"Can you speak Math?'

Isn’t English just another language? Apparently not, in these parts of rural India.

The other day, Aparna and I spotted some country chickens by the roadside and stopped to buy free-range eggs. Sheela, a nine year old girl stepped out as we got in front of her house. I asked her for eggs, in Tamil.  Aparna asked me something in English, to make a point discreetly. I took my cue from her and replied briefly in English. When I turned back to Sheela I found her awe-struck. She was curious to know about the sounds that she just heard. I told her that we spoke in English. The expression on her face changed instantaneously; she was lost in thoughts and was not paying any attention to my translation.   

Suddenly she burst out, “Can you speak Math?” I was caught unaware. I didn’t understand the depth of her question. I simply said “No, I can’t speak Math”. Later that day when I had the time to mull over Sheela’s question I understood what she actually meant:

Here, the school syllabus consists of five courses or subjects viz. Tamil, English, Math, History-Geography and Science. Thus in Sheela’s mind, if I could speak Tamil and English I could possibly speak the next subject, Math, too.

Once I understood the profoundness of her question, I couldn’t just brush it aside as an innocuous one. I was seething with rage for this child. My mind was racing with thoughts such as:

What does this education mean to a child like her? Is it just a bunch of trivia that she has to know to pass some meaningless exams? This education has nothing to do with her real life, but yet she has to endure it for at least fourteen long years. She has to “learn” these subjects that absolutely no one around her seems to be knowing anything about. Above all, she is in the least bit interested in this “education” that has subsumed her childhood.

In this context, I would like to share this documentary on Schooling:

Schooling The World                                                               -

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I went to Kumar’s place in a nearby village to get some saplings. Kumar is in his forties. He owns a few acres of ancestral farm land. He lives with his elderly parents, wife and two children. The people of this village are mostly affluent and influential.

I have run into Kumar several times before and he had always tried hard to talk in English with me. Those were awkward moments for me to see him struggle to communicate in English while both of us could have conveniently and meaningfully conversed in Tamil. Kumar’s native language is Telugu. But he can speak fluent Tamil and switch between the two languages effortlessly.

He and his wife greeted me in when I got to his place. His wife is bilingual too. We were chatting over snacks and a drink of water. In just a few minutes, he asked me about my children’s education. He knew that they didn’t go to school. Before I could begin to reply, he interjected by saying, “your children must be smart and that’s why you are able to do this.”

I have heard this comment from so many people; but still it hurts me every time I hear it. So, I got started on many topics under the umbrella of education. I asked them both questions about their times at school and shared my radical views with them. I talked non-stop, in Tamil, for several minutes. I don’t know how much of what I said made sense to them. But something remarkable happened after I stopped. 

Kumar started to talk and this time he talked in Tamil. “My father is good at English. He worked for the British. But I never learned the language well. I had disappointed him. Now my son goes to an English medium school and my father expects him to learn good English.”

His facade was crumbling and he didn’t seem to care.

-- Hema