Summary: DSH has been developing and implementing a voice system to address the isolation teachers in village schools face. As a new endeavor, the verdict is still out on how helpful or effective this will be, but potential uses of the system are many.
Teaching is a very complicated profession and cannot be done in isolation. One of the major problems (of many, to be sure) in rural schools is that teachers lack a strong support system or network.
DSH has identified such isolation as a major barrier to our success. As such, we have been developing a voice system that creates a social network for teachers using their mobile phones. Every week, teachers are encouraged to dial into a central server, listen to a 3-minute message, and share their thoughts. The message covers a range of topics, from problems teachers are facing (e.g., I can’t use English in my class because the kids don’t even have a basic understanding of the language) to effective teaching techniques teacher should implement (e.g., incorporating real-world examples into the lessons). Later on in the week, they’re expected to dial in again to share the impact of the new teaching technique or issues they’ve faced.
The goal of the voice system is to provide a platform for teachers to share their experiences with each other, and to give them an opportunity to tap into extensive knowledge existent in their peer network.
Since rolling out the system to teachers two months ago, response has been somewhat promising. The key issue, of course, is finding the right content to fuel a lively discussion and encourage participation. To date, the teachers who have participated are the ones we’d expect; the trick is to encouraging the wider network to engage. (One of the issues that have emerged is the cost of the call; there are numerous potential solutions, and we’re weighing our options before settling on one.)
For a startup to be successful, you need to continually identify and remove the barriers to your success. The question in my mind is: When you’re working in an issue as complex as education, how do you know when you’re spreading yourself too thin?
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Digital Polyclinic
Summary: Spearheaded by Anna, Digital Polyclinic is the rural healthcare education arm of DSH. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to visit a village where adult reproductive health training was underway; for me, DPC further proves the potential of DSH.
For a small, young (4-year-old) organization, Digital StudyHall has a surprising number of “franchises” and endeavors. To some extent, there are operations in Bangalore, Pune, Calcutta, Bangladesh, Pakistan, and more. People often ask DSH for help replicating our model in their area, and we’re more than willing to “consult” (i.e., share our advice and experiences with) them.
Furthermore, we have taken the basic DSH model and expanded it to rural healthcare education through Digital Polyclinic (DPC). Anna has spearheaded this effort, shooting videos of trainings conducted by knowledgeable doctors in Lucknow and running mediated sessions in villages. The hitch, of course, is making the content relevant to women in villages using doctors who treat patients in well-resourced urban settings. (DSH faces a similar issue.)
DPC currently runs trainings on women’s reproductive health. These trainings last 12 days, approximately 2 hours each day. DPC is moving toward developing another curriculum to address key issues in villages, such as adolescent reproductive health, or general rural healthcare (e.g., how to deal with snake bites).
Elizabeth and I went with Anna on a village visit today (to the village where Pratyush grew up and where he has founded the Educational Academy). Not only was it was great seeing the fruit of Anna and Roshan’s hard work, but it was also fun to play with the babies.
I noticed that although the skills required of the DPC mediator is fundamentally different from those required of DSH teachers, the general DSH model remains in tact. At a personal level, this is incredibly powerful and validating.
For a small, young (4-year-old) organization, Digital StudyHall has a surprising number of “franchises” and endeavors. To some extent, there are operations in Bangalore, Pune, Calcutta, Bangladesh, Pakistan, and more. People often ask DSH for help replicating our model in their area, and we’re more than willing to “consult” (i.e., share our advice and experiences with) them.
Furthermore, we have taken the basic DSH model and expanded it to rural healthcare education through Digital Polyclinic (DPC). Anna has spearheaded this effort, shooting videos of trainings conducted by knowledgeable doctors in Lucknow and running mediated sessions in villages. The hitch, of course, is making the content relevant to women in villages using doctors who treat patients in well-resourced urban settings. (DSH faces a similar issue.)
DPC currently runs trainings on women’s reproductive health. These trainings last 12 days, approximately 2 hours each day. DPC is moving toward developing another curriculum to address key issues in villages, such as adolescent reproductive health, or general rural healthcare (e.g., how to deal with snake bites).
Elizabeth and I went with Anna on a village visit today (to the village where Pratyush grew up and where he has founded the Educational Academy). Not only was it was great seeing the fruit of Anna and Roshan’s hard work, but it was also fun to play with the babies.
I noticed that although the skills required of the DPC mediator is fundamentally different from those required of DSH teachers, the general DSH model remains in tact. At a personal level, this is incredibly powerful and validating.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The State of Education, or Education of the State
Summary: Government schools highlight the dire state of education in India. Teachers are at the heart of many of my key grievances.
As in the U.S., education in India* is complicated and interweaves a range of issues. India, however, takes these issues to a new level. In particular, government schools epitomize the disturbing in infuriating state of education here. A sampling of my personal grievances (many of these issues are intertwined):
Lack of qualified teachers: The government has made a point to build a school within 1 km of every village, as many of those students do not have any means of traveling much further. This, with the free mid-day meal, is meant to increase student attendance. A consequence of this is the dearth of qualified teachers for these schools.
Misdirected funds: Insufficient funds is not a problem for government schools; rather, misdirected funds is. This happens on two levels:
(1) Funds spent on low priority items: At one of the Chinhat schools, funds were directed toward building another kitchen, even though one was already in operation. Why not pay for books or something more useful?
(2) Unintended consequences of expenditures: Ironically, teacher training is one culprit of teacher absenteeism. As in an organization, schools use all the funds given, lest the budget get cut the following year as a result of prudent spending. When a school has excess funds at the end of the school year (as Nandpur does), one option is to send teachers to training. However, this comes at the cost of lost time in schools.
Inappropriate job description: Government school teachers are first and foremost government officials. They get paid handsomely (often significantly more than private school teachers), and are often pulled out for other official government posts such as election duty. Of course, the concept of substitute teachers does not exist yet.
High teacher salary: An unintended consequence of high salaries for government school teachers is that: (1) it often attracts the wrong crowd, and (2) psychologically speaking, it can change intrinsic motivation into extrinsic motivation. Many government teachers are overpaid and underworked.
Teachers lack accountability: Many government school teachers are at best indifferent about their jobs. Combined with lack of accountability, this often translates into teacher absenteeism. Even teachers present at schools may choose to spend their day doing anything but teaching. However, because their students need to pass the government exams for them to maintain their jobs, they help their students cheat on exams. To “succeed” in school, teachers to not have to teach and students do not have to learn.
Institutionalized rote memorization: A student’s entire future rests on his / her score on an official exam that tests how much the student has memorized. (Imagine your SAT score being the sole criteria for college admissions.) The implications of this trickle down to the primary school level, where students are tested on what they can remember rather than how critically they can think. (This also makes teaching an easier feat, as it significantly lowers the bar that is “success.”)
With so many institutionalized and intertwined issues, education can be seen as a “lost cause” to the jaded. I, on the other hand, could not disagree more. I think it is the key to India’s future; many other problems (e.g., arranged marriage of pre-pubescent females) can be solved by educating its youth. All we can do is continue to do our best and chug along, looking toward a better future for India’s youth.
* Note: I have, possibly unfairly, generalized what I’ve seen and heard about schools in Lucknow / Uttar Pradesh to the rest of India.
As in the U.S., education in India* is complicated and interweaves a range of issues. India, however, takes these issues to a new level. In particular, government schools epitomize the disturbing in infuriating state of education here. A sampling of my personal grievances (many of these issues are intertwined):
Lack of qualified teachers: The government has made a point to build a school within 1 km of every village, as many of those students do not have any means of traveling much further. This, with the free mid-day meal, is meant to increase student attendance. A consequence of this is the dearth of qualified teachers for these schools.
Misdirected funds: Insufficient funds is not a problem for government schools; rather, misdirected funds is. This happens on two levels:
(1) Funds spent on low priority items: At one of the Chinhat schools, funds were directed toward building another kitchen, even though one was already in operation. Why not pay for books or something more useful?
(2) Unintended consequences of expenditures: Ironically, teacher training is one culprit of teacher absenteeism. As in an organization, schools use all the funds given, lest the budget get cut the following year as a result of prudent spending. When a school has excess funds at the end of the school year (as Nandpur does), one option is to send teachers to training. However, this comes at the cost of lost time in schools.
Inappropriate job description: Government school teachers are first and foremost government officials. They get paid handsomely (often significantly more than private school teachers), and are often pulled out for other official government posts such as election duty. Of course, the concept of substitute teachers does not exist yet.
High teacher salary: An unintended consequence of high salaries for government school teachers is that: (1) it often attracts the wrong crowd, and (2) psychologically speaking, it can change intrinsic motivation into extrinsic motivation. Many government teachers are overpaid and underworked.
Teachers lack accountability: Many government school teachers are at best indifferent about their jobs. Combined with lack of accountability, this often translates into teacher absenteeism. Even teachers present at schools may choose to spend their day doing anything but teaching. However, because their students need to pass the government exams for them to maintain their jobs, they help their students cheat on exams. To “succeed” in school, teachers to not have to teach and students do not have to learn.
Institutionalized rote memorization: A student’s entire future rests on his / her score on an official exam that tests how much the student has memorized. (Imagine your SAT score being the sole criteria for college admissions.) The implications of this trickle down to the primary school level, where students are tested on what they can remember rather than how critically they can think. (This also makes teaching an easier feat, as it significantly lowers the bar that is “success.”)
With so many institutionalized and intertwined issues, education can be seen as a “lost cause” to the jaded. I, on the other hand, could not disagree more. I think it is the key to India’s future; many other problems (e.g., arranged marriage of pre-pubescent females) can be solved by educating its youth. All we can do is continue to do our best and chug along, looking toward a better future for India’s youth.
* Note: I have, possibly unfairly, generalized what I’ve seen and heard about schools in Lucknow / Uttar Pradesh to the rest of India.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
School Visit: Chinhat Schools (Nandpur and Salarganj)
Summary: As part of a 2-year study led by the University of Washington, DSH is expanding into 11 government schools (located in Chinhat) this coming school year. We’ve started filming teachers in these schools to assess the “before” situation. In our initial visit of two schools, I finally saw the bleak situation of education in village schools.
Holi is generally celebrated over two days, though many folks end up taking the entire week off. This means that although school is in session Friday and Saturday, students generally don’t show up until the following week.
DSH is launching in 11 government schools in the Chinhat region through a 2-year evaluative study funded by the University of Washington. We visited 2 of these schools on Saturday in hopes that we could film some of their classes (to document the “before intervention” state of teaching). Unfortunately both schools lacked the appropriate student population for filming . In Nandpur, not a single student was in attendance.
We tried again on Tuesday and arrived at Nandpur greeted by the sight of teachers congregating in the principal’s office. No reason; just because. We requested to film the 5th grade math and 3rd grade English classes. The math teacher then went outside, located the appropriate lesson (simple interest), led an exercise on the board, and walked away while the students copied it. Five minutes later, she returned to make sure students had copied the exercise correctly. (Though this was a class 5 lesson, class 4 students participated and obediently copied the board as well.)
Third grade English was even harder to watch. The teacher spent 5 minutes going through the numbers one through ten, writing the English word followed by the Hindi pronunciation and meaning. When he ran out of vertical board space at “seven,” he simply continued to “ten” verbally. Then he looked at Rahul with an expression that said, “What now?” He stopped and watched as the students copied the board. Unfortunately, it looked as if students were copying the English words as if it were art (the teacher wrote in half-cursive). Only with Rahul’s suggestion did the teacher check the copies, and even then it was a cursory sign-off.
Salarganj, the second school, wasn’t much better. Teachers were milling around when we arrived, with students quietly sitting outside. Again, only when we asked did the principal assemble the appropriate students (class 4 and 5) and teacher into the classroom for filming. This para-teacher* was equally clueless and started with an addition problem (e.g., 13595 + 2543). Look to Rahul for next steps. [Please continue.] Look through curriculum. Started a subtraction problem (as with numbers above). Look to Rahul, then curriculum. Started multiplication problem (e.g., 25456 x 45). Look to Rahul. Curriculum. Long division, at the end of which the teacher was saved by lunchtime. Keep in mind that this was 5th grade math.
We didn’t film class 3 English because the teacher was absent. They’ll call us when the teacher shows up.
I realize that our presence (as foreigners and with cameras) is very distracting and intimidating. But that’s no excuse for poor / no teaching. These children deserve an education; at the very least, they deserve to be inspired, and these teachers were less than inspiring. I am excited (and possibly overly idealistic) about the potential for DSH to make a difference in these schools.
* Note: A para-teacher is a teacher elected by the local village head. Unlike the government teacher, a para-teacher has lower / no credentials and receives a lower salary (on the scale of 3,000 versus 10,000 Rs a month). S/he is essentially a less qualified teacher who shares the same responsibilities as a teacher. Alas, the state of government village schools.
Holi is generally celebrated over two days, though many folks end up taking the entire week off. This means that although school is in session Friday and Saturday, students generally don’t show up until the following week.
DSH is launching in 11 government schools in the Chinhat region through a 2-year evaluative study funded by the University of Washington. We visited 2 of these schools on Saturday in hopes that we could film some of their classes (to document the “before intervention” state of teaching). Unfortunately both schools lacked the appropriate student population for filming . In Nandpur, not a single student was in attendance.
We tried again on Tuesday and arrived at Nandpur greeted by the sight of teachers congregating in the principal’s office. No reason; just because. We requested to film the 5th grade math and 3rd grade English classes. The math teacher then went outside, located the appropriate lesson (simple interest), led an exercise on the board, and walked away while the students copied it. Five minutes later, she returned to make sure students had copied the exercise correctly. (Though this was a class 5 lesson, class 4 students participated and obediently copied the board as well.)
Third grade English was even harder to watch. The teacher spent 5 minutes going through the numbers one through ten, writing the English word followed by the Hindi pronunciation and meaning. When he ran out of vertical board space at “seven,” he simply continued to “ten” verbally. Then he looked at Rahul with an expression that said, “What now?” He stopped and watched as the students copied the board. Unfortunately, it looked as if students were copying the English words as if it were art (the teacher wrote in half-cursive). Only with Rahul’s suggestion did the teacher check the copies, and even then it was a cursory sign-off.
Salarganj, the second school, wasn’t much better. Teachers were milling around when we arrived, with students quietly sitting outside. Again, only when we asked did the principal assemble the appropriate students (class 4 and 5) and teacher into the classroom for filming. This para-teacher* was equally clueless and started with an addition problem (e.g., 13595 + 2543). Look to Rahul for next steps. [Please continue.] Look through curriculum. Started a subtraction problem (as with numbers above). Look to Rahul, then curriculum. Started multiplication problem (e.g., 25456 x 45). Look to Rahul. Curriculum. Long division, at the end of which the teacher was saved by lunchtime. Keep in mind that this was 5th grade math.
We didn’t film class 3 English because the teacher was absent. They’ll call us when the teacher shows up.
I realize that our presence (as foreigners and with cameras) is very distracting and intimidating. But that’s no excuse for poor / no teaching. These children deserve an education; at the very least, they deserve to be inspired, and these teachers were less than inspiring. I am excited (and possibly overly idealistic) about the potential for DSH to make a difference in these schools.
* Note: A para-teacher is a teacher elected by the local village head. Unlike the government teacher, a para-teacher has lower / no credentials and receives a lower salary (on the scale of 3,000 versus 10,000 Rs a month). S/he is essentially a less qualified teacher who shares the same responsibilities as a teacher. Alas, the state of government village schools.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Holi Guacamole
Summary: My first Holi was an incredible experience, and involved irreparable clothing, stained skin, and a pink monster.
Holi is one of the two biggest festivals across India (the other is Diwali). If Diwali is the festival of lights, then Holi is the festival of colors. Offices are shut down not only for religious reasons, but also practical ones (i.e., to avoid trashing the office). People run around the streets throwing dry colored powder at each other (or, more nicely, patting it on your face), and the more devious ones mix the colors in water, which creates a paint that stains your clothes, and your body, for quite some time.
We and our new friends bought ourselves some Holi powder and threw it at each other. We ran away from kids with water guns filled with paint, and ended up with some Prerna girls at the neighborhood temple. There was music, dancing, and buckets of paint. The brother of one of these girls was more rowdy and daring than most, and chased me down with a bucket of colored water, pulled out the back of my shirt, and poured the entire bucket down my back. It was lovely.
Coming home, we found one of our friends completely pink from the neck up. Her entire face, including her mouth and eyes (there was no white in her eyes!) was bright pink. This poor girl was sitting outside a temple, waiting in a cycle rickshaw, when some folks came up from behind her and wiped his grimey pink hands all over her face and in her eyes. The poor girl turned into a pink monster.
(Anna tried on her contacts a few days later. They were noticeably clearer but still pink.)
When we decided to get everyone cleaned up, we quickly learned that there was no water available in our apartment, as it wasn’t getting pumped up. We thus had to bring our buckets downstairs, and fill them up one by one. The entire process must have taken over 2 hours, and none of us came out “clean.”
Now this is a festival we should be celebrating in the U.S.
Holi is one of the two biggest festivals across India (the other is Diwali). If Diwali is the festival of lights, then Holi is the festival of colors. Offices are shut down not only for religious reasons, but also practical ones (i.e., to avoid trashing the office). People run around the streets throwing dry colored powder at each other (or, more nicely, patting it on your face), and the more devious ones mix the colors in water, which creates a paint that stains your clothes, and your body, for quite some time.
We and our new friends bought ourselves some Holi powder and threw it at each other. We ran away from kids with water guns filled with paint, and ended up with some Prerna girls at the neighborhood temple. There was music, dancing, and buckets of paint. The brother of one of these girls was more rowdy and daring than most, and chased me down with a bucket of colored water, pulled out the back of my shirt, and poured the entire bucket down my back. It was lovely.Coming home, we found one of our friends completely pink from the neck up. Her entire face, including her mouth and eyes (there was no white in her eyes!) was bright pink. This poor girl was sitting outside a temple, waiting in a cycle rickshaw, when some folks came up from behind her and wiped his grimey pink hands all over her face and in her eyes. The poor girl turned into a pink monster.
(Anna tried on her contacts a few days later. They were noticeably clearer but still pink.)
When we decided to get everyone cleaned up, we quickly learned that there was no water available in our apartment, as it wasn’t getting pumped up. We thus had to bring our buckets downstairs, and fill them up one by one. The entire process must have taken over 2 hours, and none of us came out “clean.”Now this is a festival we should be celebrating in the U.S.
Monday, March 9, 2009
School Visit: Sahara City Homes
Summary: We have demoed and launched in a school for underserved children operated by Sahara City Homes.
We are launching in a school started as part of Corporate Social Responsibility of the housing department at Sahara City Homes. The conversation started in late December, and Rahul has contacted them every week for the past two months, to no avail. They finally returned his call last week, and we’ve since met with the folks and run a demo.
This school started last March, and is divided into two sections: a more advanced, “upper” level class, and a younger, “lower” level class. Sahara purchased the TV and DVD player on their own, and are using DSH to augment the quality of education they can provide to their children. (In all, they operate 16 schools for slum children around Lucknow; this is a pilot.)
The first visit (Saturday) was very embarrassing, as the DVD player was a local Indian model and wasn’t compatible with our DVDs. Video would run, but most chapters had no audio (yet a few did). We didn’t think to bring a DVD player with us, so we spent most of the class (a) trying to get the darn thing to work and (b) using a vocabulary lesson that made little sense in absence of the story. We agreed to come back today.
And come back we did, in full force with a full convoy of DSH employees. Eight of us in total (everyone in the office, minus Urvashi, Priyanka, and Roshan). We were determined to have a good demo and figure out what happened, and to generally see how things work. I’m happy to announce that we have now launched in Sahara City Homes. This demo consisted of Rahul running the class and demonstrating how to mediate using the DVDs. The next time we go back, we’ll coach the teacher through using the DVD.
We are launching in a school started as part of Corporate Social Responsibility of the housing department at Sahara City Homes. The conversation started in late December, and Rahul has contacted them every week for the past two months, to no avail. They finally returned his call last week, and we’ve since met with the folks and run a demo.
This school started last March, and is divided into two sections: a more advanced, “upper” level class, and a younger, “lower” level class. Sahara purchased the TV and DVD player on their own, and are using DSH to augment the quality of education they can provide to their children. (In all, they operate 16 schools for slum children around Lucknow; this is a pilot.)
The first visit (Saturday) was very embarrassing, as the DVD player was a local Indian model and wasn’t compatible with our DVDs. Video would run, but most chapters had no audio (yet a few did). We didn’t think to bring a DVD player with us, so we spent most of the class (a) trying to get the darn thing to work and (b) using a vocabulary lesson that made little sense in absence of the story. We agreed to come back today.
And come back we did, in full force with a full convoy of DSH employees. Eight of us in total (everyone in the office, minus Urvashi, Priyanka, and Roshan). We were determined to have a good demo and figure out what happened, and to generally see how things work. I’m happy to announce that we have now launched in Sahara City Homes. This demo consisted of Rahul running the class and demonstrating how to mediate using the DVDs. The next time we go back, we’ll coach the teacher through using the DVD.
Foreigners in Lucknow!
Summary: Life has gotten a lot more interesting lately, as we have made new foreigner friends through a friend who studied at the American Institute of Languages. (Clubbing, anyone?) The unofficial curfew, however, remains.
Foreigners exist in Lucknow! Apparently, you just have to know where they hang out, and have an “in.” The American Institute of Languages is home to many foreigners / Americans, and thanks to Anna’s friend Amy, we’ve had the chance to meet new people and make new friends.
Meeting new people in your travels is always a blast, because people who do things like this tend to be very interesting and inevitably different from you and your comfort zone. They always have some amazing stories to share or incredible experiences or ambitions, and it makes life so much more interesting.
In the past few days, we’ve hung out through get-togethers, dancing / clubbing, and dinner. Clubbing was incredible! We had a good sized group, and dancing was generally clean at the club, with no sketchiness. (So great!) When we first got there, our friends were sitting on the couch next to a 6-or-7-year-old girl. She was simply sitting there quietly, alone, amidst the alcohol and cigarette smoke. Apparently child-friendly (we saw many other kids there), Zero (in Gomti Nagar) served not only alcohol, but also a buffet that was included with the cover charge. All in all, it was a fun night of dancing with a good group of folks.
All of this has, of course, gotten us in trouble with our landlord, as we’ve come home at 12 am and 1 am on consecutive nights. The only way for us to get into our apartment is to wake up the folks in the back house to open the gate, who then rings the landlord to open the door for us. Sadna says it’s bad for her health to stay up so late, yet refuses to give us a copy of the key or let us put a lock on the outside when we leave. Therefore, we hang our head in shame every time we come home later than 10 or 11 pm, even though we’re grown women who pay rent.
Foreigners exist in Lucknow! Apparently, you just have to know where they hang out, and have an “in.” The American Institute of Languages is home to many foreigners / Americans, and thanks to Anna’s friend Amy, we’ve had the chance to meet new people and make new friends.
Meeting new people in your travels is always a blast, because people who do things like this tend to be very interesting and inevitably different from you and your comfort zone. They always have some amazing stories to share or incredible experiences or ambitions, and it makes life so much more interesting.
In the past few days, we’ve hung out through get-togethers, dancing / clubbing, and dinner. Clubbing was incredible! We had a good sized group, and dancing was generally clean at the club, with no sketchiness. (So great!) When we first got there, our friends were sitting on the couch next to a 6-or-7-year-old girl. She was simply sitting there quietly, alone, amidst the alcohol and cigarette smoke. Apparently child-friendly (we saw many other kids there), Zero (in Gomti Nagar) served not only alcohol, but also a buffet that was included with the cover charge. All in all, it was a fun night of dancing with a good group of folks.
All of this has, of course, gotten us in trouble with our landlord, as we’ve come home at 12 am and 1 am on consecutive nights. The only way for us to get into our apartment is to wake up the folks in the back house to open the gate, who then rings the landlord to open the door for us. Sadna says it’s bad for her health to stay up so late, yet refuses to give us a copy of the key or let us put a lock on the outside when we leave. Therefore, we hang our head in shame every time we come home later than 10 or 11 pm, even though we’re grown women who pay rent.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
School Visit: Gangaganj
Summary: Gangaganj, a village private school, is where I first observed corporal punishment and exercises in silence since my arrival to Lucknow. I was unable to observe teaching quality, as we were testing the students and the scheduled DSH class was cancelled due to a scratched DVD. We are working to remedy this issue.
Referred by Madantoosi, Gangaganj is a village private school about 2 hours from Lucknow. In this particular visit, we distributed tests to several of the classes. A few points arose from this visit.
Reporting of Equipment Issues: One of the DSH classes we hoped to observe was cancelled because the DVD was scratched. (Who knows how long they’ve known about this?) This brings up two points.
(1) DVDs may not be the best long-term solution for DSH, as they’re not particularly durable. We’re currently looking at other viable cost-effective technologies that will allow us to realistically scale our model, but we’re still experimenting.
(2) Schools need a lot of attention and, given that DSH simply a “supplement” to regular teaching (teaching will continue with or without the DVDs), people often don’t take the effort to report equipment failures or scratched DVDs. To make sure we stay on top of the status at schools, we’re implementing processes that will allow us to contact schools every week, either by phone or in person.
Corporal Punishment: Knowing that corporal punishment is still prevalent in schools does not stop you from cringing when you witness it firsthand. Spreading the students out for the test (to prevent cheating), one teacher roughly held and rotated the head of one student to turn him around, topping it off with a smack on the head. I later saw the same teacher sitting downstairs reviewing the work of some students as they stood there; he whacked the students’ hands with a stick several times, presumably for wrong answers. I presumed my American lens was responsible for the unsettling feeling in my stomach, but I realized afterward through conversation that many folks in today’s society disapprove of such teaching methods. Beating children in schools are less common nowadays, but still very prevalent in many schools, especially in villages. Hopefully we can change this by providing teachers with tools for controlling their class in our trainings.
Exercises in Silence: One of the more hilarious experiences of observations. Standing outside the 1st grade classroom, I noticed the teacher sitting in a chair in front of the classroom, and the energetic and restless students twisting and turning in their seats. I asked Tanuja, “What is the teacher doing? Why is he not teaching?” Tanuja’s response was, “He’s probably having them engage in an exercise in silence.” I was on the floor. Why? The closest thing we have to that is naptime in the U.S., and that is because we think the children will be grumpy if they miss their nap. This was different. The teacher wasn’t doing anything to keep them quiet – he was simply sitting. My own cynical assumptions told me that the teacher was lazy and was taking a break from teaching. But perhaps this happens across India, and is why students are so obedient and disciplined.
Referred by Madantoosi, Gangaganj is a village private school about 2 hours from Lucknow. In this particular visit, we distributed tests to several of the classes. A few points arose from this visit.
Reporting of Equipment Issues: One of the DSH classes we hoped to observe was cancelled because the DVD was scratched. (Who knows how long they’ve known about this?) This brings up two points.
(1) DVDs may not be the best long-term solution for DSH, as they’re not particularly durable. We’re currently looking at other viable cost-effective technologies that will allow us to realistically scale our model, but we’re still experimenting.
(2) Schools need a lot of attention and, given that DSH simply a “supplement” to regular teaching (teaching will continue with or without the DVDs), people often don’t take the effort to report equipment failures or scratched DVDs. To make sure we stay on top of the status at schools, we’re implementing processes that will allow us to contact schools every week, either by phone or in person.
Corporal Punishment: Knowing that corporal punishment is still prevalent in schools does not stop you from cringing when you witness it firsthand. Spreading the students out for the test (to prevent cheating), one teacher roughly held and rotated the head of one student to turn him around, topping it off with a smack on the head. I later saw the same teacher sitting downstairs reviewing the work of some students as they stood there; he whacked the students’ hands with a stick several times, presumably for wrong answers. I presumed my American lens was responsible for the unsettling feeling in my stomach, but I realized afterward through conversation that many folks in today’s society disapprove of such teaching methods. Beating children in schools are less common nowadays, but still very prevalent in many schools, especially in villages. Hopefully we can change this by providing teachers with tools for controlling their class in our trainings.
Exercises in Silence: One of the more hilarious experiences of observations. Standing outside the 1st grade classroom, I noticed the teacher sitting in a chair in front of the classroom, and the energetic and restless students twisting and turning in their seats. I asked Tanuja, “What is the teacher doing? Why is he not teaching?” Tanuja’s response was, “He’s probably having them engage in an exercise in silence.” I was on the floor. Why? The closest thing we have to that is naptime in the U.S., and that is because we think the children will be grumpy if they miss their nap. This was different. The teacher wasn’t doing anything to keep them quiet – he was simply sitting. My own cynical assumptions told me that the teacher was lazy and was taking a break from teaching. But perhaps this happens across India, and is why students are so obedient and disciplined.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Search for Adventure
Summary: With Anna gone for the weekend, I went in search of adventure. After seeing two potential apartments this morning, I made Hazrat Ganj base camp and wandered around. I found some protected monuments, but failed to locate where the citizens of Lucknow gather on a Sunday afternoon.
All alone! Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.
And when you’re alone there’s a very good chance
You’ll meet things that’ll scare you right out of your pants.
~Dr. Seuss, Oh! The Places You’ll Go
Anna’s in Delhi this weekend to pick up Elizabeth, which means I’ve been left alone to get lost and explore the city (and slowly fill in my mental map of Lucknow). Don’t worry, Sadna (our landlady) is here to watch out for me and make sure I’m safe. Twice she called me tonight: once to see if I needed any domestic help (as Deepmala doesn’t come on Sundays and she wanted to make sure I had food), the second to make sure I bolted the door.
I went with Sadna to see about a room in a nearby house this morning. The room was furnished but cramped, and I’d have minimal kitchen access. Another concern is whether I’d have living room access, as I may do some work from home at times. (This may be a decent option for 6 months, but will probably be difficult when Anna / Elizabeth leave.) Afterward, Sarita (the owner) showed me a one bedroom set (i.e., with kitchen and bathroom) across the street; this entire apartment had only one opening to the outside world: the door. No windows, just concrete walls. (Such design is because houses tend to be built up against one another here.) Hopefully we’ll find some better options this week.
Afterward, I decided to explore Hazrat Ganj, because (1) it’s supposedly the downtown area of Lucknow, and (2) I’ve been there a few times already, though briefly. It was pretty deserted and most stores were closed (Hazrat Ganj is closed on Sundays), and, after a few turns, I quickly found myself in the electronics area. Taking a turn at the roundabout, I noticed that there were only men in my general vicinity, as I was in the automotive district. No, I actually never felt threatened or unsafe, just uncomfortable (oh, the stares!).
I turned at the main street and followed the rickshaws, hoping to find a bustling market area. No luck (empty promises!), but I saw a road sign pointing toward Aminabad (but where, exactly?). I walked further and found some protected monuments (the closest thing Lucknow has to tourist attractions). There were numerous empty buses lining this largely deserted tomb / monument, and I found myself surrounded by men dressed in white with white caps on their head. (Muslim, perhaps? Was something happening nearby? Where?)
Walking continued, past a massive globe (I’m so far from home, in more ways than one!), another few monuments (Neil Gate and Victoria Memorial, anyone?), and roundabout after roundabout (how confusing and dangerous are they trying to make things?!). I eventually found myself back in familiar surroundings.
I’m pretty lucky I have a pretty good sense of direction, as the only existing map of Lucknow is nothing less than Google Maps / Earth. Even though I never truly knew where I was today, I never did actually feel lost, as I always had a general sense of where I came from. Therefore, today’s endeavor to get lost and/or find adventure was largely unsuccessful, and I’m still wondering where people hang out on Sundays.
All alone! Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.
And when you’re alone there’s a very good chance
You’ll meet things that’ll scare you right out of your pants.
~Dr. Seuss, Oh! The Places You’ll Go
Anna’s in Delhi this weekend to pick up Elizabeth, which means I’ve been left alone to get lost and explore the city (and slowly fill in my mental map of Lucknow). Don’t worry, Sadna (our landlady) is here to watch out for me and make sure I’m safe. Twice she called me tonight: once to see if I needed any domestic help (as Deepmala doesn’t come on Sundays and she wanted to make sure I had food), the second to make sure I bolted the door.
I went with Sadna to see about a room in a nearby house this morning. The room was furnished but cramped, and I’d have minimal kitchen access. Another concern is whether I’d have living room access, as I may do some work from home at times. (This may be a decent option for 6 months, but will probably be difficult when Anna / Elizabeth leave.) Afterward, Sarita (the owner) showed me a one bedroom set (i.e., with kitchen and bathroom) across the street; this entire apartment had only one opening to the outside world: the door. No windows, just concrete walls. (Such design is because houses tend to be built up against one another here.) Hopefully we’ll find some better options this week.
Afterward, I decided to explore Hazrat Ganj, because (1) it’s supposedly the downtown area of Lucknow, and (2) I’ve been there a few times already, though briefly. It was pretty deserted and most stores were closed (Hazrat Ganj is closed on Sundays), and, after a few turns, I quickly found myself in the electronics area. Taking a turn at the roundabout, I noticed that there were only men in my general vicinity, as I was in the automotive district. No, I actually never felt threatened or unsafe, just uncomfortable (oh, the stares!).
I turned at the main street and followed the rickshaws, hoping to find a bustling market area. No luck (empty promises!), but I saw a road sign pointing toward Aminabad (but where, exactly?). I walked further and found some protected monuments (the closest thing Lucknow has to tourist attractions). There were numerous empty buses lining this largely deserted tomb / monument, and I found myself surrounded by men dressed in white with white caps on their head. (Muslim, perhaps? Was something happening nearby? Where?)
Walking continued, past a massive globe (I’m so far from home, in more ways than one!), another few monuments (Neil Gate and Victoria Memorial, anyone?), and roundabout after roundabout (how confusing and dangerous are they trying to make things?!). I eventually found myself back in familiar surroundings.I’m pretty lucky I have a pretty good sense of direction, as the only existing map of Lucknow is nothing less than Google Maps / Earth. Even though I never truly knew where I was today, I never did actually feel lost, as I always had a general sense of where I came from. Therefore, today’s endeavor to get lost and/or find adventure was largely unsuccessful, and I’m still wondering where people hang out on Sundays.
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