09 July 2014

From Maths Teacher to Mathemagician

An exciting journey of self-discovery


As I began to write this review of Teaching with Love by Monica Kochar, the only regret I felt was that I waited so many months to do this…. Yes, of course, there was work. But when I finally made the time to go through it, it helped me grow as a person and a facilitator – just through the act of reading from cover to endpage. The sheer poetry of Monica’s writing echoed longingly even as I clicked to the last page, riveted to each word, my mind seething with ideas to use in my own work with children and adults.

Monica’s journey, and indeed her “backpack of strategies” are no strangers to me. Seven years ago, I watched my daughter transform under her particular brand of magic. Equally importantly, I knew her as a colleague with whom I had the privilege of working closely on cross-curricular projects. At some point of time, the word “colleague” changed to “friend” and I have continued to follow her journey with keen interest. However, if you assume that Teaching with Love is a book about how to teach math, you would be severely mistaken. Whether or not she intended to, Monica has written a book that every educator should keep on his/her bedside table and refer to at least three times a week, if not first thing every morning. Through its succinctly crafted chapters, she brings out the crux of what it means to be a teacher-educator-facilitator-mentor… of the present and of the future.

To quote Monica, “[Relationships with students] have been the space in which I have come face to face with the best and worst in my nature.” It is in this same space, she writes, in the place where a connection is made between the mentor and the mentee, that learning can take place. Where the relationship provides the undeniable possibility for the learner to reach out to learning, the same relationship urges the facilitator to grow and transform. At the end of each chapter, there are some questions that make the reader pause; a pause that is pregnant with possibilities because the author is asking us to soul-search in the same manner in which she obviously approaches her life and her life’s work.

So, what did I learn, other than how to make a clinometer? For starters, that a clinometer and its construction are important, very important, but this importance is subsidiary to the teamwork that goes into its construction. Why is the teamwork aspect more important? Simply because, and here we come to the central theme or philosophy of Monica’s work, teamwork is an aspect that addresses the complete child. This is nothing short of a revolutionary thought in a world in which everyone is encouraged to get more and more marks, accumulate more and more assets, and in short be judged for what one has rather than what one is. Repeatedly in this book, one meets the thought that scoring well in math is just not as important as feeling confident and being a person with high levels of self-esteem. In articulating this wondrous thought, Monica stands at variance from a system which would rather have you spend hours and hours on math in order to score a C and neglect all those other things that you enjoy and are good at. Throughout the book, Monica seems to be asking us to think about the second cosmic question: How much math does a person really need?

If at this point you have begun to wonder whether or not, as a math teacher, this book will be of any use to you, I would like to pause and say, “Go buy two copies of it – one for yourself and the other for your favourite colleague.” There are enough and more practical ideas that any teacher could easily implement. What is more, many of these ideas are cross-curricular projects that teachers of languages, drama, art and design, special education needs facilitators… can all easily take up in their own subject areas. But please do not mistake the wood for the trees – the wealth and wisdom of the pages will be lost if you miss the basic point of the work, which is: children are precious and we need to understand them, love them and respect them – yes, all of that at all points of time – in order for them to trust us and make the most of the learning spaces we create for them.

With disarming honesty and a lot of humour, Monica describes not just her “success” stories but those that were embarrassing for her – both types of experiences ultimately led her to the place she is now: still growing as a facilitator and as a human being.

If you love your children, your students, and want the best for them, and more importantly, if you feel the need to grow, this book is a journey you need to undertake.

25 June 2014

Letters to Me

for Shirin

Clearing up my junk, I came
Across an old, yellowed file.
"Letters to me," it said and lay
balefully on the pile.

Somewhere between the certificates
and the divorce decree
there lay a pile of sheets
that people wrote to me.

Rustling sepia pages
crackling with age
no letters from old lovers
as I softly turned each page.

There's one from my grand-dad
one from my mum does slide
then one from my godfather -- an ode
it said, made my eyes water glide.

So many close friends lost
to distance, to despair, to death.
But rustling yellow footsteps
dog my every breath.

Time it was and what a time
it was; a time of bafflement,
a time of consequences.

And the rustling pages roared at me,
"There goes the girl that broke
barriers and breached to a fault
with every word she spoke."

Letters from forgotten friends
remind me of each face;
A time warp builds around me
that lonely lonesome space

when distance do us part
Death needn't have a hand
And despair and longing then forms
a thickset lumpy strand.

Deep, wondrous emotions
Jumped, leapt off the pages:
Where did we let those connections go
never remembered for ages?

Never look back, it's a sad way to walk
Though odes do rise and shine
How much love was showered
on this little heart of mine.

And those who are gone, forever gone
leaving deep black holes in my heart;
why are the dead forever dead
Gone, all gone, when they depart?

Slowly I put back the letters
in their own little places.
Another year, another season
will vanish as time races.

Keep them safe for me,
My old, yellowed file.
Hold them and cherish them
till I finish the next long mile.

The First and the Last

for Sara

Standing behind a large leafy tree
unknown to you, I watch
that brave little smile as you
dash away those pearls from little cheeks
rending my heart in two

and then, unknown to you,
I wait by the gate
reading a book to shorten the stretch
of time spent away
near at hand
yet consciously far away.

That was your first day of school
And soon, I know, there will be
a last; when cut loose and winged free
you will dive into life's mysterious caves;
when I will watch as you prepare to zoom away--
those first faltering steps
an uncertain glance over the shoulder
to look back as your perfectly pitched song echoes--
I will watch
with a brave smile and perhaps
a drop -- or two -- to dash off my cheeks.