Teacher is not a Cheater

I have been a teacher. And I love to be one. (But as of now, I have been doing other works more than teaching. Shh. Don't tell anyone.) I have been learning to teach. I have been showing the world—whether the world asked for it or not. I have been creating stories, poems, and minds. Some of these minds are sharper than others. Some are still in the "sharpening" phase. I have been acting to be ethical, innovative, and usable. Usable, like a good Swiss knife. Not pretty, but gets the job done. I have been listening, reading, writing, and speaking. Sometimes all at once. That's called multitasking. Other people call it a breakdown. I have been making rules for the class, games, co-curricular activities, and I have been a part of them—unwillingly, but present. I have been a father. I have been a mother. I have been a servant. And for all of these, I have sometimes become a scapegoat. The kind that gets blamed for everything and then sacrificed at the altar of the annual report.

Teaching is good. I mean it. The act of teaching—when a child's eyes light up with understanding—is beautiful. But our system? Our system is no good at all. Not even a little. We don't have support as such. That's the technical term: as such. There is no support from parents, the government, our management, or society. Everyone wants educated children. Nobody wants to help educate them. Last time, after my studies, the Ministry of Education and Human Resource Officers brutally separated my family and me and placed me in a different place. "Brutally" is not an exaggeration. I heard similar stories from others too. Apparently, the Ministry has a secret award for the farthest placement from one's spouse. I think I won silver. I don't know what good there is to motivate teachers. A medal? A certificate? A "thank you" that doesn't come with a salary hike? I'm still waiting.

I laughed when other office agencies tell me they are busy. I saw them. Busying the whole day on Facebooking, chatting, gaming, and making josh (whatever that means). I cannot kill the time if I were one of them. I would die of boredom before lunch. But no. That's why teachers like me are overburdened with responsibilities. We are multi-tasked. We should be a housemaster, warden, matron, sports instructor, organizer, dancer, singer, kicker, baller, and occasional therapist. We look after co-curricular activities besides teaching. We have no time for cheating. We barely have time to pee. But guess what? We are paid very low. And we are only paid for teaching. Not for dancing. Not for parenting other people's children. Not for fixing the broken chair. Just teaching. Meanwhile, there is an indicated expectation—oh yes, indicated—of improving the quality of teaching and education. What else could we expect from overworked, burned-out teachers with minimal wages and no proper working space? Miracles? On the other hand, we have been bogged down with obligations like a donkey carrying a mountain. The Ministry of Education must initiate some careful interventions before it's too late to retain our teachers. Because we are not donkeys. We are just tired. .  Teachers live in pathetic conditions. I'm not being dramatic. I'm being accurate. They don't have quarters like other departments. Teachers where I am working live in huts. Yes, huts. If you look at the working rooms, tables, chairs, etc., they are more miserable than those of many low-grade servants. At least servants get a roof that doesn't leak. Teachers don't have computers in front of them to make notes. Some of us use chalk. Some use hope. Some use both and cry a little. Teachers are deprived of many facilities that office workers enjoy a great deal—like sitting, air conditioning, and not having to break up fights during recess. .

Less innovative and less creative heads of the school judge gurujis on the level of outbound activities—like their lip services, kitchen gardening, and how many plants they can grow in recycled buckets. Not teaching as such. Teaching is secondary. What matters is whether you can smile while planting cabbages. There are loud-mouth non-performers who get the highest grade. They talk well. They promise well. They deliver... well, nothing. And yet, they rise. Meanwhile, the good, born, and earnest teachers get demotivated. At least. Often, they get much less than that—like respect, recognition, or a simple "good job." So here I am. Still teaching. Still loving it. Still wondering why.