in the naked light I saw...
A strange thought banged about my head for quite a while today. While meditating on the cosmic consciousness this morning, I was feeling quite detached (as is generally the case unless I'm very disturbed), and got to the point where I was floating far enough to make the earth appear small as a football. And yet, while everything else was left down there, I simply couldn't detach myself from two small bundles of white energy, which, it turned out, were Sara and Tyger.
I tried, quite hard, but I could simply not let them go. Was it, I wondered as I came out of it, because I am the only one on the planet on whom they can depend for survival? And then, with a flash of blinding light, came the thought, "Would Siddharth have abandoned Rahula to go in search of enlightenment, had he not felt confident that Yashodhara would be there to bring him up?"
In the parikrama of the school that followed, this thought echoed repeatedly. Several years ago, in a TIE production called "The Prince Who Gave Up the Throne", I played the role of Yashodhara. Actually, I was cast in that role by my colleagues due, perhaps, to the ease with which I could evoke emotional memory on stage - in this case, it was waking up to find her partner gone, then meeting Channa (the charioteer) who had brought back all the royal clothes and, heartrendingly, the prince's beautiful locks of hair. The scroll which, in short, said that he had left and explained why he had to go, would be explained by the audience to Yashodhara in each show through still images.
In retrospect, it amazes me that the question that bombarded me this morning, never presented itself throughout the whole time we devised and performed the play. Somehow, in focusing on the feelings of abandonment and hopelessness as the character, the perspective of the parent did not intrude! Certainly, not only did Yashodhara not feel inadequate as a single parent, she also, according to reports, did a brilliant job of bringing up little Rahula. This was a given, taken for granted. Especially since she was a strong-willed, independent-minded, socially-conscious woman.
And yet, as it happened often in earlier times, what if there had been no Yashodhara? Women died more often then during childbirth or soon after.
What would Siddharth have done? Would he still have left home to seek enlightenment?
As a single parent, my life does completely revolve around my children. Everything I do is directly related to either their present or their possible future careers. And recently, some thoughts of my own retirement have come into focus - not to be burden on them financially, as also to be able to provide a place they can come home to.
Sometimes, when my life and what I am doing here makes no sense - and there are deep, deep longings to do something more meaningful - I force my focus back onto my children. It keeps me going till the next blip or blop. I know, as surely as the fact that the sun will set tonight and rise again tomorrow morning, that I have to do this for them. And now the new thoughts about life post retirement... Where earlier I had had some vague plan of getting to an ashram, or finding a meaningful NGO that was doing what I really want to do...
Hats off to parents who do this without any disturbance throughout their lives. But this morning the ultimate "selfless" act of giving up the kingdom to seek enlightenment, suddenly seemed like one that would not have been possible without feeling reassured that someone would look after his offspring.
This email was sent by my friend and colleague, Abhimanyu, in response to my post. He couldn’t post it as a comment as the Net was too slow (how I empathize!!!). I am adding it here as it is truly worthy of being seen by anyone who goes through feeling useless and indispensable (alternately) with boring regularity…
I can only try and understand your situation and can never realise what you go through. However, I feel that there is no need to seek enlightenment outside daily life! That is what the Buddha taught towards the end of his life. He clarified that right action in daily life can truly enlighten you! So look for enlightenment in your children and the thought processes that chain you or free you with regards to them. I am sure you do find bliss when you wake up Sara from her slumber in the morning or observe Tyger rapt in attention observing a puppy! Don’t search outside when you have the universal consciousness truly residing in your home! Seek not so far what is right where you are... remember The Alchemist?? God Bless! Prayers from my heart for the happiness of the three of you! Abhi
I tried, quite hard, but I could simply not let them go. Was it, I wondered as I came out of it, because I am the only one on the planet on whom they can depend for survival? And then, with a flash of blinding light, came the thought, "Would Siddharth have abandoned Rahula to go in search of enlightenment, had he not felt confident that Yashodhara would be there to bring him up?"
In the parikrama of the school that followed, this thought echoed repeatedly. Several years ago, in a TIE production called "The Prince Who Gave Up the Throne", I played the role of Yashodhara. Actually, I was cast in that role by my colleagues due, perhaps, to the ease with which I could evoke emotional memory on stage - in this case, it was waking up to find her partner gone, then meeting Channa (the charioteer) who had brought back all the royal clothes and, heartrendingly, the prince's beautiful locks of hair. The scroll which, in short, said that he had left and explained why he had to go, would be explained by the audience to Yashodhara in each show through still images.
In retrospect, it amazes me that the question that bombarded me this morning, never presented itself throughout the whole time we devised and performed the play. Somehow, in focusing on the feelings of abandonment and hopelessness as the character, the perspective of the parent did not intrude! Certainly, not only did Yashodhara not feel inadequate as a single parent, she also, according to reports, did a brilliant job of bringing up little Rahula. This was a given, taken for granted. Especially since she was a strong-willed, independent-minded, socially-conscious woman.
And yet, as it happened often in earlier times, what if there had been no Yashodhara? Women died more often then during childbirth or soon after.
What would Siddharth have done? Would he still have left home to seek enlightenment?
As a single parent, my life does completely revolve around my children. Everything I do is directly related to either their present or their possible future careers. And recently, some thoughts of my own retirement have come into focus - not to be burden on them financially, as also to be able to provide a place they can come home to.
Sometimes, when my life and what I am doing here makes no sense - and there are deep, deep longings to do something more meaningful - I force my focus back onto my children. It keeps me going till the next blip or blop. I know, as surely as the fact that the sun will set tonight and rise again tomorrow morning, that I have to do this for them. And now the new thoughts about life post retirement... Where earlier I had had some vague plan of getting to an ashram, or finding a meaningful NGO that was doing what I really want to do...
Hats off to parents who do this without any disturbance throughout their lives. But this morning the ultimate "selfless" act of giving up the kingdom to seek enlightenment, suddenly seemed like one that would not have been possible without feeling reassured that someone would look after his offspring.
This email was sent by my friend and colleague, Abhimanyu, in response to my post. He couldn’t post it as a comment as the Net was too slow (how I empathize!!!). I am adding it here as it is truly worthy of being seen by anyone who goes through feeling useless and indispensable (alternately) with boring regularity…
I can only try and understand your situation and can never realise what you go through. However, I feel that there is no need to seek enlightenment outside daily life! That is what the Buddha taught towards the end of his life. He clarified that right action in daily life can truly enlighten you! So look for enlightenment in your children and the thought processes that chain you or free you with regards to them. I am sure you do find bliss when you wake up Sara from her slumber in the morning or observe Tyger rapt in attention observing a puppy! Don’t search outside when you have the universal consciousness truly residing in your home! Seek not so far what is right where you are... remember The Alchemist?? God Bless! Prayers from my heart for the happiness of the three of you! Abhi
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Just the Tip of the ICEBERG
Since the news broke this morning, I've been watching with growing consternation views floating for and against the new change proposed by Mr Kapil Sibal, Hon'ble Minister for the Ministry of Human Resource Development.
At the outset, it seems that Mr Sibal has his heart in the right place. That he finds it "unacceptable" to put children and parents through the stress of the Board Exams for Grade 10 makes him, in my view, one of the "good" guys. I say this based on instinct; most good cooks will tell you that instinct usually plays a much larger role in creating a tasty dish than a well-measured recipe. So, really, what Mr Sibal must now do is follow his instinct that something is really rotten in the state of education - and act upon that instinct to completely revamp it.
However, what needs to be voiced, and voiced VERY STRONGLY, is that the Grade 10 Board Exams (and the stress caused by them) represent only the TIP of an iceberg just waiting to sink our ship.
The Times Now newshour debate was fascinating, especially in the representation of students who held diametrically opposite views. The principals, teachers and others who marched through the debate (for once, no one tried to interrupt and drown out the others' voices - a refreshing change) ALL seemed to be missing the main point.
Education, as a system, is only one little cog in the general wheel of the country. It plays an important part (as the ministry's name reflects) where "human resource development" comes into play. What Mr Sibal Must Ask is: What do we want to achieve through the system of education?
Those who spoke against Mr Sibal's proposed move to scrap the Grade 10 Board Exams had basically two points: 1) It maintains national standards; 2) It helps in streaming students according to their talent/ability. One vociferous echo, of course, was "why shouldn't children go through a bit of stress"?
THAT, to my mind (after having worked in education for about 20 years now), is the defining statement of the current system. We deeply believe, as 21st century Indians, that stress is something children need to learn to cope with; therefore, the earlier they begin (someone cited that this starts as early as Grade 1) the better they will be able to cope with it.
To all the promoters and believers of this philosophy I would like to point out that the human brain takes a LONG time to develop. In fact, research shows that the human brain reaches complete maturity only by approximately the age of 25. One student of Grade 11 was more accurate than all the grown-ups when she said that students of age 17 are better able to cope with stress than students of age 15. This is because the human brain is not just about cognitive ability. Emotional maturity (including stress-management) comes in as we mature and age and often this process goes on throughout life.
Another speaker spoke about E.Q. and was questioned by another whether I.Q. and E.Q. could exist separately.
They are no doubt better equipped to comment on these. What we need to keep in mind is that E.Q. is a scarcely understood term; it is usually bandied about by more progressive educators in order to be allowed to throw some parts of an unjustified curricular load out of the window.
Let us return to the main point then: What do we want to achieve through the system of education?
Every society, country, community, defines its goals and objectives and then designs its education system.
We are, in spite of 62 years of freedom, and many commissions and omissions later, still struggling to define the philosophy and objectives of our society. We talk about "competition", "equal platforms", "standard evaluation processes", and my favourite "core subjects" - without really having the long-term goals in mind.
Mr Sibal must ask whether in our rapidly changing world "competition" is more relevant than "cooperation".
He must ask whether the little guy in Teekli Village can really be on an equal platform as his more privileged compatriot in the school on top of the hill.
Having asked this, he must further question the whole idea of standards in evaluation; he must question very strongly what is being evaluated at all.
And finally, he must really think about the race for marks in the "core subjects" - and ask profoundly why there is such a rat race for some subjects and no rush in others.
In short, he must question the very foundations of the system that is no less than a serial killer.
As an educator, I have watched this system fail no less than 16,000 times in the last three years (a Times Now statistic). Indeed, I am lucky that I did not know any of these children who were killed by the Board Exams. But I have not slept easy knowing that I too am part of the system that killed them.
Somewhere, this "elimination" stinks of "Social Darwinism" (as described by Dr Krishna Kumar): all those who can, cope; those who can't...
Addressing the tip of the iceberg, Mr Sibal, is a good beginning. A great beginning. It gives someone like me hope that the rot can and will be exposed. And once exposed, we will have no option but to clean it up. I know that there are many like me just waiting for the opportunity to help revolutionize the system.
It is my observation that there are two circumstances that facilitate learning: 1) if the learner is involved and having a LOT of fun; 2) if the learner's survival depends on it.
Being products, usually, of fun-less learning environments, as educators it requires a great deal of effort to facilitate fun-based learning. So, we tie our children down in various knots which they must unravel in order to survive - we tell them that the be-all and end-all of their curricular efforts lie in the year-end exam. Dry rot in the foundation: teachers' attitudes to the teaching-learning process. The lack of awareness of alternatives. The lack of training to help children to be life-long learners. Deeply embedded convictions that are by now out-dated. And the readily available carrot-and-stick of the Board Exams.
So, some survive, some do really well; others, quite literally, perish. And that's 16,000 deaths too many. Even a country as over-populated as ours must never allow the death of a child to go unquestioned. We are, as a species, supposed to "look after" our young. As a community we must not become desensitized to the extent of not feeling great outrage each time a child takes his/her life - this is an appeal to the pro-stress corps: I'm quite certain that no one who has actually lost a child or a student in this manner will ever take up the "a little stress will train them" cause.
If we are to help children prepare for the future, we must keep one very important fact in mind: by the time the current batch of primary school children become old enough to seek jobs, many careers will have ceased to exist, and as many new career options will have emerged. What they need to know is how to learn quickly, without stress, and explore new areas with open minds.
So, please don't stop here, Mr Sibal. By all means, scrap the Grade 10 Board Exams, centralize all the Grade 12 exams, and bring everyone onto a "level playing field". But that alone is not going to cure the rot. Changing marks to grades, percentages to percentiles, scrapping some and centralizing others may only replace the old flawed system with a new, flawed, one. We have a real chance to turn our country around by helping to bring up our children to be happy, healthy, kind-hearted individuals who learn because they want to, not in order to score marks or grades.
At the outset, it seems that Mr Sibal has his heart in the right place. That he finds it "unacceptable" to put children and parents through the stress of the Board Exams for Grade 10 makes him, in my view, one of the "good" guys. I say this based on instinct; most good cooks will tell you that instinct usually plays a much larger role in creating a tasty dish than a well-measured recipe. So, really, what Mr Sibal must now do is follow his instinct that something is really rotten in the state of education - and act upon that instinct to completely revamp it.
However, what needs to be voiced, and voiced VERY STRONGLY, is that the Grade 10 Board Exams (and the stress caused by them) represent only the TIP of an iceberg just waiting to sink our ship.
The Times Now newshour debate was fascinating, especially in the representation of students who held diametrically opposite views. The principals, teachers and others who marched through the debate (for once, no one tried to interrupt and drown out the others' voices - a refreshing change) ALL seemed to be missing the main point.
Education, as a system, is only one little cog in the general wheel of the country. It plays an important part (as the ministry's name reflects) where "human resource development" comes into play. What Mr Sibal Must Ask is: What do we want to achieve through the system of education?
Those who spoke against Mr Sibal's proposed move to scrap the Grade 10 Board Exams had basically two points: 1) It maintains national standards; 2) It helps in streaming students according to their talent/ability. One vociferous echo, of course, was "why shouldn't children go through a bit of stress"?
THAT, to my mind (after having worked in education for about 20 years now), is the defining statement of the current system. We deeply believe, as 21st century Indians, that stress is something children need to learn to cope with; therefore, the earlier they begin (someone cited that this starts as early as Grade 1) the better they will be able to cope with it.
To all the promoters and believers of this philosophy I would like to point out that the human brain takes a LONG time to develop. In fact, research shows that the human brain reaches complete maturity only by approximately the age of 25. One student of Grade 11 was more accurate than all the grown-ups when she said that students of age 17 are better able to cope with stress than students of age 15. This is because the human brain is not just about cognitive ability. Emotional maturity (including stress-management) comes in as we mature and age and often this process goes on throughout life.
Another speaker spoke about E.Q. and was questioned by another whether I.Q. and E.Q. could exist separately.
They are no doubt better equipped to comment on these. What we need to keep in mind is that E.Q. is a scarcely understood term; it is usually bandied about by more progressive educators in order to be allowed to throw some parts of an unjustified curricular load out of the window.
Let us return to the main point then: What do we want to achieve through the system of education?
Every society, country, community, defines its goals and objectives and then designs its education system.
We are, in spite of 62 years of freedom, and many commissions and omissions later, still struggling to define the philosophy and objectives of our society. We talk about "competition", "equal platforms", "standard evaluation processes", and my favourite "core subjects" - without really having the long-term goals in mind.
Mr Sibal must ask whether in our rapidly changing world "competition" is more relevant than "cooperation".
He must ask whether the little guy in Teekli Village can really be on an equal platform as his more privileged compatriot in the school on top of the hill.
Having asked this, he must further question the whole idea of standards in evaluation; he must question very strongly what is being evaluated at all.
And finally, he must really think about the race for marks in the "core subjects" - and ask profoundly why there is such a rat race for some subjects and no rush in others.
In short, he must question the very foundations of the system that is no less than a serial killer.
As an educator, I have watched this system fail no less than 16,000 times in the last three years (a Times Now statistic). Indeed, I am lucky that I did not know any of these children who were killed by the Board Exams. But I have not slept easy knowing that I too am part of the system that killed them.
Somewhere, this "elimination" stinks of "Social Darwinism" (as described by Dr Krishna Kumar): all those who can, cope; those who can't...
Addressing the tip of the iceberg, Mr Sibal, is a good beginning. A great beginning. It gives someone like me hope that the rot can and will be exposed. And once exposed, we will have no option but to clean it up. I know that there are many like me just waiting for the opportunity to help revolutionize the system.
It is my observation that there are two circumstances that facilitate learning: 1) if the learner is involved and having a LOT of fun; 2) if the learner's survival depends on it.
Being products, usually, of fun-less learning environments, as educators it requires a great deal of effort to facilitate fun-based learning. So, we tie our children down in various knots which they must unravel in order to survive - we tell them that the be-all and end-all of their curricular efforts lie in the year-end exam. Dry rot in the foundation: teachers' attitudes to the teaching-learning process. The lack of awareness of alternatives. The lack of training to help children to be life-long learners. Deeply embedded convictions that are by now out-dated. And the readily available carrot-and-stick of the Board Exams.
So, some survive, some do really well; others, quite literally, perish. And that's 16,000 deaths too many. Even a country as over-populated as ours must never allow the death of a child to go unquestioned. We are, as a species, supposed to "look after" our young. As a community we must not become desensitized to the extent of not feeling great outrage each time a child takes his/her life - this is an appeal to the pro-stress corps: I'm quite certain that no one who has actually lost a child or a student in this manner will ever take up the "a little stress will train them" cause.
If we are to help children prepare for the future, we must keep one very important fact in mind: by the time the current batch of primary school children become old enough to seek jobs, many careers will have ceased to exist, and as many new career options will have emerged. What they need to know is how to learn quickly, without stress, and explore new areas with open minds.
So, please don't stop here, Mr Sibal. By all means, scrap the Grade 10 Board Exams, centralize all the Grade 12 exams, and bring everyone onto a "level playing field". But that alone is not going to cure the rot. Changing marks to grades, percentages to percentiles, scrapping some and centralizing others may only replace the old flawed system with a new, flawed, one. We have a real chance to turn our country around by helping to bring up our children to be happy, healthy, kind-hearted individuals who learn because they want to, not in order to score marks or grades.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Thorn In My Shoe
When I sat down to click-clack this one into the laptop, I seriously had a serious story in mind. But as I approached the desk, it turned itself on its head (as often happens), and now I'm laughing at myself.
But I jump the gun. Let me tell you about the thorn in my shoe.
Several weeks ago, on one of our Saturday morning romps on the Aravalis around PWS, I picked up a thorn in my left shoe. Well, actually, it wasn't the only one... There were many even thicker, longer, stronger and pokier (? - I've run out of epithets) than this one. What set it apart, was... its tenacity, I guess you could call it that. My eye-brow plucking device took care of all the rest - we had quite a collection - but somehow, this one just WOULDN'T come out. (For the hyper-hygiene conscious, I have two eye-brow plucking devices, one dedicated to pulling thorns out of my shoes. I mention this insignificant fact since I know that the hyper... will have stopped to regurgitate dinner, etc. during the previous sentence.)
So, not being all that persevering a thorn-puller-out (in any case the kids were becoming impatient) I left that persistent and tenacious thorn in.
Most of the time, I wasn't even aware of it. However, the second I would step on a stone, or a bump on the track, it would poke. (Did you know that most of our nerve endings are centred on the soles of our feet? Well, I found out, and how!). The place where it poked was the tender spot between my big toe and the next one, let's say half-an-inch south of that. OUCH! It would not only send shooting pain up my leg, but frissons down my spine as well (remember, nerve endings) and be partially debilitating for about 10 to 15 seconds each time. And time, as the scientist said, is relative. It seemed like HOURS!
This happened over a period of several weeks. By the time I got home on each occasion, I was too tired to have another go at it. And the next time I went out, there were always two impatient kids to contend with. Since I have quite a shoe-wardrobe a la Imelda Marcos (does anyone remember her?) it didn't hamper daily life beyond the fitness-freaking episodes.
OK. Finally, after one really painful event in the gym, I decided that it was either me or the thorn. Equipped with the Device, I planted myself squarely on the edge of the bed, told the kids to keep an arm's distance for all hell would shortly break loose, and had another go at it. As they looked on suspiciously, I tugged, pulled, pushed (got pricked on my finger), groaned, grunted and was generally being the roaring-Leo-rattled-by-a-thorn. But, Tenacity! It perversely hung on to the rubber, refusing to budge more than a millimetre at a time in either direction, not enough to give me enough purchase to tug it out.
Brainwave. It you can't pull it out, push it out. Now equipped with another device - a handy tool the nailclippers, there's a curvy attachment that otherwise opens bottles of various types (and no, I don't have two of those) - I pushed the dratted object INTO my shoe, pulling it inwards till... phew, it was out of the rubber.
A closer look revealed that I had pulled out worse ones in the past few weeks. But, and here it comes (the serious story), while I was engaging in battle with this thorn, a plethora of thoughts passed through the top bracket. Or rather, questions.
How often do I allow situations like this to exist - i.e. (for the innocent or the uninitiated) allow metaphorical thorns which periodically poke and hurt like the dickens - not dealing with them, somehow not even hoping that they will go away on their own, but just not dealing with them...
Once it was out, I pranced out of the house, such utter relief in the soles of my feet (OK, won't go into the winged feet metaphor). Actually, you need to go through this to know how very painful it is - and I have a very high pain-threshold.
That evening, the walk proved to be meditative... a mental list was made of all that I wasn't dealing with... they popped up out of hidden recesses almost like thought-bubbles in comic strips.
The very next morning, I set out and dealt with two such situations.
Life was looking more thorn-free.
So, now, why am I laughing at myself?
Good question. Because, as the intelligent will point out, isn't this the case with so many of us?
What makes me laugh (and those who know me, know how loudly I laugh) at myself, is that these metaphorical thorns were illusions caused by various perceptions... They weren't really thorns at all. Just mental constructs that made them appear to be painful. Remove the foundation, and they were just.... air?
For weeks I've been grieving over a remark made by someone in utter ignorance...
For days I've been scribing about my work - as an outlet for the pain caused by the above remark...
For hours I've debated on whether or not to write an email about the remark to various authorities...
For eons I've wanted to shout out really loudly that what I do in class has intrinsic value and that I don't need to "showcase" it...
For pages of my blog I've been ranting about how process-drama works...
SO, the cardinal sin - taking myself too seriously - had been committed. But luckily, all sins are washed away when you laugh at yourself.
By the way, is there a type of meditation called laughing meditation? If not, someone should invent it. It really works!
But I jump the gun. Let me tell you about the thorn in my shoe.
Several weeks ago, on one of our Saturday morning romps on the Aravalis around PWS, I picked up a thorn in my left shoe. Well, actually, it wasn't the only one... There were many even thicker, longer, stronger and pokier (? - I've run out of epithets) than this one. What set it apart, was... its tenacity, I guess you could call it that. My eye-brow plucking device took care of all the rest - we had quite a collection - but somehow, this one just WOULDN'T come out. (For the hyper-hygiene conscious, I have two eye-brow plucking devices, one dedicated to pulling thorns out of my shoes. I mention this insignificant fact since I know that the hyper... will have stopped to regurgitate dinner, etc. during the previous sentence.)
So, not being all that persevering a thorn-puller-out (in any case the kids were becoming impatient) I left that persistent and tenacious thorn in.
Most of the time, I wasn't even aware of it. However, the second I would step on a stone, or a bump on the track, it would poke. (Did you know that most of our nerve endings are centred on the soles of our feet? Well, I found out, and how!). The place where it poked was the tender spot between my big toe and the next one, let's say half-an-inch south of that. OUCH! It would not only send shooting pain up my leg, but frissons down my spine as well (remember, nerve endings) and be partially debilitating for about 10 to 15 seconds each time. And time, as the scientist said, is relative. It seemed like HOURS!
This happened over a period of several weeks. By the time I got home on each occasion, I was too tired to have another go at it. And the next time I went out, there were always two impatient kids to contend with. Since I have quite a shoe-wardrobe a la Imelda Marcos (does anyone remember her?) it didn't hamper daily life beyond the fitness-freaking episodes.
OK. Finally, after one really painful event in the gym, I decided that it was either me or the thorn. Equipped with the Device, I planted myself squarely on the edge of the bed, told the kids to keep an arm's distance for all hell would shortly break loose, and had another go at it. As they looked on suspiciously, I tugged, pulled, pushed (got pricked on my finger), groaned, grunted and was generally being the roaring-Leo-rattled-by-a-thorn. But, Tenacity! It perversely hung on to the rubber, refusing to budge more than a millimetre at a time in either direction, not enough to give me enough purchase to tug it out.
Brainwave. It you can't pull it out, push it out. Now equipped with another device - a handy tool the nailclippers, there's a curvy attachment that otherwise opens bottles of various types (and no, I don't have two of those) - I pushed the dratted object INTO my shoe, pulling it inwards till... phew, it was out of the rubber.
A closer look revealed that I had pulled out worse ones in the past few weeks. But, and here it comes (the serious story), while I was engaging in battle with this thorn, a plethora of thoughts passed through the top bracket. Or rather, questions.
How often do I allow situations like this to exist - i.e. (for the innocent or the uninitiated) allow metaphorical thorns which periodically poke and hurt like the dickens - not dealing with them, somehow not even hoping that they will go away on their own, but just not dealing with them...
Once it was out, I pranced out of the house, such utter relief in the soles of my feet (OK, won't go into the winged feet metaphor). Actually, you need to go through this to know how very painful it is - and I have a very high pain-threshold.
That evening, the walk proved to be meditative... a mental list was made of all that I wasn't dealing with... they popped up out of hidden recesses almost like thought-bubbles in comic strips.
The very next morning, I set out and dealt with two such situations.
Life was looking more thorn-free.
So, now, why am I laughing at myself?
Good question. Because, as the intelligent will point out, isn't this the case with so many of us?
What makes me laugh (and those who know me, know how loudly I laugh) at myself, is that these metaphorical thorns were illusions caused by various perceptions... They weren't really thorns at all. Just mental constructs that made them appear to be painful. Remove the foundation, and they were just.... air?
For weeks I've been grieving over a remark made by someone in utter ignorance...
For days I've been scribing about my work - as an outlet for the pain caused by the above remark...
For hours I've debated on whether or not to write an email about the remark to various authorities...
For eons I've wanted to shout out really loudly that what I do in class has intrinsic value and that I don't need to "showcase" it...
For pages of my blog I've been ranting about how process-drama works...
SO, the cardinal sin - taking myself too seriously - had been committed. But luckily, all sins are washed away when you laugh at yourself.
By the way, is there a type of meditation called laughing meditation? If not, someone should invent it. It really works!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Learning Through Drama
Or, How Grade 8x made sense of history… and what they learnt about RACISM
Drama as a process? Process for what, you might ask…
In the second semester, Grade 8x devised a play called “All For A Master Race”. This was based on Hitler’s well-propagated theory of the Aryan Master Race which he used to “exterminate” Jews in Europe, turning thousands of reasonably well-balanced individuals into anti-Semitic fanatics.
Here is the storyboard of the play:
Scene 1
Bar: An Aryan-Jewish couple (Ancel and Margaret) and their Jewish friends are sitting around the radio listening to Hitler’s speech about the master race. Margaret is scared, Ancel is reassuring – he promises to get her out of this situation safely. Adelheida, who sits at the bar, looks very scared.
Scene 2
Adelheida’s house: Adelheida disguises herself as an Aryan by dyeing her hair and using contact lenses to change her identity – she’s helped by her friend Margaret.
Scene 3
Bar: while listening to the radio German soldiers, including Adelheida, kill the Aryan-Jewish couple; freeze moment when Adelheida speaks her mind (inner conflict) about killing them, but goes ahead in order to save her own life.
Scene 4
Jewish house: Jews plan to revolt against Hitler and form a resistance group. One of them, Aaron, is clearly unhappy with the whole idea and tries to persuade everyone to plan an escape instead of a confrontation.
Scene 5
German army office: all the soldiers report that they have come to know about the Jewish Resistance movement; Aaron, the unhappy Jew comes in and betrays the resistance and tells the German soldiers about where they are hiding; Adelheida is there and slips out while the soldiers surround Aaron.
Scene 6
Jewish house: members of the Resistance are taking their places for an ambush; Adelheida arrives and tells them they have been betrayed; at first they don’t believe her, but anyway she’s too late as the German soldiers come in and there’s a shoot-out; Adelheida switches sides and fights alongside the Jews, is shot, all the other Jews die except one little boy; all the soldiers go away except General Himmler, who finds the little boy, David, who asks him why he is killing everyone – and is suddenly faced by the question, “Why am I killing the Jews?” As he struggles with his conscience, the lights fade out, leaving the audience with the question – will he or won’t he?
After the final performance, the students took an exam in which they were asked to respond to two questions:
A. What, according to you, was the central message of your play, “All for a Master Race”? To what extent do you think you managed to convey the message and why?
B. Imagine that you were the scriptwriter for your play – how would you improve and strengthen the message of your play (you may increase/decrease scenes and lines in any part of the play)?
The responses to the first part of question A were really to gauge what each one had learnt from the experience of devising and performing the play. They were told that there were no “right” or “wrong” answers for any part of the question; that they needed to analyze their play and present their own points of view.
Here are the responses: (the character each student played is mentioned, in case anyone can spot a correlation between the part played and the “message” each one took away from the experience)
General Himmler: German soldiers killed Jews on Hitler’s orders without knowing or understanding why, for no reason.
Ancel (the Aryan husband): Loss and gain. Everyone loses something or the other, and therefore gains importance.
Margaret (the Jewish wife): No matter how many mistakes and wrong decisions you make, it’s never too late to say sorry and realize your mistake.
Jan (a German soldier): 1) Realisation in a German general, brought on by a Jewish child, that he was killing people who had never harmed him. 2) Disguising herself as an Aryan, Adelheida tried to become “white” but in her heart, her race and her blood remained the same.
David (a Jewish child): Many Jews struggled and even died just because of the “master race”.
Georges Faruk (a journalist): Just be who you really are…
Frederik (a German soldier): There should not be such laws of marriage that Jews cannot marry Aryans.
Rabia (a Jewish woman): …to show the audience a flashback of the past, a detailed history about Hitler… We made the audience think about what would happen to the little child, David, in the end.
Erica (a Jewish woman, leader of the resistance): It is better to stand up for what you believe in than to hide away forever.
Marcus (a Jewish man): 1) …to what extent can you go, just to survive… 2) Forgiveness can help you.
Aarick (a German soldier): Will it be the end of the Jews?
Aaron (a Jewish man, betrays the Jewish resistance): The general, who could not decide whether or not to kill the Jewish child…
Sylvester (a German soldier): … not to kill people; why should innocent people die…
Leona (a Jewish woman who had lost her husband): I wanted the audience to realize how lucky they are to have a life such as theirs – look at how people suffered at that time.
Yara (a German soldier): Betrayal will only lead to hell.
Adelheida (a Jewish woman): 1) The problem of fitting in, an international problem that exists today – in high school, how you want to fit in so badly that you will do anything, leading to drugs, alcohol, even death. 2) “Be yourself” – how we all strive to be something we are not but eventually your true colours shine through.
And now for my analyses:
In the context of racism spreading like wildfire (almost as rapidly as the H1N1 Virus), here is a group of students (13-year-olds) that has experienced, in carefully controlled circumstances, what racism, prejudice and discrimination can do to individual human beings.
They have researched and represented a chunk of history, and made sense of human motivations – delving into extremes like betrayal, courage and mindless killing. Again, this was done in carefully controlled circumstances.
In creating an original play, they have gone deep into their own consciousness to find the seeds of all that they portrayed – from heroism, friendship, and betrayal to internal conflict and turmoil. And, in doing so, they have met their own strengths and weaknesses and have more self-awareness now than when they began.
And finally, without a breath of hesitation, I can say with great confidence that these seventeen children have learnt the lessons offered by this part of history.
Drama as a process? Process for what, you might ask…
In the second semester, Grade 8x devised a play called “All For A Master Race”. This was based on Hitler’s well-propagated theory of the Aryan Master Race which he used to “exterminate” Jews in Europe, turning thousands of reasonably well-balanced individuals into anti-Semitic fanatics.
Here is the storyboard of the play:
Scene 1
Bar: An Aryan-Jewish couple (Ancel and Margaret) and their Jewish friends are sitting around the radio listening to Hitler’s speech about the master race. Margaret is scared, Ancel is reassuring – he promises to get her out of this situation safely. Adelheida, who sits at the bar, looks very scared.
Scene 2
Adelheida’s house: Adelheida disguises herself as an Aryan by dyeing her hair and using contact lenses to change her identity – she’s helped by her friend Margaret.
Scene 3
Bar: while listening to the radio German soldiers, including Adelheida, kill the Aryan-Jewish couple; freeze moment when Adelheida speaks her mind (inner conflict) about killing them, but goes ahead in order to save her own life.
Scene 4
Jewish house: Jews plan to revolt against Hitler and form a resistance group. One of them, Aaron, is clearly unhappy with the whole idea and tries to persuade everyone to plan an escape instead of a confrontation.
Scene 5
German army office: all the soldiers report that they have come to know about the Jewish Resistance movement; Aaron, the unhappy Jew comes in and betrays the resistance and tells the German soldiers about where they are hiding; Adelheida is there and slips out while the soldiers surround Aaron.
Scene 6
Jewish house: members of the Resistance are taking their places for an ambush; Adelheida arrives and tells them they have been betrayed; at first they don’t believe her, but anyway she’s too late as the German soldiers come in and there’s a shoot-out; Adelheida switches sides and fights alongside the Jews, is shot, all the other Jews die except one little boy; all the soldiers go away except General Himmler, who finds the little boy, David, who asks him why he is killing everyone – and is suddenly faced by the question, “Why am I killing the Jews?” As he struggles with his conscience, the lights fade out, leaving the audience with the question – will he or won’t he?
After the final performance, the students took an exam in which they were asked to respond to two questions:
A. What, according to you, was the central message of your play, “All for a Master Race”? To what extent do you think you managed to convey the message and why?
B. Imagine that you were the scriptwriter for your play – how would you improve and strengthen the message of your play (you may increase/decrease scenes and lines in any part of the play)?
The responses to the first part of question A were really to gauge what each one had learnt from the experience of devising and performing the play. They were told that there were no “right” or “wrong” answers for any part of the question; that they needed to analyze their play and present their own points of view.
Here are the responses: (the character each student played is mentioned, in case anyone can spot a correlation between the part played and the “message” each one took away from the experience)
General Himmler: German soldiers killed Jews on Hitler’s orders without knowing or understanding why, for no reason.
Ancel (the Aryan husband): Loss and gain. Everyone loses something or the other, and therefore gains importance.
Margaret (the Jewish wife): No matter how many mistakes and wrong decisions you make, it’s never too late to say sorry and realize your mistake.
Jan (a German soldier): 1) Realisation in a German general, brought on by a Jewish child, that he was killing people who had never harmed him. 2) Disguising herself as an Aryan, Adelheida tried to become “white” but in her heart, her race and her blood remained the same.
David (a Jewish child): Many Jews struggled and even died just because of the “master race”.
Georges Faruk (a journalist): Just be who you really are…
Frederik (a German soldier): There should not be such laws of marriage that Jews cannot marry Aryans.
Rabia (a Jewish woman): …to show the audience a flashback of the past, a detailed history about Hitler… We made the audience think about what would happen to the little child, David, in the end.
Erica (a Jewish woman, leader of the resistance): It is better to stand up for what you believe in than to hide away forever.
Marcus (a Jewish man): 1) …to what extent can you go, just to survive… 2) Forgiveness can help you.
Aarick (a German soldier): Will it be the end of the Jews?
Aaron (a Jewish man, betrays the Jewish resistance): The general, who could not decide whether or not to kill the Jewish child…
Sylvester (a German soldier): … not to kill people; why should innocent people die…
Leona (a Jewish woman who had lost her husband): I wanted the audience to realize how lucky they are to have a life such as theirs – look at how people suffered at that time.
Yara (a German soldier): Betrayal will only lead to hell.
Adelheida (a Jewish woman): 1) The problem of fitting in, an international problem that exists today – in high school, how you want to fit in so badly that you will do anything, leading to drugs, alcohol, even death. 2) “Be yourself” – how we all strive to be something we are not but eventually your true colours shine through.
And now for my analyses:
In the context of racism spreading like wildfire (almost as rapidly as the H1N1 Virus), here is a group of students (13-year-olds) that has experienced, in carefully controlled circumstances, what racism, prejudice and discrimination can do to individual human beings.
They have researched and represented a chunk of history, and made sense of human motivations – delving into extremes like betrayal, courage and mindless killing. Again, this was done in carefully controlled circumstances.
In creating an original play, they have gone deep into their own consciousness to find the seeds of all that they portrayed – from heroism, friendship, and betrayal to internal conflict and turmoil. And, in doing so, they have met their own strengths and weaknesses and have more self-awareness now than when they began.
And finally, without a breath of hesitation, I can say with great confidence that these seventeen children have learnt the lessons offered by this part of history.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Democracy and Teamwork - at the grass roots
In an earlier post I asked, "So, how do we make a case for drama as a process?"
While we mull over this question, some details about how one particular semester was structured for drama.
This year, my students spent the entire second semester devising original full-class plays. The different grade levels dealt with different topics (Grade 6 had "bullying", Grade 7 worked with the Renaissance, and Grade 8 took up the early 20th Century). Here is the process they went through:
First there was research (as in-depth as possible for that grade level with scope for those who were really interested to go deeper) followed by improvisations in groups on what fascinated them. Expected learning outcomes: that the children would independently research a topic; that they would share what fascinated them with a small group of peers thereby creating ownership of the work; that they would then translate these thoughts into an original piece of drama to be performed for the other groups, thereby honing all the skills of devising and performance.
Then came a process called "synthesis" in which fresh groups were made and all groups were asked to prepare improvised pieces combining all the previous "stories" that had been performed. The students needed some side-coaching during this exercise as combining different elements into one coherent story can sometimes be challenging. Expected learning outcomes: re-grouping leads to children being exposed to different working styles; children are exposed to a creative process - combining different elements or "synthesis"; teamwork and emerging leadership skills are honed; all the skills related to devising and performance.
(You may notice that the children performed twice during steps 1 and 2 of the process. And after each group's performance, the other groups gave the actors feedback on their performance as well as plot line and story. Expected learning outcomes: giving feedback responsibly and accepting feedback with an open mind and growing from it.)
The next step was to elevate the level of group-work from small groups (four to five children in each) to full-class group-work (between 16 and 22 depending on class strength). Different classes responded differently to this. Some were happy to ideate verbally, while others were more motivated while they improvised. The task set for them (and assessed for involvement at every stage) was to combine all the elements from steps 1 and 2 and create one full-class story. They were given the leeway to sift and select as well as add to the original elements.
On large sheets of flip-chart paper, a "plot graph" was drawn and handed over to the class. No one was chosen to be the leader - but someone was expected to take the leadership. Responsible leadership. That really means that everyone was to be involved, by encouragement from whoever took on the leadership. At different stages of this process, feedback was given to each child on the quality of his/her contribution (dominating or inclusive; passivity or active listening, etc.) and often asked to evaluate this as well. Therefore there was also responsible team-work. Then, of course, the creative process: in this the children learnt how to introduce conflict, tension, sustain it, and allow it to reach a peak before gradually resolving it. There was a lot of side-coaching required for this part, as even Grade 8 students were often at a loss about how to take the story forward without completely destroying it. The creative skills to be learnt during this stage don't need enumeration.
Often, during this part of the process, the children returned to their research, or looked for more information to bring authenticity into their story. Questions like, "Did contact lenses exist in the 1940s?" and "What sort of music would have played at a bar in 1929 in Berlin?" or "What percentage of bullies go on to become criminals?" came up from the groups. Research skills. Inquiry-based learning. All of this happened completely naturally.
When the story was about half-done, back-stage responsibilities were chosen by each child. This ranged from costumes, sets, props, lights, sound, publicity and stage management. EVERY child had to choose one. Why? Ask any of the students and they will explain that drama is not just acting on stage. That acting on stage is a very small part of what drama is all about.
After picking one (some adventurous children picked more than one), it was more time at the drawing board - researching the period for costumes, sets and props; learning about lights; writing drafts for posters and brochures. Many drafts were made - for every aspect - and children came to discuss them, improve upon them and final begin to create them. Needless to say, each child had an individual approach - some caught me at dinner to show their drafts while others required some chasing!
The plot graphs were finally ready. Along the way, many scenes had already been improvised ("Will it work or won't it?"), so each child already knew the performing capability of each other. So, onto casting. We made a list of characters, and each role was cast in a truly democratic way - through voting! That's democracy at the grass roots! Seriously, what better way is there to teach the concept of democracy - we have the roles, we have the candidates - and we choose the BEST POSSIBLE candidate for each role. Because, if we don't, OUR play will not be performed to its logical potential.
Onto blocking each scene, looking into the logical flow of the story from scene to scene, as well as amending the plot line to make it smooth and seamless. All the grade 8 classes scripted their plays, and polished them after receiving feedback. Interestingly, they did this even though they were not required to... So, what they had earlier found a drag ("Oh, ma'am, why do we have to WRITE in drama?") was a skill learnt so well that they recognised its importance without being told.
Expected learning outcomes: that children will not only devise the on-stage performance, but design the entire production through hands-on work; that the final performance would be a an act of collective creation - building something quite literally out of nothing; and in doing so, have ready-made models of WORKING TOGETHER CREATIVELY that can be used for any other subject EITHER IN SCHOOL or later in life no matter what they choose to do in life.
Does this sound like a useful set of skills?
I would like to share an interesting statistic about performance-based drama which may raise further questions on who really wants children to participate in public performances. All the children began working on the year-end production in January, worked through February, part of March and April, finally performing in the first week of May. ONLY ONE CLASS (out of my eight classes) asked for an audience. All the others were happy to just have their performances recorded on tape, and invited about two or three people to watch it. Some were very clear about NOT wanting an audience at all.
What does this tell us about performance-based drama? Was the experience any less rich for the children in the absence of an audience? Or, would it have been qualitatively any different had they performed for others?
While we mull over this question, some details about how one particular semester was structured for drama.
This year, my students spent the entire second semester devising original full-class plays. The different grade levels dealt with different topics (Grade 6 had "bullying", Grade 7 worked with the Renaissance, and Grade 8 took up the early 20th Century). Here is the process they went through:
First there was research (as in-depth as possible for that grade level with scope for those who were really interested to go deeper) followed by improvisations in groups on what fascinated them. Expected learning outcomes: that the children would independently research a topic; that they would share what fascinated them with a small group of peers thereby creating ownership of the work; that they would then translate these thoughts into an original piece of drama to be performed for the other groups, thereby honing all the skills of devising and performance.
Then came a process called "synthesis" in which fresh groups were made and all groups were asked to prepare improvised pieces combining all the previous "stories" that had been performed. The students needed some side-coaching during this exercise as combining different elements into one coherent story can sometimes be challenging. Expected learning outcomes: re-grouping leads to children being exposed to different working styles; children are exposed to a creative process - combining different elements or "synthesis"; teamwork and emerging leadership skills are honed; all the skills related to devising and performance.
(You may notice that the children performed twice during steps 1 and 2 of the process. And after each group's performance, the other groups gave the actors feedback on their performance as well as plot line and story. Expected learning outcomes: giving feedback responsibly and accepting feedback with an open mind and growing from it.)
The next step was to elevate the level of group-work from small groups (four to five children in each) to full-class group-work (between 16 and 22 depending on class strength). Different classes responded differently to this. Some were happy to ideate verbally, while others were more motivated while they improvised. The task set for them (and assessed for involvement at every stage) was to combine all the elements from steps 1 and 2 and create one full-class story. They were given the leeway to sift and select as well as add to the original elements.
On large sheets of flip-chart paper, a "plot graph" was drawn and handed over to the class. No one was chosen to be the leader - but someone was expected to take the leadership. Responsible leadership. That really means that everyone was to be involved, by encouragement from whoever took on the leadership. At different stages of this process, feedback was given to each child on the quality of his/her contribution (dominating or inclusive; passivity or active listening, etc.) and often asked to evaluate this as well. Therefore there was also responsible team-work. Then, of course, the creative process: in this the children learnt how to introduce conflict, tension, sustain it, and allow it to reach a peak before gradually resolving it. There was a lot of side-coaching required for this part, as even Grade 8 students were often at a loss about how to take the story forward without completely destroying it. The creative skills to be learnt during this stage don't need enumeration.
Often, during this part of the process, the children returned to their research, or looked for more information to bring authenticity into their story. Questions like, "Did contact lenses exist in the 1940s?" and "What sort of music would have played at a bar in 1929 in Berlin?" or "What percentage of bullies go on to become criminals?" came up from the groups. Research skills. Inquiry-based learning. All of this happened completely naturally.
When the story was about half-done, back-stage responsibilities were chosen by each child. This ranged from costumes, sets, props, lights, sound, publicity and stage management. EVERY child had to choose one. Why? Ask any of the students and they will explain that drama is not just acting on stage. That acting on stage is a very small part of what drama is all about.
After picking one (some adventurous children picked more than one), it was more time at the drawing board - researching the period for costumes, sets and props; learning about lights; writing drafts for posters and brochures. Many drafts were made - for every aspect - and children came to discuss them, improve upon them and final begin to create them. Needless to say, each child had an individual approach - some caught me at dinner to show their drafts while others required some chasing!
The plot graphs were finally ready. Along the way, many scenes had already been improvised ("Will it work or won't it?"), so each child already knew the performing capability of each other. So, onto casting. We made a list of characters, and each role was cast in a truly democratic way - through voting! That's democracy at the grass roots! Seriously, what better way is there to teach the concept of democracy - we have the roles, we have the candidates - and we choose the BEST POSSIBLE candidate for each role. Because, if we don't, OUR play will not be performed to its logical potential.
Onto blocking each scene, looking into the logical flow of the story from scene to scene, as well as amending the plot line to make it smooth and seamless. All the grade 8 classes scripted their plays, and polished them after receiving feedback. Interestingly, they did this even though they were not required to... So, what they had earlier found a drag ("Oh, ma'am, why do we have to WRITE in drama?") was a skill learnt so well that they recognised its importance without being told.
Expected learning outcomes: that children will not only devise the on-stage performance, but design the entire production through hands-on work; that the final performance would be a an act of collective creation - building something quite literally out of nothing; and in doing so, have ready-made models of WORKING TOGETHER CREATIVELY that can be used for any other subject EITHER IN SCHOOL or later in life no matter what they choose to do in life.
Does this sound like a useful set of skills?
I would like to share an interesting statistic about performance-based drama which may raise further questions on who really wants children to participate in public performances. All the children began working on the year-end production in January, worked through February, part of March and April, finally performing in the first week of May. ONLY ONE CLASS (out of my eight classes) asked for an audience. All the others were happy to just have their performances recorded on tape, and invited about two or three people to watch it. Some were very clear about NOT wanting an audience at all.
What does this tell us about performance-based drama? Was the experience any less rich for the children in the absence of an audience? Or, would it have been qualitatively any different had they performed for others?
Friday, May 22, 2009
Perspectives on Drama, Or, How to Solve Global Problems Through Drama
This one is on Process-based Drama vs Performance-based Drama
Repeatedly we hear, "Isn't drama about performance?" By this, what most people mean is "public performance", so when I respond with, "Yes, sure, my students perform in almost every lesson that we have," I get a wondering look. I can almost hear their thoughts: "Sure, they perform in my classes too - so what's so special about drama lessons?"
Obviously, this is no one's fault. We are, at the end of the day, products of our experiences; and most people of our generation have never had the opportunity to study drama as a process-based subject.
So, what is the process and why is it important to help others, especially fellow teachers, to understand (and if possible) use it?
The term “drama therapy” is not alien to most of us. However, few people have either been through it or know what it can really do for us.
Imagine a room full of people who are meeting for the first time and have been given a near-impossible task; let’s give them a really big task – say, save the world from global warming. Let’s, in fact, raise the stakes and say that they have 24 hours in which to do this.
What do you think they should do first of all?
Beginning making plans to save the planet? Well, if there are 10 people, they are likely to have 10 distinct plans which they really believe is the only way to go about the task. Furthermore, they are more than likely to completely disagree with each others’ views.
What are the possible scenarios that could emerge?
First, Mr Stern Regulatory Measures would get into an argument with Ms Free-Market Economy. Then, conflict would break out between Mr Long-term Measures and Ms Short-term Gains. Somewhere in another corner of the room, Ms Reduce Reuse Recyle would be seen trying to cajole Mr Progress Before All into considering the benefits of shutting down polluting industries. And of course, there would be an endless debate in progress between Mr Third-World Nation and Mr Capitalism. Needless to say, Ms Socialist would not agree with Ms Enterprise.
Let us introduce a drama facilitator into this room. I choose the term “facilitator” as opposed to “teacher” after careful thought. The reasons for this will, hopefully, become clear without obvious explanations.
The very first thing Mr Drama Facilitator is likely to do is … you guessed it… organize everyone into a “warm up” exercise. He would probably choose one that was heavy on the “bonding” bit, perhaps with a peppering of “mental and physical alertness”. So, how does a “warm up” help you bond with someone else? The aims of the game itself are likely to help you forget your own distinct personality, subsume it to accommodate the needs of the game, and add a large dose of FUN. Someone said, “The team that plays together, stays together,” and they didn’t mean the Indian cricket team.
Repeatedly we hear, "Isn't drama about performance?" By this, what most people mean is "public performance", so when I respond with, "Yes, sure, my students perform in almost every lesson that we have," I get a wondering look. I can almost hear their thoughts: "Sure, they perform in my classes too - so what's so special about drama lessons?"
Obviously, this is no one's fault. We are, at the end of the day, products of our experiences; and most people of our generation have never had the opportunity to study drama as a process-based subject.
So, what is the process and why is it important to help others, especially fellow teachers, to understand (and if possible) use it?
The term “drama therapy” is not alien to most of us. However, few people have either been through it or know what it can really do for us.
Imagine a room full of people who are meeting for the first time and have been given a near-impossible task; let’s give them a really big task – say, save the world from global warming. Let’s, in fact, raise the stakes and say that they have 24 hours in which to do this.
What do you think they should do first of all?
Beginning making plans to save the planet? Well, if there are 10 people, they are likely to have 10 distinct plans which they really believe is the only way to go about the task. Furthermore, they are more than likely to completely disagree with each others’ views.
What are the possible scenarios that could emerge?
First, Mr Stern Regulatory Measures would get into an argument with Ms Free-Market Economy. Then, conflict would break out between Mr Long-term Measures and Ms Short-term Gains. Somewhere in another corner of the room, Ms Reduce Reuse Recyle would be seen trying to cajole Mr Progress Before All into considering the benefits of shutting down polluting industries. And of course, there would be an endless debate in progress between Mr Third-World Nation and Mr Capitalism. Needless to say, Ms Socialist would not agree with Ms Enterprise.
Let us introduce a drama facilitator into this room. I choose the term “facilitator” as opposed to “teacher” after careful thought. The reasons for this will, hopefully, become clear without obvious explanations.
The very first thing Mr Drama Facilitator is likely to do is … you guessed it… organize everyone into a “warm up” exercise. He would probably choose one that was heavy on the “bonding” bit, perhaps with a peppering of “mental and physical alertness”. So, how does a “warm up” help you bond with someone else? The aims of the game itself are likely to help you forget your own distinct personality, subsume it to accommodate the needs of the game, and add a large dose of FUN. Someone said, “The team that plays together, stays together,” and they didn’t mean the Indian cricket team.
Monday, May 18, 2009
How Children Evaluate Themselves
Sometimes, as an exercise in self-evaluation, I ask the students of my class to mark their work on a scale of 1 to 10. (This is different from those times when I provide them with a rubric to guide them.) I might give them a very general direction like, "How involved were you? How much did you contribute to the rehearsal?" etc. Before they tell me their evaluation of themselves, I put down a mark on 1 to 10.
More often than not, students mark their work lower than I have.
More often than not, students mark their work lower than I have.
Is this because they are modest or because they are far more critical of their own work than other people?
A recent self-evaluation had a Grade 6 student give herself an "E" because, according to her written explanation, she was "confused inside (her) head" when she went on stage. None of this confusion showed, of course, and I replayed the performance tape to check if it did. What was really interesting was that she did not comment on her greatly improved voice projection (and give herself a high grade for that) - she chose to be self-critical to the point of awarding herself the failing grade.
Is she the exception to the rule?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Drama in School is So Misunderstood
Consistently misunderstood, the scope of drama stretches so much further than stage performances.
When we begin each year, the first thing we do is create a great team. We meet the children for about an hour a week, and more than half the time is spent helping them bond with each other, understand in which ways they are different and the many ways in which they are all similar. By the end of the semester, after two or three classroom performances, they are ready to see each others' perspectives.
Another semester later, they are so well bonded that (usually) the year-end performance only serves to bring them very close.
What do they learn through the whole process of Drama?
- Working together - as a team: filling in for each others' weak spots, and appreciating, even celebrating, the strengths
- Discovering their own strengths
- Leading groups - and being able to experience the joys and challenges of being at the helm
- Creating something meaningful, often out of nothing more than stray thoughts
And yet, unless there are PUBLIC performances, people outside the drama department feel that we are "doing nothing".
After putting one's heart and soul into making learning meaningful for children - that sort of perception has the power to hurt, and it has the absolute power to hurt absolutely! So much that drama teachers the world over (I'm willing to bet I'm not the only person who has gone through this) probably sacrifice "process" for "performance".
In the final analysis, though, the children stand to lose.
So many of them will not take up any aspect of drama as a career. But what they learn through the process is definitely likely to make them successful in any work they take up; at the very least, the self-awareness that is inherent in a process-based programme will help children become "happy" adults.
So, how do we make a case for drama as a process?
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