Overview:
The work of a teacher is not so much to instruct as it is to gently facilitate the unfolding of the perfection inherent in the student writes Ranjani Rao, reflecting on her lifelong journey of learning.
Estimated reading time: 5 minutes
A gardening class
It’s Friday evening, and it’s pouring outside. There is no way I can get a taxi in this weather. And I have to get there on time.Â
In case you’re conjuring an image of a fancy restaurant and romantic dinner plans, you’re wrong. I am heading to a gardening class scheduled for 7.30 p.m. The location is in a fairly remote and unfamiliar part of Singapore. The easiest way, by road, is not the best one, considering the likely traffic snarls on wet roads during evening rush hour. So I take the train. Then a bus. Then again, a train and another bus. As I walk the final few feet and up the elevator to the seventh floor of an industrial building and into the classroom where an intrepid urban gardener has started his container gardening class, I wonder – Why on earth did I sign up for such an activity at the end of a long week?
I know it’s exactly what you are thinking, too.
The joy of learning
As a child growing up in a small apartment in Mumbai, the desire to keep plants inside the home was not an intuitive one. When I moved to Singapore, a tropical island where the sun shines brightly year-round and rain is plentiful, I had enough on my hands. Indoor plants were not my top priority.
Yet, over the years, I inherited plants from friends who moved away or occasionally received saplings as gift,s which led to a mish-mash of flowering and green plants occupying a small portion of my narrow balcony. The hardy ones survived. And a handful always seem to be trying their best to hold on, given my limited abilities.
Last month, when I requested my neighbors to water my plants while we took a two-week family vacation, they readily agreed. When I returned, my plants looked lush and green and, to my great surprise, happy. They were thriving in their new location in the corridor between our doorways. Although I felt grateful, I was a bit miffed by the healthy green foliage and new growth on my plants. Clearly, my amateur technique needed some tweaking. That’s when I decided to sign up for a gardening class from an expert.
The instructor’s peppy tone made me feel optimistic as I got my hands into the sandy soil and learned to sow seeds, plant a sapling in a cup, and repot a mature plant. Could I develop a green thumb purely by attending one class? Probably not. But I love to learn new things. The prospect of adding new skills or learning better ways of doing something that I have only dabbled in has always fascinated me. Just being in a class, especially ones where there is no performance pressure, no grading or elimination rounds as you progress, makes the entire exercise worthwhile.
The attitude towards learning
On Guru Purnima day each year (it was on July 10th this year), I think of all the teachers who taught me something. While it is easy to reminisce about our teachers in school and college, we often forget that mothers are the first teachers we encounter as infants and toddlers. And for those of us who are parents, we learn very quickly in the initial years of our children’s lives the eagerness with which they observe and imitate our actions.
Most of our learning, however, occurs outside of formal educational institutions. Over the decades, I have mentally thanked so many people whose path crossed mine in the roles of coach, mentor, boss, instructor, and of course, teacher. Among my gurus, I count my Ph.D. guide, my yoga guru, my music teacher, my boss at my first job, several authors of books about writing and other topics, my Reiki master, and, of course, my mother.
As work life takes over our days and waves of family responsibilities drag us down, learning something new feels like an additional burden, and an unnecessary one. Being a student in a formal program is a privilege, but it requires only a small shift in perspective to understand that learning begins with observation.
Participation counts
During the COVID-19 pandemic, with no opportunities to travel, I decided to enroll in a formal course on Positive Psychology. The field was new to me, but the concepts resonated with my approach to life. Most of the classes were online, but in the second half, I attended weeknight and weekend classes, and made friends with classmates from various fields, ages, and countries. I enjoyed the camaraderie of classroom education, but didn’t appreciate the assignments, tests, and grading. And after the course was done, I couldn’t find direct ways to practise the theories I had learned.
When I came across a recent Singapore-wide initiative where the principles of positive psychology were being applied, I immediately signed up for an eight-week program called Well Being Circles. It was an opportunity to meet other people and experience the concepts in a hands-on way. I’m two weeks into the program and find it satisfying to learn more about myself and how to improve life satisfaction simply by participating in a supportive circle with a kind facilitator. No pressure. No competition. Just support. No doubt, I will finally find practical ways to incorporate positive psychology techniques into everyday life.
Taking the leap
Always a student, never a teacher – this was a mantra that I believed in for many decades. However, sometimes life offers opportunities that perfectly fit your life. One such day, I agreed to teach Master level students in Hyderabad with a schedule that matched my life at that point. Although my students were full-formed adults by the time I met them, I thoroughly enjoyed my interactions with them. A decade later, many have stayed in touch and keep me updated on their lives. While ostensibly, I was their teacher, there is much I have learned from them about navigating the world we live in with grit and grace.
Would I turn towards teaching again? I can’t say for sure.
Perhaps the work of a teacher is not so much to instruct as it is to gently facilitate the unfolding of the perfection inherent in the person.