‘Excellent!’ says the remark in red
ink, next to a hundred per cent score on a test. A glowing face
looks at the rest of the class, looking for
admiration. The face gets admiration
and more—adulation, envy, dislike. The
face takes the paper home and there are
more glowing faces there.
In the dictionary, ‘excellence’ is
defined as the “quality of being the
best, better than anyone else.” The word
comes with the built-in feature of comparison.
In a field like sports, it is an
easily recognizable quality. At the time
of writing this, the Wimbledon Tennis
Championships are around the corner,
and if anyone is asked, they would say
without hesitation that Serena Williams
or Roger Federer excel at tennis. “Look
at him”, we say, “he has worked very hard
to get there to the top; he is amazingly
talented.” And we wouldn’t be wrong.
Putting aside the idols, what of
the humdrum classroom? How does
one define excellence there? A student
presents his or her work. Everything is complete, neatly done, correct; he or
she has decorated the edges of the page
with some design, made a cover page.
Another one gives in his work. Everything
is correct and complete but the
work looks untidy. A third gives in his
work. It is mostly complete, everything
is correct and legible, but this one has a
mind that thinks differently—he has
solved the problems by using different
methods. So then? ‘Excellent, excellent,
excellent?’ Or not quite? Who gets the
title and for what exactly?
And even in that last question,
there lurks that requirement—a title
given—by someone, to someone. A bit
of judgement there, well, quite a bit of
judgement, surely? And who decides,
and on what basis, from whose viewpoint?
What of a child who has a
learning difficulty? How do we recognize
this elusive entity there? When there are
children with such difficulties, everything
seems to become complicated.
A severe difficulty is obvious. What of a
less severe one? And here there is always
the discomfort—is this all that the child is really capable of, or is she becoming
complacent in her own acceptance of it?
Is she taking the easy way out?
Does one see excellence in oneself
—sense it, feel it? You have put your
heart and soul into that bread you
baked, you were supremely unaware of
everything except the feel of the dough
as you kneaded it, felt its silky elastic
bulk move on the counter, sniffed the
aroma as it baked and then when you
sliced it, the feel of the crisp crust under
the knife giving way to a lacy softness,
‘excellent’, you said. Is this it—these
fleeting moments of your complete
being giving itself over to the task at
hand—without thinking of the end
product or being apprehensive of other
peoples’ opinions?
Yet, we recognise it in others—we
see the end product and say that such
and such a thing was an excellent piece
of work, or that this or that child brings
excellence to this or that job. And over
the years as we work with scores of
children we also see that there are a few
individuals who seem to bring this
quality to everything that they do. So
is this it then? Something that automatically
touches all that we do? But for
this star performer, what of all the
backstage supports—hard work, stamina,
perseverance, passion—where do they
come in? Or the backstage hindrances
—expectation, pressure to perform, fear
of failure? The glowing face with the
perfect score—did he do it all from
some inner source, by himself, and not
for himself, but simply because he knew
this and no other way? Or was there
pressure, a desire to please? And would it
still be excellent if there was the latter?
A word and an idea smoothened
by use over centuries, like the smooth
rounded stone picked up from a river,
and we don’t see everything that has
gone into eroding it. And now, I am
almost afraid to say it to anyone!