Molding Young Minds

Before I regale you with stories of the teaching clinic that I recently conducted in Udaipur, I want to extend a belated thank you to Brett Konner. Konner, a buddy of mine from college, has been a fan of my musings from the beginning, and has also been a valuable source of advice for enhancing my blog from one of the bare-bones variety to the gleaming web page currently sitting before you. He recently took his love for my little travelogue to the next level when he posted a link on his site, brettkonner.com. (Apparently he is not as creative as me in the website naming department. However, his site is far more impressive in all other respects. Thanks for letting me win one, Konner.) Anyway, thanks to Brett for the shout-out and be sure to check out his site for a few laughs.


In Thailand, I taught middle-aged women and had to be, you know, mature. In Nepal, I taught sparingly and mostly served as an athletic advisor to a collection of rambunctious adolescent boys. In India, a middle ground was found as I was able to indulge my lingering juvenile instincts (see above picture) while my charges, in the words of Mr. Eric Cartman, still had to "respect my authoritah." (Standard South Park reference.) Assigned to tutor a group of ten fourth graders, I was in my element. To clarify, the kids were old enough to not be incessantly annoying (as opposed to the really little ones, with whom my patience wanes), yet weren't old enough to possibly make me nervous. Furthermore, I could pick up any of them in order to physically remove them from the classroom if necessary. Thankfully, I didn't have to resort to such measures, but my height was instrumental in maintaining an iron fist over the coloring sessions and memory games. (Like I said, respect my authoritah.)

My place of educational excellence, namely the Sonariya local school, is a salmon-colored structure that, despite the wear and tear of many years of use, is kept in remarkably good condition, especially considering the harsh environmental and economic climates of the district it lies within. Situated on a bumpy dirt road, the school educates children of a wide range of academic abilities and attendance records, luring them with the promise of a free meal and the sage wisdom of yours truly. (I think most of them came for the meal.) The building is simple, but provided me with all that I needed to work my magic (there was a blackboard and some chalk). Pictured below are a few shots of the Sonariya school, including the "water fountain," and one of the surrounding area.


Over the course of my teaching placement, I covered the fundamental topic areas of colors, animals, vegetables, fruits, and the riotously funny body parts unit. (Even in rural India, 10-year-olds know the word "booby." Debaucherous, I know.) The students' abilities ranged significantly, but all of them cooperated (for the most part) in keeping the disruptive shenanigans to a minimum, which I appreciated.


One of my personal favorites, as well as the unofficial class Casanova, was Mangilal, who is pictured above with his slightly creepy teacher. Mangilal found speaking to me in Hindi hilarious and he often delighted his classmates with his antics. Did I get mad? No, I simply embraced his comedic wit and began offering English responses to his Hindi questions (which I obviously didn't understand). An example:

Mangilal : Yammering in Hindi...

Alex : "Um, no I didn't see Indian Idol last night."

Mangilal : More Hindi...

Alex : "Yes, I agree that Kapil should have won."

The rest of my kids also provided many funny, endearing, and occasionally irksome moments over the three weeks that I spent schooling them. Teaching alone (most of the classes had two volunteers) was exhausting, but extremely rewarding. The heat was a major factor as I found myself drained of energy while standing at the front of the room on more than one occasion. In fact, I nearly passed out a few times, but valiantly shook off the dizziness and stayed upright. (I'll take a bow now.) Anyway, the pictures below were taken on my last day in Udaipur. (The low attendance was due to a wedding in the community - a fairly routine occurrence - and not my poor teaching. At least that's what the kids told me; maybe they were just being nice.)

L to R: Sita, Mangilal, Meena, and Jamnalal

L to R: Sita, Bhawana, Meena, Tara

Jamnalal and yours truly (shouldn't be a need for a "L to R" helper, but let me know if you're confused as to who's who)

In addition to our teaching duties at the government primary school, we also taught at a local orphanage in the late afternoon. As one of the tallest volunteers (I think "most muscular" was mentioned as well), the staff thought that my pedagogical/disciplinary skills were most needed in the fifth grade class, to which I was assigned along with one other volunteer. The all-boys facility was a bit of a madhouse at times, but our kids were great fun and managed to stay focused on the lessons (most of the time). I can't remember many specifics of the teaching sessions (it was kind of a blur), but I do recall laughing when covering the "transport" unit. Although we were intending to introduce only basic vehicles like cars and boats, the poster we were using as a lesson guide displayed all sorts of obscure (and somewhat ridiculous) modes of transport, such as a hovercraft, a concrete mixer, and a cable car. And, of course, the kids wanted to know all of them. So as I sat on the floor of an Udaipur orphanage trying to get a bunch of fifth graders to pronounce "hovercraft," I couldn't help chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. (To be sure, it was merely a slight chuckle; I needed to maintain my authoritah.)

After an hour of informal teaching, the various classes would convene outside in the dusty yard to attempt to play some sort of communal game. I write "attempt" because our efforts at organizing "Duck, Duck, Goose" or something else of that ilk usually devolved into a chaotic mess of typical schoolyard wrestling, shadow boxing, jumping competitions, etc. (Oh well, at least they were having fun.) The one activity for which the boys would maintain order was jumping rope. More accurately, they love jumping rope. As with most athletic activities involving pubescent boys, these sessions inevitably turned into a competition (albeit a friendly one), which kept the easily distracted students fully focused on clearing the rope. So, if you ever find yourself having to entertain a bunch of Indian boys, make sure you pack a jump rope.

For your viewing pleasure, photos of the orphanage building, my students, and our jump rope bonanza can be seen below.


NB: I returned home on Wednesday after nearly 20 consecutive hours of being in an airplane, airport, or airport bathroom. (For the record, I didn't particularly enjoy being in any of them.) I thought that I would have some difficulty finishing up the blog reports because of the bevy of females who would be demanding my time when I returned to the States. Since said bevy apparently does not exist (at least my parents and dog seem happy to see me), I am buckling down in an effort to wrap up the Ramblings this weekend with some final reports and thoughts. Admittedly, it's a tad strange to be writing about living in India while sitting on my couch, but I will find a way to make the stories as authentic as possible. (I'm just that good.)