I have been a teacher for the past eighteen years, fifteen of which have been at a Krishnamurti School in Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India at The School (Krishnamurti Foundation of India). When I chose to become a teacher, it was driven neither by an ambition to teach nor by the yearning to ‘make a difference’ in the lives of young people. One can say that it was perchance a mere happening that somehow became intrinsic to who I am today, as a person.
My tryst with Krishnamurti also was as a matter of chance and not borne out of a conscious seeking around what he had to say about life at large. In fact, I came upon his teachings when I joined The School (Krishnamurti Foundation of India), a school hidden away in the deep recesses of shade and beauty amidst dark woods, an oasis in a concrete jungle, a happening that changed my life. In the verdant ambiance of the school and the bedrock of Krishnamurti’s teachings that form the core of the school’s approach to education, I have learnt much, and I have grown tremendously as an educator as well as a person.
The experience of being touched by Krishnamurti is no ordinary experience; it is deep and moving. It shook up the very ground of my beliefs and nudged me, gently but firmly, out of my comfort zone, out of my ready acceptance of answers, challenged me to examine myself, ask questions, reflect on my life and how I live it. This journey of self-exploration continues, and the intent of my paper is to give an understanding—a glimpse—of how the philosophy of a Krishnamurti school finds its expression in the structures that have been evolved for the learning of the adult and the child in this place called The School.
Nature: An Extension of our existence
What is a teacher? It is the greatest profession in the world, though the least respected, for if he [she] is deeply and seriously concerned, the teacher is bringing about the un-conditioning of the human brain; not only his own brain but the brains of the students.
In the quiet of the mornings, in the crunch of the fallen leaves below my feet, in the colours of the sunset and the song of the birds, I have found solace in my moments amidst nature. To be aware of the smells of the earth, the feel of the cool morning breeze, or to watch as the beautiful kingfisher gets ready to take flight, is to be alive. Krishnamurti has often spoken about the importance of nature and our relationship with life around us, in all its forms.
As a teacher, I have found immense value in coming in early every day of the working week onto the school campus. It is a time to just be by myself and enjoy the solitude of the place. It is that time before the rush of the day begins, before the students come in and the chaos of the day takes over. It is a time to connect with myself and listen to my thoughts as each vies for my attention.
I also take my students frequently on nature walks around the campus whenever we feel the need to disconnect from everything and connect with ourselves. The subject, nor the time of the day, do not matter. What matters is the need to be quiet and observe, around us, but of ourselves too. We usually go and find a space to be alone, to sit under a tree or an open space, looking around, trying to listen, not necessarily to identify everything that we hear and see but to allow for that space to be attentive. I remember how once, one of my colleagues, in his earnestness to show a certain bird on the tree raised his voice to get everyone’s attention, and a child said, “Anna (that is how male teachers are addressed in school) if you shout, the bird will fly away.” It is in the recognition of the quiet that attention takes birth.
The school trips that we go on with students always have an element of spending time outdoors, of being with nature and with oneself. There are night-walks that students go on, in complete silence, for one to recognize and be aware of what one feels. The stars above, the shadows of the trees, the hooting of the night owl, all of it becomes part of that experience, something that is part of our being and not outside it. The fear that one has of the dark is unravelled and understood. As one middle school child once said, “I realize that the dark is nature’s way of turning out the lights!” Simple words that make me ask myself about my role as the adult in the lives of students.
Krishnamurti says:
Nature is part of our life. We grew out of the seed, the earth, and we are part of all that, but we are rapidly losing the sense that we are animals like the others. Can you have a feeling for a tree, look at it, see the beauty of it, listen to the sound it makes? Can you be sensitive to the little plant, a little weed, to that creeper growing up the wall, to the light on the leaves and the many shadows? One must be aware of all this and have that sense of communion with nature around you. —Krishnamurti, 2006, Ch. 54
Over the years, I have discovered that my role as the adult in the child’s life is to carefully nurture the space for a student to grow and be their own person. That, by itself, begins the process of self-discovery. To help articulate and express what one feels in the midst of nature, students are often encouraged to write in their journals when they return from their walk. Students are encouraged to read these pieces of writing and share with the entire group so that everyone gets a glimpse of this thought process.
The act of saving an ant from drowning or putting a caterpillar back on a leaf nurtures a sense of care and affection for all living beings. When we learn to appreciate that which is around us, we learn to value others and ourselves too. It is this relationship we have with nature that leads to growth as sensitive and caring individuals.
Conversation: An opportunity to listen
As a teacher, I have found that the most meaningful conversations happen when there is no context, or any agenda to them. Talking to students at different times of the day, through the different activities that happen, creates the space for conversing and examining ideas and questions on one’s mind. Conversations bring to our attention the importance of listening, of being open to examining something together.
In school, there are structures that enable a directed conversation with students in the space of circle time conversations or culture classes, where a topic is taken up and discussed by raising questions for the group. The group decides together to come up with and engage in a topic. Examining fear, anger or envy are relevant for any individual, adult, or child. These spaces create the groundwork for listening and understanding together, for each one to bring in their perspective to the discussion. In the listening, there is an unravelling and an attempt to go deeper into the questions that are raised.
In a circle time around the question of fear, one student asked me, “Akka [name given to female staff with Anna for male], what are you afraid of?” At that moment, when this question was asked, I realized that I had been caught unawares. I could not say that I had no fears, for that would have been an untruth. I also recognized that while I did not have many of the physical fears that these young people had, it did not imply that I did not have other fears. Fear of others, one’s own thoughts, or living up to expectations, are some that came to my mind. I was not free of it too and therefore it left me free to examine it along with them. That is the power of conversation and talking together.
At another time, a senior school student, who had just started reading Krishnamurti, asked me my thoughts on ‘unity’ and the quality of not being ‘divisive.’ I had to consciously put aside my understanding of it and look at it afresh. This meant asking questions of myself, holding my convictions tentatively, and engaging actively with the idea. Asking each other, clarifying, and disagreeing—each of these are integral to a conversation. This also demands a serious engagement by us and brings in much needed width and depth into one’s exploration and inquiry. As Krishnamurti points out:
And to listen is only possible when you put aside your particular opinion, your particular knowledge or problem, your conclusions; when you’re free to listen, not interpreting, not judging, not evaluating, but actually the art of listening. To listen with great care, attention, with affection. And if we have such an art, if we have learnt such… rather, if you are capable of such listening, then communication becomes very, very simple. There’ll be no misunderstanding. —Krishnamurti, 1977
A dialogue is very important. It is a form of communication in which question and answer continue until a question is left without an answer. Thus the question is suspended between the two persons involved in this answer and question. —Krishnamurti, Vasanta Vihar, 1984
Each of the Krishnamurti schools has a Study Centre that attempts to create the space for a serious dialogue amongst the adult community of the school. The Study Centre meetings that happen once a month are a way of coming together to delve into Krishnamurti’s teachings. These meetings create a rich ground for serious dialogue between parents and teachers. The goal is to examine the conflicts we face in our lives, and it is an invitation to come together in conversation.
Reflection: The much-needed pause
Krishnamurti says, “We have so committed ourselves in different ways that we hardly have any time for self-reflection, to observe, to study” (Krishnamurti, 2019). A day takes us through myriad experiences, and each of these bring to fore some aspect of our personalities.
Reflection is that much needed pause that helps us to look at something from outside of us, in a detached sense, from the periphery. When I suggest the word, ‘look’, it is with the intent to observe oneself closely and objectively in relationship to others and everything. For that to happen, I must be quiet in my mind. A mind that is pre-occupied or caught up with other thoughts will neither have the inclination nor see the importance of this pause.
Self-reflection is the gateway to freedom. It also brings greater appreciation and enjoyment. We begin to enjoy spending time with our own mind, and we enjoy reflecting on our experience of the teachings. Like the sun emerging from behind the clouds, the teachings of the dharma become clear. —Kongtrul, 2006, p. 14
Spaces in school, such as the staff meetings, have an element of self-reflection in the way questions are taken up and discussed. The reflective exercise of writing down one’s questions in thinking or understanding an idea gives direction and clarity to how one would like to take it forward for themselves. Journal writing as an exercise is a good way to articulate this for oneself. I have often recorded my questions and observations in the journal about a class that might have not gone well that week, or my reaction to a colleague’s statement, or just to look at my work as a teacher.
It is to reiterate that we have to look inward to grow in the space that is outward, to find the joy and immerse ourselves in the act of teaching instead of just going about our work in a functional manner.
Only when the mind is tranquil—through self-knowledge and not through imposed self-discipline—only then, in that tranquility, in that silence, can reality come into being. It is only then that there can be bliss, that there can be creative action. —Krishnamurti, 1949
Editors’ Note: This is the first half of a longer piece published in the journal Other Education: The Journal of Educational Alternatives. The second half will appear in the next issue of our Journal.