LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE

Two days after the Thattekad tragedy, at 2.30, I sit in the staff room and write down an old nursery song in Malayalam. I taught it in the first standard just before lunch. One of the little girls insisted that I write it in a tiny piece of paper she tore so well. I write in a Falcon Pad.
Ommanam Kunnunmel, Oradi Manninmel….. On the first hill/ On a foot tall mound of soil/ lived a thousand birds. The youngest of the nest/ Lotus-like, my little bird/ swinging on a coconut leaf…
The swaying leaf is its end point. It was made so for the govt. text book. What I learned is another line. The last line is ‘koodum vedinjengun pokalle…’
Apart from its d-drums and /ng/ nasals, it meant much more. It had a very powerful emotional aspect. Don’t my little bird, the youngest of the nest, do not leave the nest. Do not go over to the nest-less skies, it meant. And the throbbing hearts of a few teachers accompanying their little ones to a bird sanctuary did not only mean it, but experienced it. Yes, emotionally.
This emotional aspect alone gives the real meaning to education – meaning the purpose, the force to make changes in the character, the habits, the outlook and so on.
I refrained teaching what I learned and preferred the govt. version which questions the word ‘raki’ the essence of the famous song ‘rakipparakkunna chemparunthe..’ because that word is not found in the dictionary. That is the fault. Going to the dictionaries and rule books for everything. The forest officials say the river does not belong to them. River officials say it is the forest people who collected the entrance fees from, My God, those little ones of ten and twelve, 15 of them who drowned in front of them. Their bodies were displayed in front of the whole world. Channels vied with each other in telecasting it all live. Thank God, they do not make the drowning live, except in rare cases like a person dipping another in a temple tank, an act of insanity. Live shots from an asylum can be serialised. Yes, I am skirting the point. I cannot think of it casual terms. My son too drowned at twelve and I know it by experience. That is it. Experience is powerful. I still remember my literature classes just because my teachers like Dr. U. R. Ananthamurthy, Prof. S. K. Vasanthan, K. V. Ramakrishnan and Dr. S. L. Byrappa had made the lessons into lasting experiences. Here in Std.1, I acted the lotus like and youngest line of the poem, as if holding the little bird. And the little ones [certainly not kids] started clinging to me. The lunch bell rang and they would not leave me. You eat our lunch, they said. They won’t allow me to enter the staff room. At last they made me promise in their name, my name and gods name that I will get back as soon as finish lunch and wash my plate.
Of course I don’t wash the plate and I had not to go. It is just being clever. So I keep my promise and interrupt the Maths class. I say I shall teach ‘1,2,3,4,5; / Once I caught a fish alive’ on Monday and they, like very matured ones, agree and I come out and sit relaxed in my corner and write about the little birds which flew into the nest-less sky. Or, say, the spread of seas, the water, the cycles of rains and drains, the waves and the tides and even the floods of , Oh My God, the life giving waters into which my little ones have gone – never to return.