Inside a childhood of free will: Growing up Montessori in a world of rote learning

Shraddha A K, who studied in two ‘alternative’ schools, shares her experience.

One of the questions I dread in casual conversations is, “Which school did you go to?” My response evokes disbelief, some fascination, and quite a bit of judgement.

I went through alternative schooling. Until Class 10, I had no uniforms, fixed subjects, textbooks or timetable. I sat in classes with children younger and older than me. We had no homework, no exams, and no school diary for teachers to leave feedback for parents. I called my teachers by their first names.

I attended a Montessori school. Most people associate these centres with toddlers or children with special needs. Yes, the Montessori method began in 1907 for young children, but it has since evolved to include programmes such as Erdkinder for adolescents.

It was my mother’s decision to send me to a school that was nothing like her own, where teachers thrashed students and forced them into a rigid routine. She had studied at a central government-run school. To her luck, she discovered an alternative school just a 10-minute drive from where we lived.

Namma Shaale was located on Hennur-Bagalur Main Road in Bengaluru. The fee was significantly higher than at conventional schools, but my mother was sold on their “unique method” of learning from the moment she stepped onto the campus. Children there walked around barefoot and greeted every visitor with a ‘Namaste’. They were engrossed in their activities, while the teacher observed them from a distance. If someone made a mess or became rowdy, a bell reminded them to be mindful of their actions.

During our pre-primary years, we were first taught everyday tasks like sweeping, wiping surfaces, putting on our clothes, pouring water into glasses, and watering plants. The idea is to help children develop motor coordination and make sense of the world around them. “To a two-year-old, the alphabet or number system does not make sense. But since they see adults performing these tasks at home, they understand the purpose behind these actions — that a house is swept to keep it clean, or that only a certain amount of water can be poured into a glass before it overflows,” says Montessori educationist Sophie Sivashankar.

Comparative strengths

So what did I ‘really study’ at school? Recently, one of my colleagues was shocked to learn that I had never heard of the Champaran peasant agitation. For her, Champaran, a district in Bihar where Gandhi led his first Satyagraha in India to help indigo farmers, was a core memory from history classes. She went to a CBSE school. I, however, did not study India’s freedom struggle in detail. “It didn’t interest me much,” I told her with a shrug. Instead, I spent days studying the Industrial Revolution, human civilisations, and the Jurassic era.

Does non-conventional schooling make children misfits in a world shaped by mainstream education? Are we, raised on the ideal of free will, able to survive in jobs defined by competition and hierarchies? Can we break into ‘hard’ careers like IT and medicine? Do we enjoy an edge over others?

I am 22. I have had a short career so far, first as a mixologist at multiple bars, and now as a reporter with this newspaper.

Choice over curriculum

Multiple models of alternative education exist today, but Montessori is built around the principle of ‘follow the child’. It is defined by the 3Ps. The first is ‘Presentation’, where various topics are introduced to children, and they choose what interests them. The second is ‘Practice’, where they explore the topic using reading materials and activity tools. The third is ‘Perfection’, where they are allowed as much time as needed to master the topic. So instead of studying subjects like physics and biology on a broad level, I focused on specific concepts that interested me, such as photosynthesis and the Palaeozoic era.

Children at Akshara Montessori House of Children learn language, maths and motor skills through activities.

It is true that one’s interest ebbs and flows. Some days, my interest in a topic would wane within minutes. On others, I would be eager to explore. When ‘Happy Feet’, an animated film about a tap-dancing penguin, came out, I became so fascinated with penguins that I spent an entire month researching them. Next, I was intrigued by the history of dance, and later, by ENT infections after undergoing surgery for tonsillitis.

Our teachers were a mix of qualified academics and experts from different walks of life, brought in as and when their services were needed. Their role was to support our interests while also guiding us to explore diverse topics. They provided activity tools, reference books, online resources, and even prepared lessons themselves. They observed our progress and stepped in only when we struggled or sought help.

One of my fondest memories is learning to visualise the Big Bang theory. Rama Reddy, the founder of our school, would place a Marie Gold biscuit on a plate and stab it with a pencil. It sent crumbs scattering in all directions, like how the universe expanded from a single point. I learnt English grammar through grammar boxes (wooden boxes that had separate compartments for the eight parts of speech). I learnt place values (units, tens, hundreds, and thousands) using a string of golden beads, and the concept of square roots with a wooden pegboard.

Without textbooks, our school bags were light. We usually carried a few toys, a lunchbox, and a book or two for personal reading. The only things with set timings were lunch and extracurricular activities. Our extracurricular time was far beyond sports, arts, and scouts. We did weaving, dyeing and cotton spinning. We engaged in carpentry and cement work. We grew our own chillies and tomatoes. We looked after fish, tadpoles, snails, turtles, a tortoise, and dogs on our campus.

Stint at ‘normal’ 

My school shut down when I was in my first year of upper elementary. My mother now faced a dilemma: where should I go next? She could see I was turning out different from my cousins, who were attending regular schools. I was outgoing and confident. I could talk to strangers. I could discuss science for hours. Children of some scientists attended my school, which reassured her that we were on the right path.

The difference with my cousins was obvious to me, too. During playtime, we would pretend to run a classroom. While they acted out teachers as strict disciplinarians, I portrayed them as gentle and observant. My extended family often teased me for not being a “prim and proper” student because I didn’t say “Good morning, teacher” or wear a uniform. When my uncles and aunts came to pick me up from school, they found me covered in mud or sitting in a tree and assumed I was at an “asylum”. Parents of other children would put me to the test to prove that my schooling was of no use. “Tell me the table of five” was the sort of question I was asked.

I was finally enrolled in a regular international school. It was a whole new world. Instead of mats and low desks (chowkis), we had benches. The classrooms were fully closed, unlike the partially open ones before, where I could spot birds and squirrels. There were 40 students in a class instead of just seven or eight. Wearing a uniform was new to me, as was doing homework. Until then, I thought a diary was where I wrote letters to myself, but teachers were using it to write complaints to my mother because I had taken off my blazer. I was even thrown out of class for not saying ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am’ to my teachers. Library visits were restricted. I wrote a test for the first time and came last. A teacher hit me.

In just six months, my mother pulled me out and I joined Akshara Montessori House of Children in Sathnur. “I do not see a failure. She is eloquent, and I see potential,” Sophie, founder and principal of the school, told my mother and admitted me to Class 5.

Facing board exams

I was back to my old ways. The school was set on a farm. We farmed, cared for geese, buffaloes, and cows, and went birdwatching. We could leave the classroom or take a nap anytime. We once held a student-teacher parliament, where students debated ‘bills’ demanding longer lunch breaks and games sessions in the morning. On another occasion, we built a fire extinguisher from scratch and tested it by lighting a bonfire in our football field.

However, this school had elements of mainstream education too. Older children used tables and chairs. Occasionally, we were assigned projects and homework related to maths and science. In Class 10, we had a timetable and even textbooks. We called our teachers by adding ‘teacher’ to their names.

Competition, whether in academics or sports, wasn’t allowed as Sophie believed it went against the school philosophy. However, when we expressed our desire for exposure, we were allowed to participate in interschool games. And we often won, especially at girls’ events.

The Class 10 boards were the first exams I had to face, but I wasn’t stressed about them, perhaps because I had never felt competitive outside of sports. The same went for my classmates. Before the exams, we played ‘Never Have I Ever’ and ‘Truth or Dare’, while students from regular schools had their noses buried in books. I completed my Class 10 exams through the National Institute of Open Schooling (NIOS) board and passed with 76%. None of the students from my alma mater has ever failed Class 10.

Suspension in college

During her school days, the author and other children in her school organised and ran a flea market of handmade products.

By the time I reached pre-university and college, I was somewhat used to big classrooms, blackboards, tables, and chairs. But I still struggled with memorising things. I failed my first English internal exam because I answered it in my own words rather than using the textbook definitions. When I tried to reason with the teacher that rote memorisation stifled creative thinking, I was thrown out of the class. Not being used to hierarchies, I often rubbed professors the wrong way. Sometimes I faced suspension, sometimes my mother was summoned. Over time, I learned to balance my creative answers with standard ones in exams. I excelled in subjects that interested me (medical microbiology, journalism, English, Kannada, and biostatistics) and didn’t worry about scoring average in subjects I didn’t enjoy, like chemistry and industrial microbiology. I used to be slow with deadlines when I was not interested in something, and I learned to accept it.

Battling rat race

Despite the scepticism surrounding folks like me, professor Indira Vijaysimha, founder of Poorna Learning Centre, a 30-year-old alternative school in Bengaluru, says more parents are choosing such schools today than 15 years ago. Many have experienced the pressures of the “rat race” and want their children to have the freedom to explore their passions. She adds that even mainstream schools are increasingly adopting alternative educational methods. The New Education Policy aligns closely with the philosophies of Tagore, Gandhi, and Montessori. According to Indira, these models emphasise self-reflection, social contribution, and a connection with nature. While these values may stand in contrast with modern society’s focus on wealth and consumerism, she says they enrich life in profound ways.

She points to renowned personalities schooled differently. All three children of iconic Kannada novelist Shivaram Karanth were homeschooled, including zoologist K Ullas Karanth. And educationist Krishna Kumar, who served as the director of the National Council for Educational Research and Training, studied in a Gandhian school.

Contrary to popular belief, Indira says not many children drop out of alternative schooling midway. At her school, about 40% move out at the start of Class 10 so they can prepare for and write their board exams. She also says they go on to hold successful careers in diverse fields like others. For instance, the alumni from my high school include a neurosurgeon, a veterinarian, lawyers, and those pursuing finance, architecture and arts. The only significant difference she notices among such students is that they tend to be less influenced by peer pressure and competition.

For fashion design student Felicia Felix, integrating into mainstream education wasn’t difficult, as NIOS offers flexible subjects and national and globally recognised credentials. Fardeen C M A admits that the rote learning and rigid syllabus he experienced in college shocked him, but the grounding he had received in his school nurtured his entrepreneurial spirit and social activism. Today, he is helping design a 125-acre eco retreat which will provide employment to tribal women. Free time and flexibility of alternative schooling shaped the creative instincts of filmmaker Paro Salil. She admits she would have struggled in a nine-to-five job, but the philosophy of self-learning has helped her adapt to fast-evolving technologies and systems. M K Maaz, a mechanical engineering student, says values like cleanliness and respect for nature set him apart from others.

Think about it: mainstream education produces as many ‘failures’ as ‘successes’. Who isn’t a misfit in that sense? At least I can say I enjoyed my time at school, I loved my teachers, and I didn’t dread the end of the holidays.

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