"There should be a gap"

Dear dedicated reader,

One of the major differences between the Indian and American student-teacher relationships has recently been illustrated for me and I want to take a break from telling you about the fall out from the recent media to tell you about it.

Having seen us out and about in the village, the invitations to students’ houses have piled up in recent days. The shy request of ‘Teacher, to my house?’ is one I hear frequently both inside the school after class and outside in the village. We were told by the Foundation that we were to check with the principal before visiting students’ houses, so until recently I have been putting students off with the promise of ‘Soon, soon’ as I’ve waited for the right moment to catch the principal.

However, recently Priya was out in the village to make a phone call at the P.C.O. booth (a shop in which you can make an international phone call in a godforsakenly hot call box) and was dragged forcefully to their houses by a band of girls who we have a hard time going anywhere without these days. A mix of 7th and 8th standard (roughly 11 and 12 years old), Shruti, Divya, Juhi, Komal and Khushboo (whose name I personally find hysterical, as ‘khushboo’ literally means ‘happy smell’ in Hindi) are our village guides, showing us the best place to find this or that, keeping us from being offered outrageous prices by shopkeepers, and so on. At each of the girls’ houses, she met their welcoming parents. Juhi’s parents, she related to me excitedly, had offered to take us around to see the ‘sights of Kadod’ (whatever those may be) in their van at 6 pm the next day.

“I suppose we’ll have to ask the principal,” I said, excited about the trip but curious to see what he would say.

We did not have to wait long to find out, as his wife, elder son, his elder son’s wife (Sejalben, also an English teacher at the school) and his youngest son came to visit at just that moment. While they were over, we mentioned the invitation which had been offered.

Sejalben looked concerned. “Who is the girl? Who are her parents?” She asked, furrowing her brow.

Priya explained that she went to the school and that she was in Sejalben’s 8th standard English class.

The principal’s son said simply, “We’ll have to ask my father, we’ll let you know tomorrow.” After waiting a week for our cell phones with the same promise, I knew how likely this was.

The next day, the girls stopped by our house after school with hopeful faces, saying “Che baje?” (Six o’clock?)

Since we hadn’t seen the principal or his family the entirety of the day, all we could say was, “We’ll see…”

Sitting out on the porch, reading my book, I saw as the principal came inside the gate of the compound and walked up the path towards his house, stopping when he saw me and smiling.

“How…are your classes going?” He asked me in the halting English he speaks in which would be mistaken for hesitancy if I didn’t know better.

“Very well!” I replied, happily. They really have been.

“The students, they… understand you?”

“Oh yes, I think so,” I said, reassuring him. “Also, Jagrutiben has been a great help in making sure that they do. But speaking of the students…” I paused, as he looked at me curiously. I continued, carefully. “Priya and I have received an invitation from the parents of one of the girls to go in their car to see the sights of Kadod, and we were wondering if that would be all right.” I let the idea sink in for a moment.

He paused thoughtfully and then said, “No, I think not.” He cleared his throat and continued. “You see, in India, between students and teachers, there should be a … gap. Students and teachers are not mixing, you see, and parents and teachers are not mixing. Always there should be a gap, for respect.”

I said, “Of course, thank you for explaining to me. I do not know these things because I am not from here so I am always happy to have them explained.” Inwardly, I winced. A gap? But how was this possible to maintain in a place as small as this?

He smiled and continued, “If a teacher is inviting you to their house, you can go. Jagrutiben or another lady teacher. But with students there must be a gap.”

I nodded cheerfully, inwardly remembering my brief visits to the Ladies’ Staff Room.

He turned to go in the house and I took my seat again on the porch, mulling this new information over in my head. Reluctantly, I relayed the news to Priya who was dispatched to tell the girls waiting at the gate. I did not envy her the task. Disappointed preteens are nothing to trifle with.

Since the edict was issued, we have already run into…well, issues following it. But those I will leave for another time, dear reader.

Best,
Cat