Shikshantar

I’ve recently come into contact with and become interested in an organisation who are anti-qualfications, Shikshantar. They’ve got a pretty radical philosophy, not dissimilar to the Montessori principle, that degrees and qualifications in general are worthless and should be scrapped.

                Maybe I had a particularly good degree course, or perhaps I’ve been institutionalised, but at first glance I don’t entirely agree with everything they’re suggesting. Contrary to what they say in their booklet ‘Healing Ourselves from the Diploma Disease’, I didn’t spend the last four years of my life pointlessly ‘memoriz[ing] de-contextualized facts’, rather I was developing a critical thought process which I think is vital in becoming an aware and rational citizen in the real world and just generally being interested in things with other people who were interested in similar things. I’m fully aware that a certified first class understanding of medieval poetry does not an engaged community member make, but the skills I built along the way have value far beyond the exam hall. It also opened doors in me own interests that I would otherwise not even have considered, and without which I would not have found myself at their dinner last night. So no, I won’t be starting an auto-da-fé of degree certificates outside the Students’ Union any time soon.

                But they have a lot to say that I am fully in support of. Having a piece of fancy paper with a number on it is not the answer to life, the universe and everything. It is impossible to develop an understanding of other cultures from your favourite desk in the library. A PGCE cannot teach you the enthusiasm that transforms a mediocre teacher into a great mentor. Being a master baker doesn’t come from a scientific understanding of the process of coagulation. In short, life experience cannot be certified. To be clear, they are not against institution-based learning, rather the fact that education has become less about learning and more about getting the right piece of paper with the right logo and the right number on it. It can’t be ignored that 75% of people in my uni classes were just chasing that magic 2:1 so they can get a marginally less mediocre job in an office with bigger windows and more pot plants.

                Learning should be about curiosity; finding the end of an intriguing looking thread and unravelling something purely because it’s interesting and not because it will get you somewhere. Of course it is true that you will get more out of it that way, but it has to be said that that if that passion is the works of a particular medieval romance poet, the university library is not a bad place to start.

The Silver Screen

Topics for the last few posts have been a little on the heavy side, so here’s something a little bit lighter.

                We all have an image of Bollywood in our heads even if you (like me, until a couple of months ago) couldn’t name a single film: Tellytubby-style colours, huge crowds of head wobbling dancers in the streets, the totally over the top fight scenes. I’m going to be honest, it’s all true, but actually, I have genuinely enjoyed every film I’ve seen. Not even in a ‘so bad it’s good’ way, but genuine enjoyment. Despite the super-cheesy, attention-grabbing, money-spinning dance routines (check out my favourite: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LX0Ced3G5eg&hd=1), the characters are engaging and the storylines pretty memorable. There does seem to be some sort of Bollywood checklist that means that each film has to have love, death, marriage, babies, fight scenes, suicide,  murder, weddings (I could go on), so a numb bum is an integral part of the viewing experience, but nonetheless I’m honestly considering stocking up my DVD collection.

                On the other hand, there’s television. I can only assume that the entire budget for India’s entertainment media is spent on the film industry, so all TV is supplied by the same small team armed with a rudimentary understanding of production and an 80s camcorder. There seem to be two main categories: soaps and series based on legends and epics. The soaps are all the same: new wife, bitchy sister-in-law with a slightly evil husband, large-bosomed matriarch and her husband in a stonking great house in which everyone has three assigned places to stand. In a thirty minute episode, approximately fourteen minutes are supreme close-ups of people looking shocked/ angry/ upset and another nine minutes of adverts. I like to think that Indian drama schools have whole modules on melodramatic facial expressions, eyebrow control like that only comes with some serious practice. The series about legends are a lot better (or at least, more entertaining), if only because of the phenomenal range of fake moustaches. Think back to the adventure films of the late 80s/ early 90s to get an idea of the special effects and evil cackling involved, then add a lot of men in skirts and huge gold hats that even the Pope would be jealous of- voila! An instant hit. It’s honestly difficult to tell whether a programme is aimed at adults or children, but at least I have now realised that my true calling is to be a TV moustache-dresser.

At Your Service

                Before I came out here, I did a lot of thinking about how I was going to handle situations I was uncomfortable; child labour, sexism etc. One thing that it didn’t even occur to me to consider was how I would deal with servants. I didn’t even realise that people outside of Downton had servants any more. As far as I’m concerned, your parents do your cooking and cleaning until you’re deemed responsible enough to handle a microwave and hoover, and then you’re on your own; it’s the very definition of adulthood.

                And yet here I am, awaiting the delivery of my morning chai and parantha, and mentally apologising to the cleaning lady for the mess we made of the floor picking off our henna last night. I have three meals a day cooked for me and spend every morning attempting to find somewhere to sit where I can dodge the relentless sweeping and mopping (I now appreciate the value magic of carpets; they just absorb all the dust and general urgh and nobody is any the wiser...) Some people might enjoy lazing around while all the household stuff is done for them, but not me.

                Firstly, there’s the independence issue I’ve already mentioned, but there’s more to it than that. I have absolutely no idea how to treat someone who spends a large chunk of every day in the house but isn’t a family member, and it seems that they’re not sure how to treat me, either. Kailash, the cooking lady, and I are great buddies – I try my best to chat with her in my (still) minimal Hindi, and she does a lot of smiling in return (through probably out of sympathy). A sound basis for a friendship, I think. The cleaning lady, on the other hand, won’t even look at me when I give my daily cheery ‘Namaste!’ but rather just continues mopping under my feet.

                Then there’s the added complication of national history; having spent 200 years bossing Indians about, I think we Brits have a real reticence about doing it in our daily lives. I know my family felt the same towards our (black) maid that worked in our villa during a holiday in the Caribbean. On top of that, I just don’t like people touching my stuff. It’s my mess, and I know perfectly well where everything is, thank you very much.

                On the other hand, it is a job. You can look at being a servant as being no different to being a cleaner in a school or a chef in a restaurant, but for me it’s very different to equate what happens within the home with the public sphere.