School

School seemed to start out well. The first day back-- after the first hartal-- was last Friday. We went out to the school in an Uber after we put the children on the bus because we needed to do several things in person: pick up a certified letter saying the children were enrolled, which the government was requesting in order to register us as foreigners (that's a different, long story); buy Agatha's necktie and a few other items that we'd been told were for sale only in the school store; and put cash on their accounts so they could buy food in the canteen. In typically Indian fashion, we didn't succeed in doing any of those things, but we did have a nice time and met both kids' teachers, got their cell numbers, got ourselves added to the class What'sApp groups (group text messaging), and watched the opening assembly. "Did you see the part with the Hitler salutes, Mom?" Henry asked me later. That's where they pledge allegiance to India with an uncomfortably familiar stiff-armed salute-- yes, we saw it. They then sing the school anthem and acknowledge those children with birthdays that day, clapping for them after the children mount the stage and say "thank you Mam, honored teachers, and all my dear friends." Then the parents are excused. At that point, we heard later, the haranguing began. 

Both kids found the day totally baffling. They didn't understand what was happening, what was expected of them, or even, especially in Henry's case, what the teachers were saying. When it came time to ride the bus home that first day, there was some uncertainty among the teachers about whether we would be meeting the bus and if not, whether the children were allowed to get off the bus by themselves. The bus monitor shouted at Agatha what sounded to her like "dairy! dairy!" Henry was furtively texting me (cell phones are completely banned) that there was some mysterious problem and the bus wasn't going. Finally the teacher called Michael and got his verbal assurance that they could send the children home, we'd be there. We figured out later that the demand wasn't for dairy, but for DIARY-- the school-issued planner which contains all the rules and expectations, and in which teachers and parents send important notes back and forth to each other. We had never heard of this diary-- wouldn't it have been nice if they gave it to us in advance, so we could read it at our leisure?-- and in fact the children were bringing home blank new ones that very day. When they finally disembarked there were tears and door-slamming. Henry proclaimed it the worst day of his life. We went out for burgers and milkshakes to try to make it better. 

We went away for the weekend and tried to start over again on Monday. It seemed a little better on Day 2: the other children were wonderfully kind and friendly, passing notes and proclaiming their friendship. Agatha had art class, which happens once per week for two hours. "They're so competitive, Mom, they asked the teacher to rank which paintings were the best!" (They had been tasked to copy a drawing of a lotus and watercolor it.) "He refused, because he's a good teacher!" (He's her favorite so far.) "So then the kids voted anyway. I mean, I won... but I still don't think it was right!" Of course we burst out laughing at this, which drew Henry in from the other room. "I won something, too," he said. "It was some kind of quiz... I had to fill in the blanks to make the titles of Shakespeare plays, and there were some geography questions." He got the top score in his class, which means he's going to compete in the all-grade quiz at some future date. But so bewildering is the situation there to him, that he had no idea what class that was in, what kind of thing this quiz is, or when the next round will occur.

Spirits were also high on Monday because another, two-day hartal had been declared: this one a national strike, not just Kerala, and called by the big labor unions to protest the BJP (ruling party). So, two days of school and three days of hartal in their first week! That's a schedule Henry can get behind.

(Henry looks a little bit like a Mormon missionary in his uniform. He hates it, of course.) They are truly shocked by the classroom atmosphere. The classes are large, about 35 children, and the teachers rotate in to teach different subjects, so the kids never leave the room except for two brief breaks, PE, and art (each of which only happen once a week). The room is noisy-- as Agatha says, "In the US I'm considered a loud person, but here I'm quiet!" To get control of the room, the teachers pound on the desk and shout. (Keep in mind this is the fanciest private school in the city!) Although it is an English-medium school, sometimes the teachers' English isn't the best. Henry said his PE teacher spoke no English at all, depending on the other students to translate his Malayalam commands for Henry. The Sanskrit teacher has decided to just ignore both children rather than try to teach them. The Hindi teacher, though, is very kind and proactive. She has asked Agatha to stay after on Tuesdays for one-on-one tuition. Here's Agatha's Hindi workbook from today, Day 1 of learning Hindi vowels:

There are just so many new things to master. Did you know that you need to cover your Choice School logo workbooks, which they gave us when we enrolled, with brown paper? Did you know you have to find a stationery store to find the special brown laminated paper? Did you know that only blue gel pens are allowed? No? Well, please Sir, Madam, get right on that. Did you know that the children's blood type must be recorded in the diary, and indeed displayed on the student ID? Don't you know their blood type? The first day, the terrible English teacher called Agatha to the front of the class to do charades with Bollywood movie titles (clearly she's a movie buff.) Day 1: please break down and mime these multi-syllabic Hindi movie titles in English before an audience of 35 strangers. Go! Something that the children really delighted in getting outraged about: did you know that on your birthday, you are allowed to bring in a packet of oats? Oh yes! Oats, which will be given to cancer patients and old folks. You may also bring dried fruits and offer them to your dear friends. 

Today was Day 3, and though it was not objectively better, everyone was in good spirits when they got off the bus. There is apparently a terrible lady who teaches English. In Henry's class, the students had to do a presentation in which they acted out a scene from a Bollywood movie (in English? I'm already confused). Though phones are banned, Henry texted me because he couldn't believe what happened next: "Teacher called someone's presentation pathetic. When he tried to respond she said 'Shut Up! Shut Up! How dare you have the audacity to speak after that pathetic presentation!'" When the next person began by saying "Hello everyone," the teacher said that was unacceptable; the teacher must be singled out for special praise and honor, for example: "Hello my distinguished and honored teacher and all my dear classmates." Of course, the kids here are used to it and shrug it off, but for Henry and Agatha, used to kind and gentle teachers and quiet and orderly classrooms and kid-centered pedagogy, this is totally shocking. The good thing is, they are laughing about it now (at least today). Today a girl brought Agatha the secret gift of a chocolate bar. There is much furtive note-passing, which Agatha likes very much. Henry sits at a tandem desk with another boy, and finds it funny that it is a team effort to scoot the bench forward. The other children are absolutely wonderful, many of the teachers are great, and anyway, Kerala averages a hartal every fourth day, so they won't really be going to school much anyway.