Pondicherry--October 11

Hot in the former French colony on the Bay of Bengal--October 2010, vacation away from Chennai, heat came with me.

Took a break from scrambling on building connections for my project and destressing from a housing incident--the second one since I got here. I have moved to a different place and hopefully everything will work out. May have been an innocent mistake, but my trust and privacy were violated--had to leave. I have wonderful friends here, though--they really rallied around me and helped. The saying is that "the guest should be treated as a god" and I can't believe the outpouring of support and help that people I barely know offered. India can be a difficult place to experience--the travel books mention it, but really nothing can get you ready for this country of contrasts. Beautiful one minute, brutal the next, but it's the people who make the experience. I think as Westerners, and I include myself in this, we get really hung up on the material things. I have a friend here whom some of my other friends refer to as my "Madras Mom"--but she's the perfect exammple. Usha and I know each other based upon an initial e-mail exchange to Fulbright alums living in Chennai and a friendship was built--we've had dinner, gone to arts perfomances. But the difference is that she checks up on me all the time--when I get on a travel she checks to make sure I am ok on the train or bus (she even wished me a good night), she offers advice when I experience "traveler's melancholy" and homesickness for my family, she listens to my stories about my project. For what? Alot of people have said that India changes you--and I think this could mean a lot of different things based on your experience. To me, I've see the poverty, I've learned alot about spritituality (different than religiosity--big difference) and I've seen places of amazing beauty, but the thing I've learned most about is friendship. Here in Pondi there are a lot of Westerners (mind you this means I've seen more than 2 in a given span of time) --we see each other walking down the streets by the cafes and shops or by the beach. Sometimes there's a nod, but little conversation--a reserve or coldness that I think is just us (big exception is the French restaurant owner I keep bumping into--Franciose--we just had lunch today and a long conversation over tomato salads, camembert sandwiches and Indian coffee). Maybe it comes back to the people here wanting to make guests feel comfortable so they really try to reach out to strangers, but I think it goes deeper. Maybe this comes back to a conversation I had with a man about the Indian mindset--there are so many problems that differences like religion matter less than finding another good person. It's these people that you rely upon to get through the day. I think my "Madras Mom" takes it even further. At the yoga retreat we had to think about what qualities make up the divine, and how we've seen these manifested in other people. I immediately thought about my wife of course--she's been my rock for 14 years, the rational part to my emotional personality (ok, I know any of my former students will laugh when they read that, but guys I have to tell you, your teachers may be different away from the classroom--we'll meet for coffee and discuss it some day) and the person who takes me for who I am, warts and all. I also thought about physical therapist
who didn't just treat my injuries this last year but got the mental side of it. I thought of myself as an athlete and when I couldn't train, when my body was not behaving as I wanted it to, a sort of depression set in. This part of my self was taken away and this was terrifying. So Molly came in at just the right time, when I was so low at times it was frightening, and helped heal my mind (through some amazing conversations that I will never forget) as well as my injuries. Things turned around--I was uplifted (salvaged? saved?) in a time where things looked pretty bleak to me. I learned alot about identity and self as well--don't pin too much on the external things, whether they are material or performances or relationshiops, because they can all be taken away from you in an instant. You really need to look in and see what you are all about and then find joy in that. Strive for excellence in what is true to yourself, but know what really matters and nurture that--the rest is just stuff. Now my friend here gives more to this friendship than I can possibly ever repay--she does it because it is who she is and that she can offer this type of support. She can look into this mind or heart or whatever of mine and relate to it--she's been in the same position when she studied in Minneapolis. Perhaps as she sees it there is a need here, and her responsibility (not in a covnentional prescribed duty sense, but in an opportunity sense--a human-hearted, compassionate sense) to help. She can do this and does this; few other's could relate in the same way, so she does. She could turn away, she could have never answered my initial e-mail, but she didn't and that has made all the difference. I am learning alot.

One comment about Westerners and India. Being in Puducherry (Pondi) has opened my eyes. After my housing issue, I spoke with the owner of my guest house. Besides these two incidents, this man has talked with me at length about India--it's intricacies and politics, culture, spirituality. After he apologized profusely for the what happened, he said something that really stuck with me. Westerners, they see India as exotic, but you know the reality. I've thought about this for days now. It has been in the forefront of my mind as I visit Pondi and Auroville. I'm going to indulge in some stereotyping now. I'm hypersensitive to the men with long hair and flip-flops in that skinny yoga build on mopeds with their girlfriends--women in flowing pants and tank tops, loose ponytails (ready to drop into an asana in a moment's notice!). They see the ashrams and the yoga culture in India. They pass the poverty and the people, but pull up to their modern hotels or sojourn in an ashram. This is the exotic. Now I can't say that I'm different--I live in a modern apartment, I have my Wi-Fi and access to Western food if I want it, and I've been to an ashram for a yoga retreat--but it just kind of irritates the crap out of me now. I am probably coming across as a complete jerk and I shouldn't be so judgmental--seriously, who am I? I've been here for a month now and have worked in a traditional Indian school and lived in a neighborhood where Westerners are as common as snow but that hardly puts me in position to condemn anyone else's choices. Maybe this is the acculturation period--sort of getting used to India and it's rhythms. I guess without the harshness it's just a milestone in my journey here. Live and let live. Converse and share the experience--that's probably all I can do. The ethical dimension of knowledge? Back to ToK land again... Certitude this way, visitiors' center that way.

Land of Butterflies and Dragonflies; Kingdom of the Elephant and the Mansion of the Snake

Reflections on my time at the Isha ashram, Velliangiri Hills--September 30-October 3. Writing after the downpour. A lot to think about.

I am blown away by the staggering beauty of this place. The mountains rise up sharply from the plain, you can see waterfalls descending hundreds of feet--white cuts in the lush green. It is so quiet here. The air smells so fresh--everything seems both calm and alive, vibrant. The drum wakes us at 6 to begin our practice, but I feel so rested despite finishing at 10 the night before and of course then talking with friends and my roommate for at least another hour or two about all that we've thought and experienced during the day before turning out the light. The food has been amazing--fresh, local, made by volunteers. My appetite is voracious and I relish each meal of Keralan dishes and Southern Indian classics. One meal was served on the floor, banana leaves set before us. Sublime. I began to not even miss my daily dose of filter kappi (the delightful strong and milky filter coffee of Chennai). The volunteers strike me as truly remarkable--they do everything here with such care, happiness and selflessness. Every time I go up for another plate of food I'm met with a smile. If I have a question they are present and listen. On the last night, our feet were bathed in hot water infused with flowers. They carried bucket after bucket of very hot water to refill our tubs filled with flower petals and river stones. Cheerfulness the whole while. I know that a several day retreat cannot change the world but I do see some changes in me and I certainly have learned things--even if they are not the explicit topics covered by our instructor. I don't think that I ever want to go back to Chennai. Part of this is completely understandable--no work here, no responsibility except to learn, do yoga, be pampered and take in the scenery. However, maybe I need to listen to what my heart is saying, maybe I'm still a country boy--as silly as that may sound. I really like the Cities and the roots we've set down, but I do feel so much more at peace with the world and my self when I'm in these natural settings.

So what to make of all of this? Good question--and it will take a bit to get my head around this. I'm sure as I continue my meditation and yoga practice I'll perhaps have a better sense. Initially here, the delivery really got to me--can't turn the ToK brain off. I have a difficult time with yes and no, either-or types of statements. I prefer a conversation--let me see the reasoning or thinking before I accept. The Latin root of conversation is conversarii--which means to turn around in one's mind. This is my preferred method and I know I get hung-up when I am just presented material. I know that I bucked a lot of what was being presented--I wanted to know more, wanted to talk about how it fit with other traditions if only for the basis of comparison (my own brain kept coming back to Zen, the Dalai Lama, my own experience as an athlete or having to wrestle with concepts of identity and truth. This internal questioning and curiosity--which I could shut off when I was in session, but kept coming back when I was out--finally seemed to evaporate on the last day during the last session. Up to this point, I sometimes felt like I was missing something--seeing Nivas in his revelry I felt like such an outsider beyond my obvious outward appearance, culture and traditions. During that last session I think I finally got it. The dots connected, I was ready to let it in and just be. No divisions, just existence in the moment. It felt wonderful. I'm still a skeptic and a seeker, but I can't discount this experience, the conversations and my experience here. Theres' been such a common thread to it all--a unity of thinking. One reader will certainly want to talk about this issue I know, I don't know if I buy into gurus, but I really thinking about this unity, the oneness and the now. I see the limits of a world that is all reason or one that is all emotion and I see how yoga combines the experience them. Like meditation, this brings you into the present, into consciousness. The other thing I take away is how seriously the concept of self-knowledge is taken here. So many people look inward for meaning, connection and the capacity to act with integrity not just to themselves but to the human family.

I think that the retreat was valuable for a lot more than the curriculum and practice--they intertwine but they were not the sum of the experience. We trekked into the hills one morning to a waterfall that we could see from the terrace at the ashram. The trek would take most of the day and the volunteers packed lunch for us. Before we left out we were warned about wild elephants and what to do if we see them and, of course, to watch out for snakes. Thousands of miles from home, heading into the forests with cobras, kraits and vipers--elephants took a distinct backseat in my worries. What was I thinking?

We head out from the ashram gate along a road and make it to our first river crossing. My thoughts start to be less about what might be under my feet and I can't help but look at the granduer all around me--my photos don't do it justice. I get talking to a couple of the kids on the hike--they and their parents are part of the retreat. They are talking about Justin Bieber (one hates him, the other thinks he's brilliant). It's just my curiosity as a teacher but I have to ask about the music they listen to. They look at me weirdly and I tell them I'm a teacher working in Chennai and I am interested what they listen to compared to my students in the States. We have a brief conversation, but now I'm an object of curiosity. As the retreat continues, the kids announce any sighting of me with "Helllooooo, Mr. Kennedy!"--it's every meal, every time I'm spotted walking to my room. My friends get named as well--Nivas becomes "Best Friend" and Pravin is named "Bad Boy." The attention is adorable mostly, and they made a very nice going away card for me on the last evening of the retreat complete with flowers. For me the interesting thing happens on the hike, though. The kids are skittish about everything that moves--everything to them is a snake. After our initial conversation they've placed themselves with me for the duration of the hike and a transformation takes place in my mind. My fear disappears--it's immediate responsibility mode, the parent mode, the teacher mode. My whole being relaxes. I become the calm "re-assurer" or the role model--I have no choice but to be brave and put my own fears aside for the kids. Think I got some awareness of my self on this hike. It's easy to gripe about teaching--there are alot of things that can be so frustrating--but it does feel right. Maybe I had to come to the other side of the world to get that. Maybe I needed to throw off the baggage of my current setting to really get what I'm about. Once the noise settles, you can really listen.

One last piece and it came in the way of a challenge. We talked alot about responsibility at the retreat--your response that you are able to do. After the trek a friend asked point-blank, ok now you've seen all this, the poverty, the poor living conditions and the kids, what will you do? Will you turn your back on it and forget it? These questions ate at me all the way back to Chennai--in my bunk on the train, I couldn't help but think about it. In a few months I go back to my quiet street and suburban home, my comfortable life with expensive sports gear, gourmet food, Costco, pure-bred dogs, etc., etc. Can I just take what I learned here and leave it? This is not to say that I need to impose my own values or standard of living on anyone. Who am I to say that my own life is superior to anyone else's or what makes anyone happy? However, I can think about preventable causes child and female mortality, educational opportunities, medical care and improved agricultural techniques that don't destroy the soil or harm those that are working in the fields. This is within my ability and I can respond to it. I can't shake the question--I can't go home and turn my back. Call this ethics, call it personality, call it what you will but it feels right and clear.

Barefoot in the ashram

September 30, 2010--outside Coimbatore, Isha Yoga Center, early afternoon

I arrived early--sped by car from Coimbatore to the ashram for a retreat that my friend has just said needs to be experienced without expectations. Checked with another participant here and he said he was told the same thing by his cousin. Seems to be pretty common--no answers, no reactions, don't set up expectations. Find this just piques my curiousity. Maybe that's the point. To learn you have to want it--there must be inquiry and desire.

The setting here is just startling--we're in the Velliangiri Foothills, spiritual territory. I have never seen land like this--lush green mountains, coconut palms (forests of them), thousands of dragonflies and butterflies everywhere. Their flight is mesmerizing and I watch them for long moments, captivated with the dance, rhythms and colors. Find myself just breathing deeper here. It's so quiet compared to Chennai (many things are quieter than Chennai mind you), so fresh an green--lotus flowers scent the air all around me. In my homesick moments India gets to me--the noise, the chaos, not entirely understanding the rules--but here I feel so at ease and like my head can just let go. It's the green, the hush of the breeze, the scent of the air--flowers, wet earth. I may never want to go back to Chennai.

A trek outside
We explored the temples at the ashram this afternoon and then headed outside into the surrouding countryside. I wish that I'd brought my camera--palms, farm land, ancient trees, huts, cows with painted horns...beautiful. We forded a stream and as we walked a few meeters downstream we saw three snakes fighting to get out of a pool created by a dam. and A few more meters away two children played in the grass outside their house. Each person reacted the same--protect the kids. This raises some questions about the role of the individual and their responsibility to act. As we were thinking about what to do and getting increasingly uncomfortable in our inaction, the sky opened up and we were hit with the type of rain that only falls in the tropics--sudden, furious and long-lasting. Our road turned to thick red mud. A few people had umbrellas, I had a rain coat and became the mobile phone porter. One of my friends shared an umbrella with another hiker. Soon his companion offered to hold it for him. Then his companion disappeared. Poor Ravi was left to hike back without shelter and wondering if he'd ever see it again. We took a shortcut through a farmer's path, and as we headed back on to the ashram property the roads were all under inches of water--they looked like streams. They feed us well after the trek and we all start to get to know each other--mix of old and young, singles and families. Only two westerners besides myself. One has lived at the ashram for the past 3 years. The other is Indian, but lives in London. My best friends so far are a spiritual-seeking engineer and a skeptic who is about to start work in California. Not sure what to expect. I'm getting a little hung up on the delivery. Lots of either-or statements and some misrepresentations of science. I can't exactly turn off the ToK side of me that gets all alert when I hear these types of things. It sort of is getting in the way--ironically enough--of trying to hear the message. Want to be receptive, but this might be more of an effort than I thought. Need to put aside the Zen filter, the ToK filter, the western filter and listen. If this is a part of the great conversation about spirituality or my own journey I'll need to put aside some things and be present. Judgment can always come later, but you can't rebuild the present moment. If you can't be in that moment, you just may miss something.

Conversation with Veena

Chennai, September 28
Veena is a friend that I work with--she works at the school part time and teaches French at the Alliance Francias. Our discussion started about how her video production company (Voices of India) is pulling together a documentary about handicapped students. The project will pull together South Indian and Western filmmakers together to help fight stereotypes. Maybe it is just luck, but everyone I seem to meet is part of an NGO or working on some project to benefit someone less fortunate or someother worthy cause. Our discussion moved on to how the treatment of mentally handicapped children has changed in the past generation. The children used to be in come and received compassionate care from the family--they were a responsibility. Now the institutions have taken over. She commented how this is also being influenced by the changes in construction--the concrete apartments and smaller homes make caring for larger families more difficult. While many families may have an ancestral homestead that serves as a meeting spot, the early support when the child is young is vital.

Our conversation veered towards IB and the differences she noticed between her work within the curriculum and her classes outside the school with adults. Some of the differences were pretty pedestrian--no listening comprehension in IB, fewer materials. However, and this is what really opened my eyes and mind, she said the biggest difference was the lack of comparison between the home country and the Francophone countries--the curriculum is really only focused on France and its former colonies. Veena continued that there needs to be a cultural component--both Indian and French. Where do learn about their own culture? To know yourself is the only way to proceed. Through French, she told me, I've questioned alot--and now I know my culture and myself. She told me that she knew the Ionesco quote that I used in ToK--it's the question that enlightens. She then told me about when her father passed away and as part of the Hindu ritual surrounding the death of a parent she read the Garuda Puranam for 13 days. It was through this process that she really got to know herself--why study far away cultures when there is such a rich one here. For example, the investigation of ecology and nature conservancy is a mix of obligation and religious fear. However, when these are examined, there's a real profound link to the past and present.

Our conversation then ranged to the CBSE schools and she detailed her son's experience with the harshness in the classroom and how this affected him on assessments. He performed brilliantly in a different setting where assessments were treated more like learning tools instead of high-stakes exercises. Her comments sounded alot like what our district has been hearing from Dr. Thomas Guskey at the University of Kentucky. She noted that the more traditional approach is changing. She recommended that I visit Gurukul in Pune. In the gurukul tradition, the guru takes the child to develop skills--they are taught vedas and taught to be part of society as well as basic life skills (how to keep their surroundings clean, how to deal with people). In this model, the guru finds out what the child is interested in and then focuses on the development of these interests and knowledge. The teaching about subjects happens after the interest. The other unique thing that she pointed out is that the guru serves as a caring, involved adult who connects with the student and builds on what they are interested in. This last piece really got me thinking about what it means to teach and the role that we fulfill--or should or could fulfill to help our students learn.

Our last topic dealt with how culture is taught--and there are some really good schools that teach the culture--Chinmaya International Residential School performs pujas, for example. Other institutions may be international in their perspective, but they are not Indian--in this case the implication is that culture=spiritual. They cannot be separated here. She commented too that the scientific explanations that seem to dominate now have their own limitations. She stated that when ever a house is built, they must plant mango and coconut trees. Very little was done to examine why this was done, it's tradition. But now the students hear about environmentalism and begin to wonder why people do the traditions. In her opinion, this was a cyclical thing. Her last comment was that the state schools that teach Tamil, the students perform better. They hear Tamil all the time, they get the culture, the context and nuance--so much more than vocabulary. This in essence, makes the language a living thing--not a grammatical exercise and word lists.

Looking back at this conversation, again I can't help but see links to my project. Experiencing the awakening or a-ha moment. As a Westerner I don't look at our curriculum so critically--it's my culture so I miss what it would feel like to not be represented. It's like I don't even have to think about it, but now that it's pointed out to me I finally get it. I'm starting to work on what international really means.

Figuring things out--in two parts

Evening, September 27, 2010

I need to write--so much has happened, I don't want to let it get to far away. I definitely need to talk about school--the travel stuff is fine and good, but it's the work with the students that is rejuvenating. I've been working with the first and second year ToK students for the past two weeks and the students have responded beautifully. Some students are starting to come out of the woodwork and are more engaged than when I first met them. Finally having the questions and talks after class. One student whose parents are in the film industry here is pulling an essential Indian cinema collection together for me. Sudha and I have different approaches to lessons but we are really starting to click (Sudha--I know you sometimes read this blog so feel free to leave a comment/correction) and I have enjoyed the conversations we've had about the kids and the craft. The school has been a good pairing and I am really enjoying working with her. We tried out a Paideia seminar on the second years (Montaigne's "Of the Art of Conversing") and it worked really well--100% participation (which was remarkable--there are students in there who utter next to nothing) and the two young women in class got that their whole discussion was a conversation like Montaigne described. They want to do more of these and I was so proud of how they met the challenge of reading a really hard piece, trusting me, and how they embraced the technique. The seminars work really well in my American classes and I guess that I was both surprised and not surprised at the outcome. I've watched a few classes and the students do interact with each other and the teacher differently than in an American classroom. But in class they were pros, and they enjoyed themselves. Does this just tell us something about adolesence in general--they crave independence and want to interact with each other. They can be coached in behaviors and they can meet challenges if properly prepared. This school is new to IB so it's not that the traditions of the program have been instilled (this is the first group to go through the curriculum). Perhaps I've come as far away from home as is humanly possible to find out what good teachers knew all along--know your students, give them a voice, hold them to standards, have high expectations, and coach them in what you want them to do. The setting doesn't matter and in this case the technique transcended culture. Maybe I'm simplifying it, but nonetheless it worked. We're going to try using discussion board/blog software next to connect the M. Ct. M. students with the MHS kids next. The students here are really excited about the potential and have a lot of questions. They want ot know about values and beliefs and interests and what the American high school experience is really like. They really would like to do an exchange. I think that both groups would really benefit--especially if we set them up correctly and really build an awareness of culture and help foster a curiousity and openness to new ideas. As a team I think Sudha and I can really make this worthwhile--and I think having a person on the ground from the other institution really helps. It puts a face to it, a personality, a connection that can answer questions and offer up stories. Would they be so enthusiastic if we were doing it a different way? My gut tells me no. My school runs an type of correspondence program between schools, but this is more intense and connected to a specific group of students and a class. It's really fascinating to think about the effects that this could have on understanding and where this program could go. It's sort of a rush--the conversations and connections that are being fostered here have a lot of energy behind them and I am not entirely sure where this might go in the future, but it feels like there is some profound potential. I wake up some mornings and wonder about what to do with this--how far can we go?

I got some insight into my nickname mentioned in my last post. I went to lunch at my usual spot met up with the manager again--I had to ask about the name (Sudha made a face when she heard it and asked why I had been given it). When I broached the question, he told me that it identifies you as part of the community--the self never changes but the label may when you are here. In America you are Kennedy, if you were to go to Saudi Arabia you may be Saleem, but here in India you are Gopal. Always the same person but the location changes. My name also means Krishna, he told me, you see we are all linked, one all-encompassing religion. The differences don't matter, it is just God. I told him that in my tradition using the name of God casually is condemned. He commented that people here use it all the time, it doesn't carry the same stigma. Children are named after God because to invoke the name is to connect with the divine. We talked a bit about the ashram that I'm going to this week--about the self, about peace, about letting go of anger and understanding human relationships. I'm not sure if I fully understand why this name and maybe I'm looking too much into it wanting to find some significance. Maybe I can just be Gopal when I'm here--one degree away from being entirely foreign. One step closer to understanding this culture and community. I am still myself and all my Western quirks and predilictions--but maybe the self can expand to allow others and their world in to live side by side. Maybe the taking of a name can be symbolic--a walk in two worlds. This is something I know that so many people in my country do everyday (pulled between the culture in their home and the one they encounter in school or at work), and I know that I can easily shut it off when I go back home. I know that it's different because I can choose--it's not a concession or a trade-off that I have to make. There's not conflict of identity--the self is the same, the definition or content is just wider than it was before.

Back from Mamallapuram

I put about 100 photos on my Shutterfly share site from my trip to Mamallapuram. If you are interested, there's a tab with a link. I may write about that more at some other point, but it's late on Sunday night--well, at least it feels late. I've been sitting at the computer most of the day, except for a trip to the gym, lunch and a haircut (all of these were done at the same place). Probably should mention that at this same place I received my first nickname since arriving in India 11 days ago. The manager at the restaurant I always eat at gave it to me--Gopal. It refers to a manifestation of Lord Krishna in his youth, the protector of cows. Not quite sure how to respond to it--I was re-introduced to all the staff as "Mr. Gopal." I smiled and took the name in good nature. It was sort of a strange afternoon anyway. I finally pulled myself away from e-mails, Shutterfly, grading papers and other work in my room to work out. The weights felt good, but I was hungry. I packed a change of clothes in my messenger bag, just in case I couldn't slip into the restaurant to grab a quick sandwich. The trainer said to just go for it, and as I entered the dining room I was greeted loudly by the manager and the assistant manager. There I am, standing in basketball shorts and a quick-dry top, while all around me very well-dressed families quietly eat their Sunday afternoon lunch. I can barely get out asking if I should change before entering, but I'm swept away to my usual spot and the manager personally puts in my order and stays to chat--this is when I got the nickname. I have no idea what the other patrons thought about this--who is this sweaty, shabbily-dressed American and why the fuss? I can understand making a cultural misstep innocently, but this time I felt like I was pulled into it despite my better judgement. I have to say that it does feel good to be a regular, to have some community, some connection to a new place. I've been stunned by the welcoming nature of the people I've met--invited to homes for meals, offers to help with just about anything I could possibly need. Coming from the Midwest (good doses of German and Scandinavian guilt and responsibility programmed in, fed through the water-supply to the very core of our beings) it feels like I owe a series of debts that I may never be able to repay. Maybe it's the lessons learned that's the key--I feel close to my friends here, like I've known them for so much longer than 11 days. I feel like I have a better sense of what it is like to be a good and giving person, a reset of priorities--sort of like my soul grew or aired itself out a bit. Maybe what I've been experiencing is just human-hearted compassion--you do it not for any type of reward or recognition but because ultimately it is what keeps us together as human beings you are more free and happy when you do. Give of yourself and be open and receptive to others. Let that be your gift to the world and let others learn from you--hopefully they'll spread it around, too. Won't we all be in a better place if this is true. But then again maybe I'm overthinking it, or perhaps the label and categorizing (I guess we could call it reason) doesn't really matter, but if it works go with it. Regardless, I feel like I'm sort of getting it, like there's been a real positive change in my outlook, like I learned something.

Sometimes a day happens for a reason

Chennai, late evening, back from dinner, still reflecting--9/21

This picture fits for today--it's of the entry to the IB building at M. Ct. M. Chidambaram Chettyar International School. The school is very traditional in many ways which has been fascinating. Sometimes a day just seems to be made for one important conversation--today was one of those days. I had meetings with Ms. Sudha and a talk with the Tamil teacher about student engagement and I was pulled into watch some physical science presentations by a group of middle years students. As I made my way back to my messenger bag and laptop, the English literature teacher greeted me and invited me to conversation. The English teacher is a striking woman with long grey hair and a posture and demeanor that radiates intelligence, wisdom and thoughtfulness. Our conversation began with a book recommendation for me and then connected to the differences between Indian and Greek tragedy--in Indian tragedy the character suffers from attachment (over-emotional attachment to lovers, to possessions, to children, to youth). It's more of a themes than a trait (the Western view of a fatal flaw--but this flaw could take many forms). I'm already hooked at this point, but our discussion goes deeper in to language and technology and emotion. She states that it is a paradox these days, the students have so much access to the internet but little curiousity. I commented that the Tamil teacher and I talked about this as well--the students had little interest in cultural knowledge of their region. She extends the point--unfortunately this also translates to their language ability. They are not necessarily fluent in their mother language adn their not fluent in English. They can only say the necessities, but cannot express their thoughts and feelings. English can be viewed as the language of the workplace--a means to make money, but it doesn't touch the real parts of you. In the past many people spoke 4-5 languages--they traveled and in order to communicate with friends, you learned their langauge. Now people, she said, speak a pidgin language--merely functional English. She related to me a longitudinal study on students grades K-8. The study sought to understand what would happen in English was superimposed on the mother language. What was found was that the students initially spoke Tamil, but soon the Tamil didn't keep up with their emotional needs, but English couldn't express these needs either. This trend has become apparent in the last 25 years--students that can't express themselves but have emotinoal needs. It's really quite sad when you think about it. Her own children were raised with Tamil spoken in the home (it was a family decision), and this brought them connections to film and art and older family members. Part of this decay in language may also be a change in society--the schedule of working parents changes the language and cheapens the language. Conversations are more along the lines of "did you pick up..." or "what is scheduled today...". This cheapened langauge affects your world view. People have become more reliant upon or are immersed in media--but this builds a view that nothing is really older than yesterday's paper. There are visuals of what society is like, what institutions or other cultures are like, but they are devoid of the connections--missing the humanity, the culture, the behavior. Slowly the cultural threads are lost--meaningful rites like birth, death and marriage become mashed together in a cultural hodgepodge as people borrow only what they find useful or what makes sense. Some of this can be seen in the ways business practices and organizations have been implemented in Indian society. The Western structures are there, but the people participating don't fully understand--they do the things in the structure but there's little adaptation or understanding of the practices. Our conversation went back to students. Many students view learning English as a key to economic improvement--their view of education is on the aspiration. This type of knowledge--acquiring it for purely economic reasons--is pretty shallow. The students must have real knowledge--paravidya (real knowledge, knowledge of the self or self-knowledge) as opposed to aparavidya (useless knowledge--what you need to get on in life). In the Upanishads the most learned man is an ignoramus if he doesn't have paravidya. You may have knowledge of the Upanishads, but until you act it, you are ignorant. You can also have real knowledge and slip back. It's fluid like that.

At this point she had to go to class so our conversation ended with promises to talk again. We both thanked each other and went our separate ways--she to class and I to pull together a seminar on Montaigne. In those moments as we sat talking it was as if I could feel the connections to the questions I had been wondering about--I could feel my perspectives and knowledge being stretched. Some days were just made for a single conversation.