Richa’s journey with The Valley School began seventeen years ago. During those years, she has primarily interacted with senior school students and taught them English. Her love for the little ones drew her to the junior school as well, where she briefly taught Hindi. A linguist by training, Richa speaks, reads and expresses herself fluently not only in prose but also through poetry written in many languages.
Of the many transformative learning experiences in my life, I will share two. The first was with my father; the second, with my research supervisor.
In the wake of a rude financial setback, my parents were forced to relocate from Delhi to Banaras in 1978. Two things happened as a consequence: my father began attending Krishnamurti’s talks at the Rajghat Study Centre, and my brother and I started school. On my first day of school at Sunbeam School, I remember wearing a sunshine yellow and olive-green striped tunic with a white shirt. Since I could already read and write in two languages, Hindi and English, my mother and the school decided that I should be enrolled in Class 1 at the immature age of four. This hasty decision had an enduring impact on my schooling.
Throughout my days in junior school, I felt invisible amidst a sea of faces and the pressure of academic work. Time passed in a haze. The only thing that I remember is that I was not ‘seen’ by anyone—peers and teachers alike. However, one transformative moment that I distinctly remember was with my father. One of the favourite topics of conversation in class used to be, ‘What do you want to become when you grow up?’ While other students were busy imagining bright futures as astronauts and doctors, I was unable to wrap my head around this question. One day, when I broached the subject with my father and asked him, ‘What do you think I should be when I grow up?’, he answered simply, ‘You cannot ‘become’ anything; you are something already. Identify who you are and don’t come in the way of that’. This was utterly unfathomable and perplexing to me, but despite my naivete, it seemed to me to be of immense value.
Fast forward to 1999, when I was studying at EFLU, Hyderabad (known as CIEFL then), pursuing a Diploma in the Teaching of English and subsequently an MPhil. My supervisor, Professor A., had a reputation for being tyrannical. Expectedly, my two years of coursework and dissertation under her supervision proved extremely challenging, albeit the most rewarding. I learnt the value of candid, critical feedback from Prof A. Even though most weekends went into bracing myself for our Monday morning feedback sessions when my essays or newly written chapters would be unforgivingly criticized, I learnt how to see my own writing without sentimentality
I still draw on what I learnt from both individuals in my teaching practice. I encourage students to engage with their inner selves just as my father did. I also share my views with candour and authenticity to prompt my students to question, reflect on and bring about change in their work, just as Prof A. did. After 17 years in education, I am still learning to be a gardener; nurturing my ‘plants’ and weeding out weaknesses; often telling myself
Dheere dheere re mana dheere sab kuchh hoye,
Maali seenchen sau garha, ritu aaye phal hoye
(O my Mind, be patient, everything takes time,
A hundred pots the gardener waters, but a tree fruits only when it is the season.)