Showing posts with label textbooks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label textbooks. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

have a look at them too

Jispa is learning about the great war in History class. She has been reading a lot about the Schlieffen Plan as she has that as a case study. Today she told me that she has to present the plan today to the class. I told her “that’s really awesome. I am so jealous”. She looked at me and asked if I was being sarcastic. “no, not sarcastic but real. We learnt shitty history”. She said “all shivaji and all?”. “well yes, we had Shivaji but it’s not about Shivaji that’s the issue. Shivaji would also be awesome, if taught well.”
Earlier on, I used to be quite critical of the local history and culture being imposed on the kids. At school we were taught Marathi as a compulsory subject and we had every alternate year, Maratha History in the history text book. This was kind of really painful. We used this to criticize the government and the administration. The issue really is not the force feed of local culture. Today I would vote for local culture as a part of curriculum. It’s the way that it was taught that was stupid. We should have learnt a lot about the Maratha land, in fact we should have been taught even more in detail and in depth. The great Maratha sea forts, their amazing designs, their strategic importance and the various different places where the wars were fought. The Maratha history is very interesting and they even reached Delhi via the Peshwas. They held off the British and were feared.  It was and still is an amazing piece of history. Even the fact that they taught Marathi in school is important. Here the politicians have got it right, they introduced the medium of administration as Marathi in the local offices. This allows the administrative framework to reach those to whom it really matters, the common people. Ofcourse they have made it militantly so and have kept it almost exclusively so. The non Marathi speaking population does find it intimidating to converse with the officialdom. But still, it’s still better than pushing English or Hindi down everyone’s throat. Here I like the Singapore model where English, Mandarin, Malay and Tamil. It’s a bit painful, but this was all communities are integrated into the government system. So, having Marathi in school is good, but the way it is taught is shit. We learnt it by rote and did not learn the basic art of conversational Marathi. Today while I understand Marathi and possibly can go for Marathi cinema (preferably with sub titles) I can’t really speak Marathi. Jispa too studied Marathi till 7th grade but cannot speak it. The important part of it is the ability to have conversations in it. Once that’s done, the rest can follow. The script is almost the same as Hindi so that’s not the challenge.
So local culture, history and even geography is not the issue. The issue is the way it is taught. I told Jispa that “in school, we confused history with Eulogy”. “eulogy?”. “yup, here, google the word.” Eulogy: a speech or piece of writing that praises someone or something highly, especially a tribute to someone who has just died. That’s what we did in history. We saw only one side of it and it was in many ways a tribute to the great Maratha and nothing more. A eulogy, that misses the balance in the perspective. “yes” she said. “we are allowed to see every side of history. We are allowed to criticize every aspect of everything in History. We made so much fun of King Louis of the French revolution.”. yup. That is history. Nothing but perspective from things that have happened. Something that will help us understand where we are and what we need to choose to be. History is so much more. Sadly, all my text books and teachers did was to glorify the wars the dead, have clear villains and enemies, typically those ‘Muslim invaders’ till the British came along at which time the Last Mughal Bahadur Shah Zafar became a ‘freedom fighter’. All we did was stupid dates, stupid salient features and a version was narrated to us. Jispa’s history has a whole book dedicated to the Great War, and the first thing the teacher says is that, this is a British book and hence it has the British version. If we read a Germna book, we will get the German version. I also wonder though, what a Japanese version would be.

History : From a subject that I hated and never understood its significance to a subject I read a lot about. I love it. I have tried to pass on my love for History to Jispa as well. At least at some point she wouldn’t question its importance in the curriculum like I did. I learnt nothing. 65 kids in a class, painfully bad infrastructure, stupid textbooks, stupider curriculum – what more can we expect.

Now I read so much and when I removed a few books from the cupboard, I had a few for Jispa to read. In addition to history I also asked her, if she was interested in some anti – government books. Her eye lit up. Yes, I have removed a few. Have a look at them too.



Friday, July 10, 2009

time to change times?

After reading the Bob Dylan post, v-inu was like ‘my firend is listening to Bob Dylan!!! What happened to you?’ I think he was wondering if I had gotten potty in the head (for those wondering where they have heard the phrase, credits - Bill Waterston). The answer is guilty as charged with a slight variation on the crime. I dint get potty in the head – I always was potty in the head. Odd heads attract. That why we are still friends, you fiend. Before you point out, noopes, that is not a spelling error, you fiend. Add Dinesh to the equation and you have the cone heads.
So in continuation of my new found passion, here is more Bob Dylan. Learning from mistakes of the last experience I am not over theorizing. In fact I am not theorizing at all. The words of Umberto Eco come to mind - "I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth. "

So hence I am merely reproducing the lyrics of – The times they are a changing. Quite nice poetry. I wonder why popular culture is shunned by the text books. We had the bal bharati series of text books with only works of poets that had died at least a 100 years ago. Don’t get me wrong. They were pretty ok, even inspiring and interesting at times but wouldn’t Bob Dylan in there be cool? I can even imagine my poetry teachers getting a guitar and a harmonica to class and singing the songs. Ok on second thoughts – I don’t want THEM to sing it. It would have made poor Bob uncool. But you get the point.
So before I introduce Bob let me introduce you to some of the poetry I remember reading / learning.

William Wordsworth (1770 –1850)
The Solitary Reaper

BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?--
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

I loved this one. I was in love with the solitary reaper. Well yah, in love with the image of the solitary reaper that I had in my mind. This poem stirred up all the newly found hormones of a 14 year old.
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The next one was a favorite then and is a favorite now. This I knew by rote then and I often quote from it now. It was an inspiring one. I quite liked it.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
A PSALM OF LIFE
Tell me not in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us further than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act -- act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait
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The next one appealed to my nationalist tendencies. I was a staunch nationalist. I wanted to join the army. I also completed my C certificate in the National Cadet Corps. I still remember my number - No 1 Mah Air Sqd 91/105601. I am a bit more ambivalent or should I say pragmatic about nationalism now.

Sir Walter Scott – (1771- 1832)
This is my own native land

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

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And now let’s have Bob Dylan. He would have been able to hold his own in face of the older greats. At least in the high school text books for sure.

Bob Dylan (1941 - )
The Times They Are A-Changin'

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to youIs worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road isRapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.




Now that would be pretty cool. Have this in the text book and also have the audio visual play.
As for now – I am inspired enough to play cowboy and shoot with my mouse.