Every morning constitutes a very simple
routine here – waking up either to the sound of a massive jet powering its way
down to the airport a short distance from the house or one taking off to leave
this magical land in what would obviously be unenviable regret. Otherwise, the
alarm call takes the form of the mighty Ladakhi sun beaming down through the
wall of my window curtains to remind me that there are more important things to
do than dream Himalayan dreams, or in the form of a phone call from mother, as
she sits alone at home in Canada that seems to her lifeless and empty without
her son to scold, dote and love unconditionally.
Waking up after either of these alarms are
completed, the first thing I do is push the curtains away and welcome the sun
completely with no half-measures hindering my sight of what awaits my eyes
beyond those windows. The first thing I see is the neighbours fields, growing
from a sprinkle of green scattered around when I first saw them to a generous
dollop of the colour all around now – clumped up leaves in the vegetable
gardens and sinewy whisps of an invisible green where the infant wheat sprouts
forth. Then I look to the simple box-like house that stands a little distance
from the fields and I see the neighbours milling about and working their own
morning routines that aren’t quite as luxurious as mine. I then turn to the
south and see those vibrant mountains that change their face every single
morning. Some days they lie naked, bathing in the sun like some athlete who
likes to show off whilst other days they’re peppered with snow and reflecting
that pale golden sunlight looking like some crown of a king of old that just
needs a little polishing to recover its old glow. When I notice that it has
rained last night I see that the mountains are covered with a blanket of grey
velvety clouds and some have generous amounts of snow reaching their very
foothills.
Taking all this grandeur in, I amble along
to the other mundane tasks that my body demands of me in the morning and after
a usually healthy breakfast I set off for school through that picturesque trail
in the village that I described in my last post. After reaching school, the
first person I usually see is the school cook who is a jovial man of about
50-60 winters. After a ‘’Julay’’ I move along either to the 2nd
floor ‘’Teacher’s room’’ which is nothing but a corner of the hallway with a
table, 5 chairs, and a thermos of tea with 5 cups placed on a metal tray with
Ranjit sitting on one of the chairs shouting a jubilant ‘’Good Morning Sirjee’’, or I go to the school office and
check my email/facebook/twitter if the internet signal is strong enough.
School begins at 9:30 am with a rush of
kids running to the school courtyard which is a large space of open ground with
one corner near the compound wall with a grove of trees being the place where
the morning assembly prayers are held. At 10 am, the kids march haphazardly
into the school building and get ready to go to their individual classes. Us
teachers on the other hand go to the teacher’s room and have our cups of hot
piping tea, which is perfect for cold mornings, for 5 minutes, after which we
move along to our respective classes. My first class is the 3rd
graders who are generally,a pleasant group of kids. It includes Tsewang, Yountan,
Paldan and Chospel who are good learners for the most part, and are always
excited when I teach them computers instead of conversational English or
grammar. They also found the concept of gravity thrilling when I explained the
basics of it. There’s something about seeing a childs eyes light up when they
first comprehend a concept that has the potential to change their outlook. Like
Plutarch said, ‘’the mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be
lighted.’’
This is then followed by the 4th
graders who are an even more fun bunch to teach because their conversational
English is pretty strong and so it’s easier to communicate a concept that is
complex. It includes Norbu, Namgyal and Choing who are all exceedingly bright
kids and a tad bit adventurous as well – both academically and physically. The
other day, whilst teaching them typing on MS Word, I found it pleasantly
surprising how well they were able to pick up the instructions after telling it
to them, just the one time, despite it being their first time on a computer.
This class is then followed by a 20 minute break which includes me again going
down the office and checking if the internet is strong enough to continue my
browsing. I also often join the kids in a game of marbles, although my aim is
terrible (but my first grader,Largyal, insists its improving day by day).
After the break is the most disciplined
class of mine that consists of the 5th graders who are both
exceedingly good English speakers and well versed in English grammar as well (for
the most part). I love teaching them science because they can follow along the
concepts with a comparative ease and also add much to a discussion because
their brains are developing cognitive skills that transcend the barrier of
childhood where abstract concepts seem incredibly difficult. As most of science
includes some astoundingly abstract concepts, it’s important that age be
brought into account when teaching it, for the barrier biology places on young
brains is there for a reason. Tashi, Tsinge, Jigmet, Tashin, Padme, Stanzin,
Rigzen&Norbu (a lot of Ladakhi names repeat themselves) are an inquisitive
and intelligent lot indeed.
After the formidable calm and tranquility
of the 5th graders comes the indestructible chaos and pandemonium of
the 2nd graders. This is a bunch of fun-loving and authority-defying
troopers that love to run around the class when I ask for calm and giggle away
when I pretend to be strict. They also have a knack for making the sweetest
pout when you have to scold them that just makes all your anger disappear which
they can then use against you in a myriad of ways. So, you just have to stand
your guard and turn your evolutionary instincts off and be a bit firm at times.
But, they’re young kids at the end of the day and being fun-loving,
booger-toting kids is what they do best so you just have to adapt to their
entropic ways and devise games and activities which keep them on their toes
whilst enabling them to learn as well. Additionally, when you do go with the
flow it’s kind of fun and I see why they continue doing what they do. I also
have a theory that because their class is the one just before lunch-time they
are a bit extra hyper due to the pangs of hunger. Again, can’t blame them.
Lunch is a simple affair but a heavy one
which is followed by cricket with the boys and teachers until the school bell
rings again signalling my last class.
This last class is with my 1st
graders and they’re a treat to teach! Always asking questions, always babbling
about in a manner that still resembles little infants and mannerisms that are
just incredibly adorable. Largyal, Phunsuk, Nima and Thokmet are an absolute
riot to be with and I am grateful for such a wonderful schedule that really
ends with a stress buster that are my first graders.
This is followed by me either chilling at
school, playing with the kids, hanging out with the cook or the other teachers,
or packing up and heading home for a nap. This is usually followed by me going
down to watch television with the family(if anything good is on) or just chat
with them. If neither is an option I just return to my room and read away from
a formidable collection of books that’s continuously growing. Then dinner is
served at a comparatively late 9:00 pm and I eat it with gusto because the
women and men of this family are excellent cooks!
Dinner is followed by a new routine of mine
that includes me wearing a good thick jacket, shoes, and a winter hat and going
on the roof of the house. The night sky here is tremendous with stars. Due to a
lack of clouds and moonlight, when you look up, you see a brilliant spangled
sky that makes your heart race. Something incredibly primordial awakens in you
when you see a starry night that is so rich and diverse with starlight. Without
looking down I find a nice place to sit and then gently lay myself down. The
night sky here blazes with stars and there are thousands of them, most
twinkling, a few bright and steady. If you continue staring you notice that
even their colours are different – that one to the right of Orion appears a tad
bit bluish doesn’t it and that one near the Big Dipper is just a little yellow
perhaps?
The roof beneath me feels solid, steady and
reassuring. Yet I cautiously turn myself to the patch of sky towards the
horizon to the left and right, up and down the long reach of the mountain silhouettes.
The world only looks flat, but its roundness is definitely felt when I pan from
horizon to horizon and understandthe sky is a dome of a blue, white and brown
ball that flies through nothingness – spaceship Earth. Every day, I try to
imagine it spinning, with billions of people glued to it, talking different
languages, wearing clothes that appear strange to each other, all stuck to that
one ball.
I try to sense the spin, and sometimes it
feels like I could just feel it a little. Then you notice after a few minutes
that the star you saw a moment ago isn’t in the same place and that is has
moved quite a bit. Suddenly you begin to creep upon faint comprehensions of the
incredulous speed at which this massive globe is rotating on its own axis.
Everyone we know is whirling around space at these enormous speeds. At this
thought, I can actually feel the Earth move – not just imagine it in my head
but feel it in the pit of my stomach. I crane my neck backwards so I can’t see
anything on Earth and just have a perpendicular view of the immense blackness
punctuated by flickering furnaces. I’m suddenly swept by this feeling that I
should hold onto the cement blocks for dear life or else fall up into the sky.
I just take a deep breath, and get up to
see the solitary lights atop SpitukGompa, the only human source of light in
this night of wonders. I again look to the sky and see a band streak across the
night sky. At first, I can’t realize what I am looking at but then it dawns
upon me. That, is the Milky Way itself! You can see it on the clearest of nights
here on Earth and I was fortunate to see it on all three nights. A hazy white
band that stretched from the west to the east and curved along the dome of the
sky and seeing it so clearly for the first time makes you feel infinitely small
and magnanimously gigantic at the same time. It’s a feeling of immense humility
and pride. A dichotomy of human emotions reaching back to the beginning of life
itself.
I remove my gaze from the wondrous sight
and decide to climb down and try to catch some shut eye as the winds are beginning
to pick up and the night is getting cooler. But as I begin to descend downwards
I chance one last glance at the night sky and am glad to find the stars still
there standing guard over me. Just then the lights on Spituk Gompa go off or
perhaps the power was lost (as is common here) and suddenly I can see far more
stars… for miles and miles and miles.
(Note: This particular image does not belong to me)
I didn’t dream that night, for when reality
eclipses the imagination, your brain quenches its thirst for contentment in
silence.
