Will the backbench vanish?

Back in the day, when teachers were feared, the backbench was a sanctuary

A silent revolution is unfolding in Kerala’s schools. For the first time in history, the seating arrangement in classrooms is undergoing a radical shift. Inspired by a Malayalam film, many schools are now redesigning classrooms into U-shaped or semi-circular layouts, with teachers at the centre and students seated on three sides. It’s a design throwback not seen since the days of the Gurukula. The iconic backbench is disappearing. 

It’s not as if educators hadn’t tried to dethrone the stigma of the “backbencher” before. They shuffled students around daily, seated them alphabetically, arranged them by height, or even raised the elevation of the rear benches, all in the hope of creating a level academic field. But this time, the approach is radical. The plan isn’t to rehabilitate the backbenchers. It’s to erase the backbench altogether.

Backbenches carried the universal label of underperformance and mischief. But let’s be honest; they were never really Siberia for the naughty to be exiled. Most of us chose the backbench.

I speak from experience. From primary school to college, I remained a chronic backbencher, my impressive height doing me a huge favour in keeping that post. Honestly, I never believed that a seat in the front row would have improved my life trajectory. That belief was reinforced at a recent college reunion where I met a fellow backbencher, now a highly successful entrepreneur in the Middle East. I whispered to myself: It’s not where you sit that shapes your future; it’s what you see from there. And let’s bust a myth: the backbenchers weren’t academic disasters. True, the front row produced more doctors and engineers. But the last row? That’s where entrepreneurs, artists, writers, and yes, even the street-smart politicians incubated. How often do we hear a celebrity confess with pride, “I was a backbencher!”

Backbenches tested a teacher’s skill like no pedagogy manual ever could. Only those with wit, warmth, and a pocket full of chalk survived. The rigid ones crumbled. In fact, many kept a few chalk pieces ready to launch at the notorious “last row” that doubled up as a lounge for post-lunch naps and creative doodles. During education inspections, backbenches made even seasoned teachers break into a nervous sweat.

The backbench offered a long angle of sight, a vantage point for classroom romances, furtive smiles, and ambitious daydreams. Until, of course, the chalk missile struck your head mid-fantasy. In those days teachers were the terrors, and the backbench was our sanctuary.

Friendships among backbenchers ran deeper. Their bonds were built on shared punishments, stifled laughter, and collective creativity. While the frontbenchers toiled under the constant drizzle of chalk dust, those in the back worked the system, and sometimes even each other, with quiet brilliance.

As Kerala experiments with doing away with backbenches, one question remains: Will this become the new normal, or will the backbench make a glorious return, driven by its inherent charm?