Teach For Kolkata

For the first time in nearly four months, Jenna and I stepped in front of a room-full of children and said, "Good morning, class!"

It was a wild day, one that needs some explanation. In short: it was a day only Kolkata could produce. We got to our training headquarters at 9:15. Fifteen minutes later, ten of us--six teacher trainees, three observers, and one driver--packed into a Tata jeep meant for six. Two crammed up front next to the driver. Three jammed in the middle seat and four of us (including Jenna and I) somehow squeezed ourselves into the carriage seats in the back. We got on the road--a gut-churning affair as always--and zipped into the single maddest bit of rush hour I have ever experienced. (Though, to be fair, I have never been to LA.) As we swerved between cars and nearly nipped several motorcyclists, I asked our observers how long it could take to get to the school. "Two hours, depending on traffic," one of them deadpanned. "You're joking, right?" I said. She wasn't.

I thought back to my time at Teach For America's Summer Institute in Houston. The bus ride to the school I taught at that summer was a 45-minute jaunt, in a half-filled school bus that was air-conditioned. I remember complaining at the time (along with all the other TFA trainees at my school) about the inconvenience of the drive, the uncomfortable seats, and the heat from the sputtering AC. In the back of our Tata jeep today, I dreamt of that bus.

About an hour into the ride, we hit a standstill. One of the observers suggested I trade places with Matt--another trainee and my roommate who was of much slighter build than myself. He was sitting right next to the driver up front. In the middle of stalled traffic, we got out and made the exchange. I plopped into the front seat only to find that I was straddling the gearshift. Traffic commenced and the driver downshifted right into my crotch. This is how I spent the second hour of the journey. By the time we reached Anandaashram Sarada Vidyapeeth--our school--my left leg was numb and my inner thigh was bruised. Not to mention, my back and armpits were drenched and a dark V of moisture cascaded from my front collar.

We walked into the building, a breezy rectangular structure with three levels painted mustard yellow and trimmed with dark maroon. A quiet courtyard sat at the center, filled with the bikes of students. Its open plan and cool hallways reminded me of a Greek temple. The steady din of high-pitched voices in another part of the building let us know school was definitely in session.

Within two minutes of walking into the building we were led to the classrooms in which we would teach our lessons. Jenna and another trainee Summer were led down the hall. Philip and I were brought to the first door on the right. Without a chance to catch my breath, we walked into a room of 54 fifth-grade girls. They all stood at attention when I entered. The teacher whose class this was, stood as well and said,"Class?" The girls all recited in unison, "GOOD MORNING!" Then, they sat down in one motion.

I taught first, and I realized as the teacher who had greeted us walked out of the room, that I was on. I put my backpack down and wrote my name on the board. I turned and found 54 pairs of small, wide eyes staring back at me. It had been too long since I had felt this. A tingle ran up my spine. I was teaching again. I introduced myself and quickly got into the lesson.

I won't bore you with logistical details about the lesson--it was a simple recitation of some common jobs and their descriptions. It involved a lot of call-and-response. With 54 students, it was hard to play the game I had planned but it still managed to work out. Things went smoothly mainly because the girls were perfectly well-behaved. They volunteered. They raised their hands. They repeated what I asked them to repeat. They answered questions when I gestured to them. They called me "Sir" and smiled when I said "Good job" or "Excellent".

Another trainee--Colleen--asked one of the teachers at the school later what type of families these girls come from. She responded that they came mostly from nearby slums and that their parents were typically the poorest of Kolkata's citizens. Yet, they came to school immaculately dressed in dull lavender dresses with red belts and red bows in their pigtailed hair. They carried backpacks or tote bags and all had supplies ready to whip out if they needed to write anything.

I admit that it was a small sample size. I only instructed them for 30 minutes. However, I came away astonished at their work ethic, their enthusiasm, their apparent desire to want to be at school. Shamefully, I must say that I had rarely experienced such impressions teaching in the US. Jenna and I both agreed that the experience today made us nostalgic for teaching. We wanted to stay and we want to go back tomorrow. However, we have a different appointment with a different school. And this time, we will be teaching teenagers.