Visit to the Ivory Tower

Dear dedicated reader,

A ten minute walk, a 2 hour bus ride and a half hour rickshaw ride from the Surat bus station led Tabussum (our co-teacher), Melissa and me to the desk of the Surat University Library yesterday. A supposed academic power-house of Gujarat, the campus itself was made up of the same concrete style buildings that characterize the prevalent architectural style here (reminiscent of the riot-proof American university buildings constructed on many campuses in the 1970s). The campus had an unkempt feel: the gardens were slightly overgrown, the paving stones askew, the piles of rubble from various construction projects spilling out into the campus pathways. It may only have felt that way because of the emptiness: no students could be seen anywhere, likely because of Monday’s being Republic Day (the anniversary of the day that the Indian Constitution was adopted) and thus a long weekend.

Outside the library on the steps, two middle-aged men sat idly reading Gujarati periodicals. As we approached, they glanced at us over the tops of their newspapers carelessly, then, did a double-take and put their newspapers down. As we moved to walk past them, they held out a hand to stop Tabussum.

“Where are you going?” They asked her in Gujarati with a look of concern.

The purpose of our visit was to become visiting members of the Surat University Library. Recently, I’d been expressing my desire to Tabussum to conduct some research on teacher training approaches in India and she had taken the initiative to ask her former professor in her B.Ed program (the equivalent of a certificate program in the US) to recommend some books and how we could obtain them. This type of initiative is one of the things I appreciate most about Tabussum: unlike many of the other teachers at the school, she has an avid interest in her own continuing education. “I have an interest in wanting to learn EVERYTHING,” she once told me. “I feel that I just don’t know very much.” She laments the few opportunities that there are at the school for her to improve her practice and it was because of this that she brought our attention to a small newspaper clipping about a research conference taking place in Ahmedabad in a few weeks on approaches to English language teaching.

“We will go, I think, if the principal gives us his permission?” She asked excitedly.

“Definitely!” I said. “The Foundation would love for us to attend a conference of this type.”

“But” she said fretfully knitting her fingers, “what if the principal does not gives us the money for the fee? Then I think we will pay with our own money, all right?”

“Tabussum,” I said reassuringly, “don’t worry about it. I’m sure the Foundation will be interested in the conference and want to sponsor the fees.”

“Even for me?” She said dubiously.

“Especially for you,” I replied with a smile. As it turned out, the principal did have some objections to our attending a research conference though the Foundation was able to smooth things over in this regard and now all the remains is for us to write a research paper to present. Thus, a trip to the University library and as an added bonus, a meeting with Tabussum’s “sir” as she calls her former B.Ed professor who is now the head of the M.Ed program at Surat University.

Tabussum gave a much shortened version of the following account to the man holding out his hand to stop us on the steps of the library. He listened with a skeptical expression and took up his newspaper again, a sign which we took as meaning that we’d gained admission into the hallowed hall.

As we entered the high-ceilinged room, I glanced around at the bare walls and the few small glass cases that housed announcements and thought about the differences between this and the Rockefeller Library which I worked at as an undergraduate. There was nothing that I recognized as the collegiate atmosphere here, but hopefully that didn’t mean there were no useful books. I could see behind the wooden desk at the opposite end of the room that the doorway opened up into a large, dark room with shelf upon shelf of books. We began to walk towards the stacks when we were stopped by the man behind the front desk.

“Where are you going?” A favorite question, it would seem.

Tabussum explained why we were there, to take a visiting membership with the library. The man began to shake his head violently.

“It is the 4th Saturday of the month,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

I looked at him blankly, unsure what this information had to do with anything, but Tabussum slapped her forehead in a gesture indicating some kind of slip of the mind. She turned to look at me and said, with some embarrassment, “It is the fourth Saturday of the month, Miss Cat. I forgot it.”

“And?” I prompted, still looking confused.

“We cannot take membership on the 4th Saturday of the month. Or the 2nd Saturday.”

“Oh, well… of course,” I said mildly. “That makes perfect sense.” I turned to the man behind the counter. “When is the library open?” I asked him, thinking perhaps we could come back another time.

“It’s open every day, from 9 am to 9 pm,” he told me in halting English.

“I see,” I said. “Every day?”

“Yes.”

“Saturdays too?”

“Oh no, ma’am. On Saturdays it is open from 11 am to 5 pm.”

“And Sundays?”

“The same time as Saturdays, ma’am,” he answered quickly.

I kept myself from pointing out the obvious contradiction. “I see,” was all I said. It turned out that we actually could not take membership on any Saturday because even if the man who usually processes members was there, he would be busy with other work. I agreed in as unironic tone as I could manage that naturally of course that would be the case. We left feeling defeated to make our way over to see Tabussum’s former professor.

Her professor’s office was located in a similarly box-like concrete building up a flight of dusty stairs, down a long, bare hall that opened into chipped paint classrooms on either side. At the end of the hall, there was a temporary wall dividing a larger room into three small shoe-box sized offices, in which plastic chairs and a plastic table had been placed. Seated behind this plastic table covered in papers, was Tabussum’s sir.

Tabussum had spent many words on telling us about how inspiring she found Professor Ansari in college and it was easy to see why. Tall, with a sharp, angled face and somewhat dark skin, he extended a breezy hand to greet us and with a charming smile motioned for us to sit down. His manner made one feel immediately at ease and I could see why Tabussum reported that he had been all the students’ favorites.

I wasted no time in asking him the questions about his M.Ed program that I had been thinking about on hearing that we were to have this meeting. I peppered him with questions about the course of the program, the details, the students, the expectations. He dutifully outlined their program and pointed me to a number of resources where I could learn more. One of the more interesting things on which he commented was how he had to conduct himself with the students.

“Here in India,” he said, “the teacher is held up like a kind of god.” He shook his head. “I have to watch my conduct all the time. If I were to sit in my office here and smoke a cigarette, it would be something like front page news. So, I am careful, especially with my students. You see,” he continued, leaning forward, “I can only meet with my students in large groups. Because, if I were to meet with them in small groups, people might suspect me of something.”

“Partiality?” I supplied.

“No, not partiality, exactly. But rather, some special,” he paused, “relationship. You understand?” I nodded. “Even if I am meeting in this office with a student one on one with the door open, there will be some talk of oh, what is he doing there with that student. So, I only advise them in groups of five and must be careful to conduct myself appropriately. Because here,” he said, “people cannot envision the type of professional relationship between student and teacher that you have in the US. If there is a boy and a girl, they will talk because they can only see them as lovers.” He sighed. “It’s not good.”

Tabussum nodded emphatically and agreed that it was for this reason that they had to keep their association as former student and teacher a secret. To hear them describe it made me harken back to my first days here when the principal described the “gap” that should be there between students and teachers. It seemed that it operated on all levels.

Despite our disappointment about not becoming library members, the afternoon was well spent in the company of Professor Ansari and he offered to mail us the forms that were necessary in order to take membership of the library. As we left the university and walked past the weedy gardens and piles of construction materials, I couldn’t help but think how fortunate Melissa and I were to have a co-teacher like Tabussum. I still don’t know what exactly it’s been about her life experience that has made her so much more open than the other teachers, but I suspect that this professor has had something to do with it.

How many other students or even fellow educators are missing out on such personal inspiration because of the concerns that Professor Ansari detailed before? One has to wonder...

Best,
Cat