Rajasthan’s Robin Williams from Dead Poet’s Society

Rajen Makhijani
Aug 24, 2017 · 5 min read

What does a gender champion look like at the ground level in a public school? Could it involve us urbanites shelving our own stereotypes? How do these champions compete with the onslaught of private school marketing blitzs?

All this & more as I learn to unlearn at a rural govt school in Khetri, Rajasthan

Government school learning outcomes here were SUPERIOR to private school outcomes, as reported by parents and government school teachers. At one parent’s home, the girl in Class II could read and do math better than the her brother in Class III in a private school.

So why send to private school? 4 reasons: (a) Child looks more smart in a tie, “tip-top hokar”. (b) Goes in a bus — that’s cooler than walking; for some it solves a real problem of distances involved with the government school (b) Private schools give more homework, so feels like more studies. (c) Marketing by private schools is attractive — they paste the picture of the top scorer in every village, and (d) This is the tragic one — some of them bribe parents and families — you get the school bus-driver job if you can enrol a certain number of kids from your area.

Okay, so we’ve spoken to the parents. And we are here now at the school. Let’s talk to the kids. But hey, they are very shy. How to engage them?

Music & dance transcends boundaries, fills kids with confidence — the super shy and reticent kids hardly make eye contact or even mutter a word in response to my innocuous questions. And then, a song is played, and off she goes and how! Her whole being is in a free flow of self-expression!

A biting moral dilemma suddenly presented itself — I’ve been clapping to the catchy tune. I want to encourage her. But I now begin to follow the lyrics — “Itna ban-than-ke jaavengi, toh Kidnap ho jaavengi” (If you look so pretty, you’ll get kidnapped!). 12 year olds are humming this misogyny together. The girl’s dancing to it. Being kidnapped is the ultimate acknowledgement of how attractive you look! OMG! This is wrong, screams something in me. The poets in this society, are clearly dead. Or should be!

Who selected and played this song! Their teacher! The same one who’s producing the superior reading skills, and has been helping them learn patriotic poems!

Do I confront him on his choice of the song? When? How?

I wait for now. And later I do bring it up with him — 1-on-1. Respectfully.

The teacher shares that DJ’s at marriage parties play only these Haryanvi numbers. All kids dance to them. I wonder why? Their parents must be dancing to it. “Idiots!” I swear under my breath.

But hang on. Before I judge them, let me ask — what was the last number I was dancing to?

Okay, so the music has opened them up a bit. Let’s ask about their dreams. Yes, they do have them — teacher, doctor, army, and my favourite was the girl that wanted to join the police! Encourage, nurture and invest. These flowers will bloom!

I am now taken to their ‘library’. It is simply a classroom with 3–4 lines of strings, and ~80 books strung from them. It may look unimpressive to urban eyes. But getting this done was monumental! It gave access to books and ideas that were inaccessible in this remote village. We pick a Safdar Hashmi poem and sing with the kids. That means something to me — Safdar Hashmi was stabbed and killed in broad daylight by political goons in the heart of the national capital while performing a socially relevant street play. Here in this small hamlet in Rajasthan’s Jhunjhunu district, his thoughts live on, through this tiny 80 book library.

How did this happen? Through the efforts of Gandhi Fellows of Kaivalya Foundation — an entity funded by the Piramal group. They have been working here for 5 years.

They have seen ups, and downs. Take the story of the trees planted in the school courtyard — an initiative of love, care and devotion by the Gandhi Fellow stationed here. As the saplings grew into young plants, someone from the village rampaged them overnight, for no apparent reason. Deeply hurt, he could have just packed up the bags to go back home. But instead, he mobilised all students and teachers. Together, they took out a procession and went door-to-door, educating people, enrolling them into the cause of the environment and education.

As the new set of saplings grew into trees, something else started to change as well. Earlier, girl students would help with school chores associated with mid-day meals, etc and the boys would water the plants, build little bunds around them, and do the ‘physical work’.

The teacher beams as he shares how he dissolved these stereotypes. Tasks were no longer gender-specific. From the same guy who was playing “Kidnap ho jaavengi”, a few minutes earlier, I learn how he worked to change stereotypes — in action. “Life is complex. Stop before you judge”, I remind myself.

The school visit is over. We are headed to the community. A thought crosses my mind looking at the barren village. What use is school education to these folks? How will they use it here? Either they migrate, or they waste the investment into education. Admitting to this thought would be suicidal for me. But a utilitarian thought does arise every now and then.

The answer is not too far. We enter another parent home in the village. Two ladies are seen. One with a ghoonghat (a veil). The other without. They are the wives of the two brothers. They all live together under one roof. As it turns out, the husband of the one without the veil has studied upto Class X. The other brother hasn’t. I have my answer on what they will do with their education.

I return from my trip — having once again learnt to unlearn. To know that John Keating from t he movie ‘Dead Poet’s Society’ lives in on in many different shapes and forms. As a development sector professional, I must have the ability and humility to see him when he shows up!

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Written by

TEDx speaker twice, Award nominated screenwriter of 4 movies, Father of 3, Executive coach, Development sector professional

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