"Whims of Authority and the Plight of Primary Education"

A Visit to a Primary School

Today, I felt the urge to show people those primary schools where great personalities—like late ministers, officers, chief ministers, prime ministers, presidents, and scientists—once studied and later dedicated years of service to India. I salute such individuals.

With their names and aura in mind, I visited one such primary school in my state.

When I arrived, I saw a man cutting grass outside. Moving forward, I found the headmaster diligently teaching the children. Upon noticing me, he stood up and informed me that he would be available after 15 minutes as their lunch break was yet to begin.

As I walked further, I noticed a small office where three teachers were busy preparing some documents. At that moment, a student walked in and asked one of them, "Sir, how long will you keep working? When will you teach? I always see you caught up in such tasks and unable to teach. What are you saying about it today?"

The teacher responded, "The Chief Minister has ordered us to distribute fodder for stray cows and buffaloes wandering in the block. We are preparing the paperwork to record how much fodder we donated. We need to submit this signed document to our Basic Education Officer."

The student, accompanied by her classmate, replied, "Sir, what's the connection between teachers and fodder? Such donations should be done by the politicians, but they only show up once every five years. Your job is to teach, which you cannot do."

The teacher replied, "Dear child, the Chief Minister has given this order. If we don’t comply, we will lose our jobs."

The student responded, "Sir, the Chief Minister appointed you to teach, so they should make you teach. They can ask their party workers to distribute fodder."

At that moment, the headmaster received a call from the BEO (Basic Education Officer), instructing all teachers to attend a public rally the next day, warning that those who failed to do so would have their salaries withheld.

I was shocked. Teachers, appointed to educate poor and underprivileged children, were being forced to attend rallies under the threat of job loss. What happened to the election promises of uplifting the oppressed?

Disheartened, I decided to leave. Just as I was about to step outside, the balcony above the door collapsed. Luckily, I escaped unharmed, but the incident felt symbolic of the hollow promises made by the government.

All the teachers rushed to check on me and shared that they had expected the balcony to fall any day, as it was already in a dilapidated condition. They mentioned that the authorities knew about the crumbling building but had taken no action since it hadn't yet caused any significant damage.

I sat down, holding my breath, looking up at the ceiling, which also appeared ready to collapse at any moment. Yet, classes were being conducted under it.

I wondered, Oh Lord Ram, what has become of this temple of education where neither the students nor the teachers are safe?

Just then, I saw a teacher riding in on a bicycle, sweating profusely. He handed some documents to the headmaster, saying they were voter lists he had prepared as per the Election Commission's orders. Following him, the man who was cutting grass earlier also came rushing in. I thought he must be a cleaning staff member coming for water, but to my surprise, he walked into a classroom and asked the children, "Have you finished your classwork?"

I inquired about him and was stunned to learn that he was the math teacher for Class 2, but was cutting grass because the cleaning staff had gone to play a musical instrument at the village head’s event.

While standing there, the teacher who had been cutting grass went to the tap to bathe. I asked why he was bathing, and another teacher informed me that it was his turn to clean the school’s toilet.

I asked the teachers about their additional responsibilities, and they shared a long list, including:

1. Administering polio drops.

2. Capturing stray animals.

3. Attending government rallies.

4. Participating in mass yoga on Yoga Day.

5. Donating fodder.

6. Preparing voter lists.

7. Conducting child surveys in villages.

8. Helping students and parents get Aadhaar cards and linking them with banks.

9. Managing and supervising mid-day meals.

10. Buying milk, vegetables, and fruits from the market.

11. Distributing textbooks and updating records online.

12. Participating in censuses.

13. Cleaning toilets in the absence of cleaning staff.

14. Arranging drinking water.

15. Attending meetings and training sessions.

16. Serving in elections, including distributing ID cards, slips, and counting EVMs.

17. Repairing and auctioning old school buildings.

18. Organizing crowds for political and religious events.

19. Serving during pilgrimages.

20. Assisting in government-organized mass weddings.

21. Planting trees and cleaning the school.

22. Teaching, whenever time allows.

Hearing all this, I realized the dire state of our education system, where teachers are burdened with tasks beyond teaching. How can the country progress if teachers are unable to focus on educating students?

I paid my respects to the teachers and left for the bus station to visit my maternal grandmother’s village. On my way, I kept pondering over the deplorable state of primary education and the plight of teachers, who are the foundation of our society.

While traveling, I was haunted by thoughts of my old school and how its condition reflected the systemic negligence towards education in our country.

I consoled myself by thinking that it wasn’t my job to fix everything, and before I knew it, I dozed off. Sleep is inevitable during a journey, especially when you’ve stayed up all night in excitement.

I don’t even remember when I reached Bijnor while sleeping. Unfortunately, I missed seeing the good roads constructed by the central government—just like how I missed seeing my city turn into a smart city. Despite headlines in newspapers, the smart city transformation remains an elusive dream for us. Anyway, I won’t solely blame my nap; I also wasted two hours scrolling through reels instead of observing the surroundings—the roads, the weather, and the trees.

Alright, now it’s time for me to get off.

Friends, I’ve reached my destination and am waiting for my cousin Chhuttan. Until he arrives, let’s enjoy the sights around here. But to truly enjoy, you need something exciting to look at.

Just as I was about to explore, someone honked behind me. Turning around, I saw it was Chhuttan.

What could I do? I sat behind him on his motorcycle, and we headed towards my maternal grandmother's village. On the way, the water levels kept rising. Let me clarify: this wasn’t purified RO water but floodwater.

I asked Chhuttan, “What’s going on, brother? What’s all this?”

Chhuttan replied, “Brother, this is all the result of a broken dam, which caused the flooding.”

As we moved ahead, I saw four brave individuals swimming through the floodwaters. The funny thing was that they were dressed in white shirts. Their lower halves were submerged, but judging from their attire, I guessed they might be wearing black trousers.

Our vehicle’s wheels were also submerged in the water. Out of curiosity, I asked who these brave souls were. To my shock, I found out they were primary school teachers swimming to mark their attendance and send selfies to their supervisors.

Honestly, I was both amazed and disturbed by what I saw.

Until that moment, I thought the plight of teachers was limited to my district. But, dear friends, this is the reality across the entire state.

Something needs to be done; otherwise, this will only lead to disaster. After disaster, there will be protests, and even after death, the families of these teachers will struggle under loans and debt. To make things worse, primary teachers don’t even receive compensation after death because they’re not recognized as state employees.