Notes from a School Visit

Like many things in life, I was neither in the front bench nor was I a last bencher in the school, probably because of this; I don't remember an instance when my parents had to come to school to meet the teachers - for good or bad. This being the case, I find it strange to drag myself to my daughter's school every quarter to meet her class teacher and that too on a Saturday. Now, don't get me wrong, I love the overall experience, only find it strange!

The D-day starts with some instructions by my daughter on what to say and what not to say to the teacher. She is not required to be with me during the interview and hence, quite naturally, she is worried. I drive down to the school, and reach a spot a couple of kms before the school. The road gets choked after this point with the many hundred parents and their cars. We are guided to a parking lot and shuttles run from the lot to the school. For someone who has always used the public transport for commute to school, (Running a fleet of buses was never a priority for most of the schools in the 70s and 80s) and hence never traveled in a school bus, I enjoy the short ride despite the inconvenience of fitting into a seat which is obviously not designed for elders. Luckily the distance is short and I walk out with just a couple of cramps.

The most difficult part starts now; there is a long queue outside every classroom, eager parents line up to meet the teachers; with great reluctance I join the line and start to twiddle my fingers and keep shifting my weight from one leg to another. I wonder what these parents have to discuss for so long. My question is answered soon, as I enter the class room and a couple discussing with great eagerness the progress of their kid who is in the 5th standard (my turn is next, hence allowed in the classroom -much like the guy in a wedding dining hall, who wants to occupy your seat for the next round and stands behind you as you are in the last course of your meal, nudging ever so lightly). I could strain a bit and hear the parents talking to the teacher about the kid and I could hear that the teacher suggesting psychiatric help for the kid to help him cope with the class and the social environment it provides and primarily to hold his attention when something remotely related to studies happens at the class – thankfully students are not required at these meetings.

My turn is on and I just breeze in, collect the report, thank the teacher for making my daughter wanting to come to the school every day, sign a couple of sheets and walk out -All in about 2 mins. This stuns many parents who are waiting outside and must think that I am an irresponsible father having scant interest in my daughter’s progress, but I guess the teacher is very pleased to see the back of a parent so fast. My daughter will be happy that I did not mess up.

I look at the grade sheet, and I am amazed, the sheet has some four pages (A4 size) and has close to some 60 line items, this is much more complicated than the appraisal system at my office (believe me, our appraisal system ‘IS’ complicated). For a 10 year old at the 5th standard, first term result -this is too much. My 10th mark sheet had 5 line items for 5 subjects, those were the days.

I wander around the school and this is my favorite part. Even though kids are not required to be in the school, there are still many children running around at about 100 kms per hour and are quite oblivious about the great struggle the elders have to take to guide them to a brave new world. A world of great vanity and make believe. They seem to understand what the grand master Chaplin once said: In the end, everything is a gag.