<p>As I watched my grandchild working on a school project, gathering content from the internet and presenting it creatively, I realised how much education has evolved since my time in a government school in Rajasthan’s Sojat Road village in the 1960s. The contours of schooling are broadening, with parents pushing their children to excel in extracurricular activities. However, children’s increasing infatuation with electronic devices has added to their stress. Many lack the time, inclination, or opportunity to develop essential skills to face future challenges.</p>.<p>In contrast, the academic load was much lower back when we were growing up, but we routinely learned a range of practical skills at home and school. At the daily prayer session, the school headmaster would deliver insightful sermons. We had a special period to receive hands-on training in fields like how to weave khadi on a handloom, right from gathering cotton seeds to spinning thread and weaving. Every year, we had a fortnight dedicated to workshops led by government-appointed trainers in areas like arts and crafts, music, singing, creativity, and other essential abilities. Once the rainy season ended, the school sent us to an open field for shramdaan, which involved clearing it of all grass, weeds and stones. It taught us the value of hard labour, teamwork, and social responsibility. </p>.<p class="bodytext">Our school also exposed us to entrepreneurship once a year. It gave us a target to earn a minimum of Rs 20—quite a sum those days —within a week by engaging in any ‘business.’ With the borrowed seed money, we purchased everyday necessities in lots and hawked them to passersby at a nominal margin. While some of us supplied henna powder packets, others handed out biscuits, sliced bananas or freshly grilled ears of corn to the locals, many of whom bought them solely for our motivation. An ambitious teenager opened a roadside idli-sambhar stall, which became an instant hit as most inhabitants had never tasted this dish from the south. As we inched closer to the target, we could feel how invaluable every penny we earned was. </p>.<p class="bodytext">The school introduced us to athletics to help us build our strengths and deal with failures. At the yearly district-level tournaments which alternated between towns, team members collaborated to prepare food for everyone. Participants in the debating contests had to rehearse their formulaic speech at the school assembly, peppering it with stereotyped gestures to build their public speaking skills. We spent several days practising physical demonstrations and march pasts ahead of the much-awaited Independence and Republic Day events, which imbibed in us ideals of discipline and patriotism. </p>.<p class="bodytext">Our government school’s basic infrastructure paled in comparison to today’s “fine schools”; nonetheless, the passion and devotion of its teachers, their close bonds with us, and the village’s familial atmosphere were sufficient to prepare us for the future.</p>
<p>As I watched my grandchild working on a school project, gathering content from the internet and presenting it creatively, I realised how much education has evolved since my time in a government school in Rajasthan’s Sojat Road village in the 1960s. The contours of schooling are broadening, with parents pushing their children to excel in extracurricular activities. However, children’s increasing infatuation with electronic devices has added to their stress. Many lack the time, inclination, or opportunity to develop essential skills to face future challenges.</p>.<p>In contrast, the academic load was much lower back when we were growing up, but we routinely learned a range of practical skills at home and school. At the daily prayer session, the school headmaster would deliver insightful sermons. We had a special period to receive hands-on training in fields like how to weave khadi on a handloom, right from gathering cotton seeds to spinning thread and weaving. Every year, we had a fortnight dedicated to workshops led by government-appointed trainers in areas like arts and crafts, music, singing, creativity, and other essential abilities. Once the rainy season ended, the school sent us to an open field for shramdaan, which involved clearing it of all grass, weeds and stones. It taught us the value of hard labour, teamwork, and social responsibility. </p>.<p class="bodytext">Our school also exposed us to entrepreneurship once a year. It gave us a target to earn a minimum of Rs 20—quite a sum those days —within a week by engaging in any ‘business.’ With the borrowed seed money, we purchased everyday necessities in lots and hawked them to passersby at a nominal margin. While some of us supplied henna powder packets, others handed out biscuits, sliced bananas or freshly grilled ears of corn to the locals, many of whom bought them solely for our motivation. An ambitious teenager opened a roadside idli-sambhar stall, which became an instant hit as most inhabitants had never tasted this dish from the south. As we inched closer to the target, we could feel how invaluable every penny we earned was. </p>.<p class="bodytext">The school introduced us to athletics to help us build our strengths and deal with failures. At the yearly district-level tournaments which alternated between towns, team members collaborated to prepare food for everyone. Participants in the debating contests had to rehearse their formulaic speech at the school assembly, peppering it with stereotyped gestures to build their public speaking skills. We spent several days practising physical demonstrations and march pasts ahead of the much-awaited Independence and Republic Day events, which imbibed in us ideals of discipline and patriotism. </p>.<p class="bodytext">Our government school’s basic infrastructure paled in comparison to today’s “fine schools”; nonetheless, the passion and devotion of its teachers, their close bonds with us, and the village’s familial atmosphere were sufficient to prepare us for the future.</p>
