With the rich and varied content of my last few posts, one might be forgiven for drawing the conclusion that the teaching here at Aryaloka is something of an afterthought. Really though, that couldn’t be further from the truth and it is to the credit of the commitment and efficiency of the team I have been fortunate to work with, as well as to the diligence of our students that it hasn’t really been at the front of my mind as something to report on. This is partly because there have genuinely been so many experiences in some way ‘one off’ or remarkable that have instead taken my pen-time, but mostly because the teaching has been running so smoothly that the rhythm and structure it has lent to our daily routine has become something like the gentle hum of a well maintained machine that you only become aware of when it stops.
It is perhaps for this reason that I have felt it important to reflect on some of these things now, before writing about my experiences in Bodhgaya last week. It certainly isn’t because I have nothing to say about that, I can assure you! The first factor that changed the dynamics of our teaching machine was the departure of Shakyajata as she returned to the UK. Every year for the past 8 or so, she has spent which months she can in India, teaching and running the programme, then living in the UK to fund-raise, recover and plan her return as soon as the hot Indian summer has abated. Not only is she the principle fund raiser for the project and an important anchor of consistency for the teachers and the staff, she is also the most experienced English teacher at Aryaloka and it’s her syllabus and approach to delivery that Mark and I have followed. While she has encouraged us to add personal elements and use our own skills where appropriate (my classes utilised a heavy application of illustration for example!), there was never any doubt whose course it was. As a Dhammacharini (Triratna Order member), she also took the reins in Dharma classes and teaching meditation, often leading puja twice a day with the women’s community and with the men at least once a week. It’s easy, then to see, that when it becomes time for her annual migration back to England, there’s a significant shift in the daily running. Of course, Mark and I are both more than capable of teaching and even continuing the spiritual content but it was perhaps the first event that marking the approach of the end of the academic year, and with it a reminder to our young people that they will soon be leaving the safety of their communities and be back out in the harsh reality of a very flooded and heavily biased jobs market. Far from the ‘stiff upper lip’ for which we Brits are so famous, my experience is that Indians live far more emotionally on the surface of themselves (at least in responding to the issues which are not socially taboo) and so the tears flowed and the weeping was wailed when it was finally time to wave Shakyajata off to the airport. Less of a personal wrench from my own perspective as one who will be hot on her heels in the coming weeks, the main difference it made to me was a sense of moving a step closer to the firing line with respect to responsibility for the course. Still, with everything left so well organised there was little to practically concern me and it was good that I could present a strong front to support the girls, especially. I did wonder though, if one or two of them looked at me slightly askance; surely I should be weepy wailing too!? |
The week before her departure, I had been concentrating my efforts out of the English classroom as it had finally been possible to get everybody in the same place at the same time (no mean feat, this had been in the planning since December!) for me to deliver an intensive week of classes to three of our main Aryaloka teachers on the creative use of Photoshop. The classes had presented a combination of teacher training and skills delivery. I’d been somewhat apprehensive about this as these professional teachers had been using Photoshop for some years and I was concerned that there may be nothing new I could really teach them.
I was also aware that it might seem quite patronising for me to suddenly swan in and start telling them how to do their jobs so I was quite sensitive to couching the classes in flexible terms that allowed me to respond to their experience as and when it became apparent. Thankfully, I quickly realised I had nothing to fear and my colleagues were receptive as well as vocally grateful for a new perspective on both the software and the delivery of content. Education style in India is very teacher centred so it was a new idea to them to engage in a group discussion for example, in which one elicits the answers from the students rather than telling them the ‘facts’. I also soon found that there were many new skills and applications within the programme that I could share. It is all too easy to take one’s own abilities and experiences for granted, so it was a relief to find they were genuinely learning new things at the same time as receiving a new structure for teaching it themselves. Institute director Aryaketu was very vocal about how important he felt the classes were. For me to teach the students to use Photoshop would be one thing but to teach the teachers is equivalent to teaching the same number again for each member of staff trained and as I’d written an entire 12 class course with lesson plans and materials provided, I hoped to ensure that this would be practical with as little drain on their already busy schedules as possible. This was especially the case for Sanjaya; she teaches at the Raipur branch in Chhattisgarh, so her new skills would be spreading out even beyond Maharashtra. For not the first time I reflected upon how impossible it is to really appreciate the extent of your influence as a teacher. I don’t suppose those members of staff who first introduced me to Adobe software in a London suburb 20 years ago thought for a moment that they’d be indirectly facilitating the improvement of employment prospects and therefore living conditions for young people and their families on the other side of the planet two decades hence. That’s the wonderful thing about knowledge. You never really possess it, you just borrow it for a while and then pass it on. I just can’t believe anyone who’d try and keep it to themselves really derives any benefit from it at all. |
Anyway, I knew the classes were going well right across the centre when I arrived in the classroom after 10pm one night to prepare for a 7am Photoshop class and found all our community women diligently plugging away at their screens in practice for their upcoming exams. They sit exams in accountancy software called Tally, general IT skills (MSC-IT) and Hardware and Networking (physically setting up PCs). These exams took place off site at the beginning of the month and most passed first time. One or two fell just a few marks short but all is not lost. Each entrant has up to three attempts but I’m confident that no one will require a third. |
This week we are approaching yet another farewell; Mark will leave Nagpur on his way back to the UK on Monday and so we have planned a week to make the most of our remaining time together where possible. Practicing English, reflecting upon the skills covered and building confidence are the key focuses of our time now, as well as keeping up the Dharma study where we can. Today, we came together for a morning on the Karaniya Metta Sutta, tomorrow, we’ll conduct presentations that summarise student’s experiences of the course and on Friday we’ll simply enjoy a final few hours together with a picnic at the nearby Dragon Palace (though I suspect that eager teachers may feel obliged to chuck in at least a couple of educational activities before the lunch comes out!).
So, as of Tuesday, I shall be the last one standing, of the visiting staff, at least. I’m not quite sure how I feel about this and if I’m quite honest I have very mixed feelings generally at the moment that I’d probably be wise to give a little more space to than I’m usually in the habit of. Practically, my time will be full, of course. I have committed to CV workshops and hand writing practice and confidence building.
So, as of Tuesday, I shall be the last one standing, of the visiting staff, at least. I’m not quite sure how I feel about this and if I’m quite honest I have very mixed feelings generally at the moment that I’d probably be wise to give a little more space to than I’m usually in the habit of. Practically, my time will be full, of course. I have committed to CV workshops and hand writing practice and confidence building.
I have ideas of discussions I’d like to have with the young women (and possibly young men if that’s not considered inappropriate) on body image, I have plans for things I’d like to discuss with all of them about assumed hierarchy (why do you call me ‘ma’am??). I am still hoping to organise further work with NNBY before I leave and I suppose it speaks volumes about my overall feelings about being here that I have already started fund-raising for my return to India. |
I have an extremely strong sense that there is still so very much to do. I am only just starting. I feel very strongly that the time I’ve had here since October has been about laying foundations, researching, learning and giving myself a good base of cultural understanding and social awareness but that the real work is yet to come. It’s wonderful to be leaving with such a strong sense of purpose, I had feared my return to England would feel like the worst kind of void and this will be far from true. But. In the quiet times, it’s different. In the dark of night when I’m woken up by cicadas trilling and dogs howling and I think of the sound of the sea lapping on the sand. When I wake up in the morning and for a split second before I open my eyes, I expect to see the sun streaming through the stained glass window in my Uncles’ spare room. In the moments of discomfort when I’m feeling the effects of a climate I’ve still not quite acclimatised to, or aware of the dusty air, or noticing the heaps of rotting refuse and I think of walking across frosty grass, not dusty stones. Or when I’ve spent all day communicating as best I can with those who speak English far better than I’ll ever speak Hindi, yet still I think of how much I miss those conversations that just flow for hours before you realise you don’t even really know what you’ve been talking about; then I cross a few more days off my diary and I visualise the faces I’ll smile at, the bodies I’ll hold close, the minds I’ll relish and I feel a little tug inside. Of course, this is all shortly before I consider how cold I’ll be, how much I’ll miss the fresh chapattis, the colourful vibrant energy and all my new friends and family. How I’ll miss the Indian tune for the refuges and precepts, which I found so strange and alien on my arrival. How strange it will be to try and use a knife and fork… maybe I just won’t bother.
After moving from London to Manchester and then again down south to Essex, I began to realise that my relationship with the concept of ‘home’ was a fluid thing that had very little to do with bricks and mortar. The more I travelled abroad, the more I felt that ‘home’ was simply based in England, with some sense of it in Europe generally and that trying to pin it to one house, street or even city was a bit narrow minded. I feel now that this has been brought into question even more and suspect that this will not fully manifest until I am back in the area defined by my passport as being the source of that part of my identity called nationality. It will be strange. It will be sad and happy and comfortable and uncomfortable all at once. It will be scary and comforting, empty and full. But at the very least it will have toilet paper and Marmite. I’m also really looking forward to irritating my uncle by stealing the Times Crossword and completing it before he even gets a look in. If you’re reading this Unc…. You’ve been warned…