Dear dedicated reader,
The monsoon rain, which has been absent for a week, has returned in the same, unexpected way that it left. This morning, I was baptized by a torrential downpour creating a sheet of water through which I had to walk from the shower to the house.
Through it all, classes continue. The students are dedicated, but sneaky. There is a small, round faced kid named Hitesh that sits in the front of my 9D class.
Standing at probably 4’5”, he is so cute I want to take him home, but every time I turn around, he is up to some kind of mischief, touching my things on the front desk (especially my radioshack clock) or talking with the person next to him or not looking at the textbook. I will come from the back of the class to the front to see that all my carefully placed lesson items have been sloppily rearranged. When I go to chastise him, he beams up at me with a smile that melts my resolve into a puddle on the wood floor.
Hitesh is only one of the 60 boys that I have in my 9D class. The first time I went to take this class, I was warned by Jagrutiben that it was the talk of the staff room, everyone was discussing how the class of 9D was so difficult.
However, when I first entered the room, the class was so silent you could hear a pin drop. I think they had not been warned that the white girl hanging out around the school would actually be their teacher.
Through their class and the other ninth grade classes, I have come to understand how the Indian school system really functions, from a students’ perspective. This is best illustrated from when I first assigned homework. I asked the students to do an exercise from the book where they were given three vocabulary words per question and asked to make a sentence with them. Not only did every student in 9D come back with the exact same sentences, but every class that I teach had, word for word, the same answers written on their papers.
I pondered quickly how to address this with 9D. “So,” I began, “I don’t know exactly how things work around here, but in the U.S., if you copy someone’s work, that’s called cheating. Do you know this word, cheating?”
They nodded. Some said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Satisfied, I continued. “So, tell me, how have you ALL come to have the exact same sentences?”
Silence. Then, Zakariya, the class English prodigy, raised his hand. I indicated that he should speak. “Ma’am, there is this book.” He held it up. “All the answers to all the exercises are in this book.”
I was a little taken aback by his honesty. “I see,” I said, stalling for time while I tried to figure out how to respond. “So, you all copy out of this book?” There was a mixed, ashamed of response of yes ma’ams and no ma’ams. “Okay. So, from now on, write your own sentences, or I will give you a zero on the assignment.”
My favorite part about this threat was that it actually means nothing. The marks I give carry no weight – the only mark that counts is what they get on the state administered exam at the very end of the year. But the students don’t act like this is true – One of them came to ask me why he only got a three out of four on the last test.
I have repeated this threat to all of my classes – to some avail with the better students, to no avail with the students who have nothing to lose, which is many. One third of 9D failed my last test. I tried to hold office hours and require the failing students to come but this idea was shut down Sejalben and Jagrutiben who say this is not done in India and it would be unfair to the other students.
Extra help as unfair – I’d never really thought about it this way. What a meritocracy.
Best,
Cat
The monsoon rain, which has been absent for a week, has returned in the same, unexpected way that it left. This morning, I was baptized by a torrential downpour creating a sheet of water through which I had to walk from the shower to the house.
Through it all, classes continue. The students are dedicated, but sneaky. There is a small, round faced kid named Hitesh that sits in the front of my 9D class.
Standing at probably 4’5”, he is so cute I want to take him home, but every time I turn around, he is up to some kind of mischief, touching my things on the front desk (especially my radioshack clock) or talking with the person next to him or not looking at the textbook. I will come from the back of the class to the front to see that all my carefully placed lesson items have been sloppily rearranged. When I go to chastise him, he beams up at me with a smile that melts my resolve into a puddle on the wood floor.
Hitesh is only one of the 60 boys that I have in my 9D class. The first time I went to take this class, I was warned by Jagrutiben that it was the talk of the staff room, everyone was discussing how the class of 9D was so difficult.
However, when I first entered the room, the class was so silent you could hear a pin drop. I think they had not been warned that the white girl hanging out around the school would actually be their teacher.
Through their class and the other ninth grade classes, I have come to understand how the Indian school system really functions, from a students’ perspective. This is best illustrated from when I first assigned homework. I asked the students to do an exercise from the book where they were given three vocabulary words per question and asked to make a sentence with them. Not only did every student in 9D come back with the exact same sentences, but every class that I teach had, word for word, the same answers written on their papers.
I pondered quickly how to address this with 9D. “So,” I began, “I don’t know exactly how things work around here, but in the U.S., if you copy someone’s work, that’s called cheating. Do you know this word, cheating?”
They nodded. Some said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Satisfied, I continued. “So, tell me, how have you ALL come to have the exact same sentences?”
Silence. Then, Zakariya, the class English prodigy, raised his hand. I indicated that he should speak. “Ma’am, there is this book.” He held it up. “All the answers to all the exercises are in this book.”
I was a little taken aback by his honesty. “I see,” I said, stalling for time while I tried to figure out how to respond. “So, you all copy out of this book?” There was a mixed, ashamed of response of yes ma’ams and no ma’ams. “Okay. So, from now on, write your own sentences, or I will give you a zero on the assignment.”
My favorite part about this threat was that it actually means nothing. The marks I give carry no weight – the only mark that counts is what they get on the state administered exam at the very end of the year. But the students don’t act like this is true – One of them came to ask me why he only got a three out of four on the last test.
I have repeated this threat to all of my classes – to some avail with the better students, to no avail with the students who have nothing to lose, which is many. One third of 9D failed my last test. I tried to hold office hours and require the failing students to come but this idea was shut down Sejalben and Jagrutiben who say this is not done in India and it would be unfair to the other students.
Extra help as unfair – I’d never really thought about it this way. What a meritocracy.
Best,
Cat
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2 comments:
There is another reason this is considered unfair. Of course, the reason is very unfortunate and in my mind, it really has nothing at all to do with being a "meritocracy." The reason is that when students receive "extra help", they often receive it from teachers who have advance copies of the state and national exams. So then what these "teachers" who are also "tutors" do is to give copies of the exams to the students for an expensive fee. In Gujarat, it is therefore now illegal to be a tutor and simultaneously be a teacher in a classroom. There has been a backlash, though, in that a lot of teachers -- because of low wages -- have quit their jobs as teachers so they can continue as tutors because being a tutor yields higher pay.
I should add that a lot of the teachers who were doing this also had a high rate of absenteeism from the schools they were teaching at.
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