Naughtiness Redefined

The Girls Behaving Properly...I think?

I like to think of myself as well versed in the elusive skill of classroom mangement.  For my civilian readers, classroom management is the term used by educators to connote one’s ability to “get kids to act like they have home training so you can teach them a few things on a semi-regular basis.”  Over the years, I have gotten more than a few confirmations that I  have indeed earned the self-awarded title of The Benevolent Dictator.  Several student teachers have thanked me for modeling a tangible example of how to require (and receive) respectful, non-disruptive behavior without being overly punitive or permissive.  Visitors to my school, administrators and fellow teachers routinely comment that it only takes one quick observation of my classroom to know it houses teens who are crystal clear on what I expect from them and are careful not to fall below my expectations.

I  do not tolerate naughtiness in my classroom in the USA so it stands to reason that I would not tolerate naughtiness in my classroom in India, right?

So, here is the thing about cultural norms: they often dictate what we view as acceptable or not.  This, in turn, sets the standard for what we define as crossing the line of  appropriate behavior.  America has a standard for what it defines as students being naughty.  And India has its own standard.

Naughtiness looks REALLY different in India.  It bares so little resemblance to USA naughtiness, somebody needs to get a paternity test.  Naughtiness continues to elude me at Shri Shikshayatan School; I never see it, yet according to my fellow educators, the girls are flaunting it all up and down the corridors.  And for shame, they sometimes unleash their naughtiness on ME, a guest teacher at their school!

Recently, while rotating around a tightly packed classroom of 52 children, I stop at one table to answer a student’s question.  For the most part, the students are working quietly and much of the pockets of muted chatter I hear is about the assignment itself so I don’t bother chastising the girls for talking.  In the USA, many teachers overlook the “be quiet” rule when MOST of the talking is the result of students actively engaging in their work, even helping each other understand the work better.  Teachers are aware that some of the students are probably not actually engaged in their work, but are more likely engaged in discussing who was kicked off American Idol.  We ignore this reality, filing it under the “You can’t fight every battle” category.

Apparently, every battle is fought at Shri Shikshayatan School. 

The teacher whose class I am taking over on this day suddenly yells across the room, “Rashi!  Rashi Gupta, are you over there engaging in personal conversation right now?!”  Rashi has hardly begun the quintessential kid back tracking, when the teacher shuts her down: “Do not give a feeble excuse for your naughtiness.  Stop it right now and get back to your work as Ma’am instructed!” When the class is over, the teacher and I walk back to the staff lounge together.

“The class was so naughty today, no?”  She sighs and looks apologetically at me.

I have no idea what was naughty about any of the students’ behavior.  When she yelled at Rashi, I had instinctively adhered to the universal rule among teachers: Do not allow the children to divide and conquer.  So, I had followed her harsh chastisement of Rashi with a stern look in the girl’s direction and an added, “Get back to your work.”

There were other kids beside Rashi who were also naughty?  What were these children doing exactly?  And how had I missed it?

Because I want to require the same behavior from the students as their long term teachers, I spend the next few days searching diligently for naughty behavior.   Waiting for it to leap out of the girls who stand up whenever I walk into a room and greet me with: “Good Morning, Ma’am!”

When I am walking around the building, I try to be inconspicuous as I linger around classrooms, waiting.  Patiently waiting for the students whose eyes are locked on their teachers to do something naughty.  I wonder if their raised hands and enthusiastic pleas of, “Ma’am, call on me, Ma’am!” will transform to, “Miss, I told you I don’t know the answer, dang!” I want to see this happen so I can reprimand them for being so terribly, terribly naughty.

The only time I take a break from my naughtiness search is when I am at morning assembly.  Three days out of the week, all 4000 of the students at Shikshayatan are required to report to the school’s courtyard and line up by classes and grades.  The assemblies begin with the students singing and praying followed by standard school announcements and sometimes, a student speaker.  I love morning assemblies because I have found the prayer and singing very calming ways to begin a long, humid day inside the cavernous pressure cooker that is the school building.

Here, the girls seem to be at their best.  It is early in the morning and they haven’t had their first class yet.  Their mind is fresh and there have been no conflicts among friends, no chastisements from teachers to put students in a less than well-behaved mood.  Surely, morning assembly HAS to be a naughty-free zone?

And it is for the most part.  Mrs. Ganguly (“Principal Ma’am” to the kids and just plain ole “Ma’am” to the adults) normally only waits for a few seconds in order for the girls to get completely silent.  Occasionally, she has to scold them because it takes them much too long to completely stop talking and look directly at her.  But, on most days things run rather smoothly.

Except for the day when the entire 12th grade was being naughty and got themselves kicked off the courtyard. 

It happens right under my nose (AGAIN!!!).  I am standing on the same side of the courtyard as the seniors and am nonchalantly staring at the stage as Principal Ma’am demands: “Girls, it is already 9:25 and some of you are just getting to the assembly.”  I hear Principal Ma’am call for silence.  I hear Principal Ma’am call for silence again, making it known to all present that she should not have had to call for silence twice.  I hear Principal Ma’am call for the shuffling around to cease.  All routines that even I, after only a few short weeks here at the school, have come to anticipate before they even happen.

Then, all of sudden, Principal Ma’am is yelling at the seniors. “Class 12, what is wrong with you?  This behavior is unacceptable.”  My eyes shoot to the senior class and I look for it.  This sneaky naughtiness in action.  All I see is a large group of students doing what large groups of students normally do.  Some are shifting in their place.  A few are whispering to one another.  Most are just staring blankly at Principal Ma’am, waiting in that indifferent way that teenagers who are in their last year of high school often wait.  There are at least 300 of them.  As a group, they do not seem to be disruptive.  Is it possible that Principal Ma’am actually CAN see the six who are rolling their eyes?  The three who are mumbling under their breathe?  The girl in the corner giggling as she pokes out her tongue at a friend several lines away?

It doesn’t matter what I can or can not see.  Ma’am sees it all.  “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” she continues.  “Our senior most class ruining the mood of assembly this way.”  I think this is the end of her scolding, but: “Leave the courtyard, now.  You do not deserve to be here.”

Like magic, 3oo eigtheen year old women do an about face and march from the courtyard in near perfect sync.  As they leave, Principal Ma’am orders the other students to keep their eyes forward. “Do not look at the senior class as they exit. They have been shameful.  They do not need more attention.”

I abandon my search for more naughtiness.  I transfer my energy into being certain that I am not being naughty.  Until I have memorized and am able to recite the Shikshayatan definition  of naughtiness, I am going to play it safe and be extra, extra behaved.  I do not know if teachers can get kicked out of assembly as well.

So….

When Principal Ma’am instructs, “Stop shuffling,” I stand up straight and tall.

When Principal Ma’am instructs, “Now fold your hands for prayer,” I squeeze my eyes shut and put my hands into prayer position.

“Now, bow your head.”

I do as I am told.

When the students begin their morning song/prayer, I sway to the music coming from the stage.  I smile as the girls chant in harmony to Saraswati, the Goddess of Knowledge, asking her to guide them through their day of learning. 

I pray for Saraswati to make me smarter.  Able to figure out what the seniors did and what Rashi did.  I only have about two more weeks left at Shikshayatan, but I must leave having identified naughtiness and properly reprimanding the offender for it.  There is a different definition here. I want to learn it.  Teach it to others.

I am not a Naughty Girl, Ma’am

No Fun for the Naughty

A kid is a kid is a kid…

It is nice to be reminded of this when I walk into one of the 8th grade classes yesterday afternoon.  The last time I saw this particular class was exactly one week ago and I had taken great care to explain to them that their homework to write one paragraph was due that next time they saw me.  I had the class recite the day I would return to their classroom.  “We will see Keturah Ma’am again on Tuesday,” they all chimed in unison.

Needless to say, when I walked in on Tuesday and asked to see their homework, 15 girls proudly held up their notebooks while the other 30 or so looked around the room or at the floor.  “What?  How is it possible that only 15 of you were responsible enough to do your homework?” I started the standard teacher lecture, only I made this version of it more intense. Although I feigned confusion at why most of the class had not done their homework, I was completely clear on why they hadn’t.  I was the guest teacher who they would only see twice a week for a month so in their little minds it was okay not to take any work I assigned (especially HOMEwork) too seriously.

“This is absolutely unacceptable,” I continued my lecture.  “You still have to work on the days I teach you.  Although you are having fun when I am teaching you, this IS NOT a free period.”

Every American teacher gives this lecture to a room full of students at least once a month.  Every American student sits silently and pretends to pay attention to this lecture.  Occasionally, the goal of the teacher lecture is achieved and the offending slacker(s) is visibly ashamed and might shyly slip the teacher a repentant letter full of empty promises to do better.  Although a kid IS a kid, these Indian kids are…something different altogether. 

Before I  have even reached the pinnacle of my beautifully guilt-ridden speech about how deeply disappointed I am in the class I was beginning to think of as my favorite, a dozen of the students basically begin begging for my forgiveness.

“I am so sorry, Ma’am,” one of them shouts out randomly.  Several girls bellow out their own apologies as well.

“I did do the assignment,” another stands up and pleads for me to listen. “It is just that I forgot my notebook at home.”  When I tell her that this excuse is even worse than if she had not actually done the homework, she looks crestfallen and sinks back into her desk. 

I seperate the girls who have their assignments from the girls who do not.  “I want all of you on this side of the room to get up with your things,” I instruct them with a frown on my face.  “I would like the 15 girls who actually did what they were supposed to do to sit in these vacant seats.  You will have a fun assignment to do while your classmates take up our valuable time by doing their homework.”

This. freaks. the class. out.  I have been teaching for six years.  In a good American school.  I have NEVER seen anything like what I am about to describe to you. 

One girl begins to ferociously scribble in her notebook.  Her little pencil is biting violently into her paper as she calls to me, “Look, Ma’am, I am writing my paragraph.  I am doing it.  See, Ma’am.  I can go to that side of the room now?”  I tell her she can not.  That she must stop scribbling down random words and take her time. “Look back at your graphic organizer,” I respond to her plea with an expressionless face. “I expect to see each idea on that web explained in complete sentences that flow logically together.” 

While I am rebuking this child’s attempt to win my favor, one girl thinks she can “sneak” to the side of the room where the kids who are not in trouble are sitting.  From the corner of my eye, I see her inch her way two seats to the left, all the while keeping an eye on me at the front of the room.

“Where do you think you are going?”  The little sneak freezes and stares blankly at me, as if her brain can not formulate an excuse quick enough.  I swear, this kid reacts as if I were border patrol standing on that tiny bridge that seperates Tijuana from San Diego. 

“Ma’am,” she pleads.  “Please let me sit here on this side. I do not want to be on the side with the naughty girls.  I am not a naughty girl.”

It takes everything in me not to burst into laughter at this point.  This child is willing to sneak to the other side of the room eventhough she will not be allowed to do the fun assignment just to physically disassociate herself with having done something wrong. 

“Get back to your seat.”

“Ma’am, please.  I am so sorry.  Please, Ma’am.”

When I say nothing to her, only point to the Mexico side of the room, she bows her head and slowly slinks back to Tijuana.

 In the two weeks I have taught at Shri Shikshayatan, I have gotten in the habit of carrying with me pencils and pens with the name of my U.S. school written on them.  When someone has made a really good comment or has had the courage to read her work out loud, I have handed her a pencil or pen as a gift.  Today, 15 students get a pencil as they work in small groups on a funny story that incorporates all of the new words I have taught them in these two weeks.

The naughty side of the room shoots their classmates looks that suggest they would hurl themselves across the room, beat these 15 girls down and take their pencils were I not standing in front of them.   For me, this little episode is over.  I have made my point and feel no need to further my chastisement. For some reason, though, I do not think the class feels the same as I do.  A day later when I pass several of the “naughty” girls in the hall, they can not look me in the eye.

These kids are kids.  Just a little bit extra!

Checking Off the Bucket List

Gifts From Students

Somewhere around the 3^rd or 4^th hour of our layover in Dubai, one of my fellow traveling teachers came up with a marvelous idea.  “We should all make a bucket list,” Breanna suggested.  “We only have five weeks, people.  Think about all the things you MUST do before we go back to the states.”  By the time our plane had landed in Kolkata, I had compiled my list; it was short, yet deeply sincere.

Keturah’s Bucket List:

1. Eat like a ravenous dog
2. Attend an Indian wedding
3. Learn how to properly tie a sari in less than an hour

I diligently went to work checking off my list.  On my first day at Shri Shikshayatan  School, the principal, Mrs. Ganguly, invited me to speak at the school assembly in front of her 4000 students.  After introducing myself, saying a little bit about my school back home and thanking the administration and faculty for being so welcoming to me, I decided to speak from my heart since the 4000 sets of eyes staring back at me seemed enraptured by my every word.

“Finally, girls, I would like to say I am looking forward to eating every single thing your lovely country has to over.  I am particularly prepared to stuff myself silly with garlic naan with extra butter.  Thank you.”  Now, it was not my intent to suggest to the students that they should bring me food.  That would be unethical and rather presumptuous.  However, if these eager-to-please girls chose to bring in food for me, well, how rude would it be to turn down the meals their mothers had worked so hard to prepare?

To my surprise, the kids immediately began handing over their lunches to me.  Only one day after my harmless comment, random girls were passing me samosas, halves of sandwiches and an assortment of fried pancake-looking thingies.  Once, I somehow found myself supervising a class whose lesson I had just finished.  For some odd reason, the teacher who was due to teach the class after me was not there and no one seemed to know when she would arrive. (Sidebar: A post on Indians and their disinterest in promptness is soon to come.)  When the class realized that I was going to stay for 10 extra minutes, their eyes lit up as they ripped off the tops of their plastic containers.

“Mam, here…” a tiny little 8^th grader who had spent most of the class period staring at me like I was Jesus offered.  “You should eat this.”  My little disciple tried to explain to me what it was I was eating, but her accent was thick and she spoke so softly that I had trouble making out what she was saying. 

Before I could finish whatever it was the first young lady had given me, someone else ran up to the front of the room with a variety of snacks. There were sandwiches.  More fried pancake looking thingies.  Lentils.  Bread.  Lots of bread.  And sweets.  While half of the class was begging me to eat their meager little lunches, the other half was literally shoving their notebooks in my faces.  Because the class period was shorter than I was used to and there were twice as many kids in the room, I had not had a chance to at least skim the students’ writing assignments as they worked.  Back home in the states, I routinely spot check most, if not all, of my students’ in-class writing before the period ends.  I discovered rather quickly this was not a remote possibility here in India. So, I only had the chance to check out about 5 girls’ paragraphs.  The other 45 were now standing before me shoving food in my hands and their orange, school-approved notebooks in my face.

“Mam, will you read my paragraph, please?” was becoming a resounding chorus as I waited for the next teacher to show up.

“Mam, will you sing for us?” was another frequent request.  Several less timid students made suggestions. “Do you know Akon?  Rihanna?  Justin Bieber?”  When I sorrowfully explained that I was 36 and therefore knew nothing about these American singers besides their names, class 8F was more than willing to catch me up.  Before I knew what was happening, two girls who seemed to be the requisite “queen bees” of any girls’ school were up on their feet singing and dancing to Beiber’s Baby, Baby, Baby.

Warning: What you are about to read for the rest of this post is really unethical.  Even as I was doing this unethical thing, I thought to myself: “Whoa…I can not believe I am actually doing this unethical thing!”

When I left 8F to go and teach 8A, this little devil popped onto my left shoulder.  An angel did surface onto my right, but I think she suffers from ADHD and is often not really paying attention when the devil puts ideas in my head.  “Keturah,” that sly devil whispered.  “If these girls are willing to give you all their food, beg you to read their little paragraphs AND put on a little talent show for you, well then…”

I walked into the classroom where 8A sat with the intent of starting my lesson the exact same way I had 40 minutes earlier.  “My name is Ms. Kendrick.  We will be working together for the next month on vocabulary building and paragraph writing.”

And I must say, I did EVENTUALLY get to that part.

But, before I or my inattentive, incompetent angel could stop him, that damn devil blurted out: “Is anyone’s older sister or auntie getting married between now and Aug. 12?”  The girls looked around, a bit confused.  Their regular teacher, who had been told to stay with me for the first class to make sure I was comfortable, repeated what I asked.  One girl stood up smiling.  “Yes, Mam…my uncle, not my sister will be married soon.  You will come?”

Of course I will!

The teacher excitedly exclaimed: “I will get you an appropriate sari.  You will enjoy yourself.”  The whole class is aflutter and excited. 

One more item left on my bucket list.  What is a girl to do for the next four weeks?