Meeting Explored!

Rajeeva Nayan Pathak

Planning my visit to Dibrugarh to meet a dear friend posed some unexpected challenges. My friend, Professor Barua, retired from Dibrugarh University last year. He had a distinguished 22-year tenure as a Professor of Mathematics. He felt proud and honored when hundreds of his successful students, now in various sectors, gathered at his farewell. They were contributing to the nation's development. The Dibrugarh University Teachers' Association organised the event. The Vice-Chancellor chaired it. Of all the day's memorable moments, his farewell speech resonated most. The line, "So little done, So much to do," was published in all the leading newspapers in Assam.

When I phoned him to announce my visit, he sounded eager to meet me. I left my house soon after breakfast, around seven. I drove alone towards Dibrugarh. The journey started smoothly enough. But, after about eight kilometres, my car broke down near the transit camp along the main road. Unable to fix it there, I reluctantly left the car and boarded a city bus bound for Dibrugarh.

On the bus, I sat by the window. A conversation between an elderly man and a child, a few rows ahead, interrupted my thoughts. The child’s voice caught my attention, as he asked, “Dadu, when will the school reopen?”

The old man replied with warmth, “Very soon, dear.” The child, a little boy full of curiosity, continued, “I miss my friends, Dadu! It was so much fun being with them.” 

The grandfather nodded, listening patiently. “Don’t you see your friends when you attend your online classes?” he asked.

“Yes, Dadu, we see each other, but I still miss them. I can’t talk to them, I can’t listen to them properly. I miss the stories my friends used to tell, and how we all enjoyed them together. When I got punished by my teacher, my friends would come to comfort me after she left the class. I miss the friendly hands on my head and shoulders. Whenever someone was in doubt, we would all help each other. We might argue, but we would be friends again the very next moment!”

As I overheard this tender exchange, I was reminded of the profound impact that social interaction has on children. I realized that, while virtual learning is now a must, it cannot replicate the emotional bonds formed in a physical classroom. As a former student and a teacher, I know that class offers a unique sanctuary. It's a place to immerse ourselves in a community of young, inquisitive minds. 

The boy’s voice, full of nostalgia, continued. "Dadu, it felt great when my friends checked their homework against mine. Or, when I helped them with their corrections."" It made me feel so happy. Even when I wasn’t hungry, I enjoyed eating the tiffins my friends shared with me. It was so much fun!”

I thought that children are missing the simple joys of sharing. It's so fundamental to their development. Social interaction teaches them vital life lessons. They learn about: emotional stability, courage, forgiveness, reasoning, and persuasion. We are not machines; we are conscious beings, driven by emotions. Our feelings stimulate our thoughts. Those thoughts create the emotions vital for real learning.

In these uncertain times, stress and anxiety plague children. We must create a space where their voices can be heard, where they can find the clarity and strength to navigate the challenges of this era.

My curiosity piqued, I turned around and started talking to the elderly man and the boy. I learned that the boy, named Partho, was a student in class five. 

I asked him, “Have you ever had the chance to speak during assembly?”

A smile spread across his face as he replied, “Yes, many times! Once, I read an article about the rainy season, and it actually started raining while I was reading! That day, all my friends called me ‘Rain Friend’.”

As he spoke, his eyes seemed to drift off into the distance, reliving the moments in his classroom, where he was surrounded by his friends. The bond he had with them was tangible in his voice, despite the limitations of virtual interactions.

Moved by his story, I offered some friendly advice, adding that if he ever felt the need to talk or share his feelings, he could reach out to me. I gave my visiting card to his grandfather. I mentioned I was in touch with counsellors who could help him in these tough times.

“Thank you,” said the old man, gratitude evident in his voice.

After the bus arrived in Dibrugarh, I hailed an auto-rickshaw. I went straight to Professor Barua’s house. He was eagerly waiting for me. It was a joy to see him again after so long, and we delved into deep discussions about a range of topics, most notably the New Education Policy. Professor Barua, ever the academic, was pleased. The project let seniors like him use their vast experience to contribute to education. He felt that remaining actively involved would keep him engaged, motivated, and young at heart.

As I made my way back home later that afternoon, I reflected on the two young men I had encountered that day—Master Partho and Professor Barua. Both, in their own ways, held within them the promise of something great. Indeed, it had been a fruitful day.

As I made my way back from Dibrugarh, the events of the day lingered in my mind. My talks with Master Partho and Professor Barua stirred deep thoughts on education and learning. They also raised questions about the challenges students and educators face today. The bus ride, once a routine part of my journey, had changed. It became a rich exchange. It captured the realities of modern schooling and the connections that fuel true learning.

Master Partho’s words, spoken with the innocence of a child, had exposed the heart of the issue. Schools today have more tech than ever. But, the joy of learning is in the human interactions within those walls. Partho's nostalgia for sharing homework, lunches, and helping friends, highlighted the often-overlooked social aspects of schooling. Children thrive not just through academics. They need social experiences too. These help them develop empathy, problem-solving skills, and emotional intelligence. These are the very foundations of what makes us human.

Partho's classmates affectionately called him 'Rain Friend.' It showed me how school shapes a child's identity. It wasn’t just the label that mattered, but the way his friends had embraced it with love and humour. This warmth and camaraderie, built in a classroom, is irreplaceable by digital platforms. Despite advances in virtual classrooms, kids like Partho miss out on key interactions. They are necessary for emotional and psychological growth.

As educators, we must acknowledge that learning extends far beyond textbooks and exams. The traditional classroom is a small version of society. Children learn vital life lessons there. They learn cooperation, compromise, leadership, and compassion. It is a place where relationships flourish, conflicts arise and are resolved, and identities are formed. Schools are not just for academics. They also nurture emotional intelligence.

Professor Barua's insights on the New Education Policy offered a new, but vital, view. He believed the policy's flexibility was a chance for him, an experienced pro, to stay connected to education. His eagerness to help, even in retirement, showed a truth about lifelong learning. Barua believed that age and experience were invaluable. They could guide and mentor the next generation. 

I was struck by his insistence on the importance of emotional connection in teaching. He reiterated this point several times in our discussion. “A teacher who cannot emotionally connect with their students,” he said, “cannot inspire them.” In Barua’s view, intellectual prowess alone was insufficient for a teacher. Real education happens when a teacher touches their students' hearts. It sparks curiosity, empathy, and a passion for learning. This idea aligned perfectly with the thoughts I had after meeting Partho. The emotional bond between teacher and student, much like that between friends, is a catalyst for deep, meaningful learning.

In reflecting on both conversations, I realised that the pandemic had exacerbated a problem that had been brewing for some time. In our digital world, education was shifting to online resources, videos, and self-paced learning. The pandemic merely accelerated this transformation. Digital platforms are convenient and accessible. But, they can't replace the nuanced, dynamic, and often messy interactions of a traditional classroom.

What we now face is a paradox. On the one hand, online learning provides unprecedented access to information. Students can learn at their own pace. They can explore topics that interest them. They can also break free from the limits of a physical classroom. On the other hand, this convenience comes at a cost. It cuts students off from places that shape their social, emotional, and moral selves. The classroom is not just a place of instruction but a community, and communities thrive on human connection.

The more I thought about it, the clearer it became that education is not merely about imparting knowledge. It is about nurturing the whole child—mind, body, and spirit. As educators, we must create spaces where students can express themselves, be heard, and grow as humans.

In this light, the role of the teacher becomes even more significant. A good teacher recognises that their responsibility extends beyond delivering content. They must be mentors and guides. They should be role models. They must help students navigate both the academic and emotional challenges of life. I recalled my own days as a student, the times when a kind word from a teacher or a small act of encouragement had made all the difference. It wasn’t just the lessons I remembered, but the human connections I had formed with my teachers, classmates, and even the school itself. 

Partho’s heartfelt longing for his friends reminded me that children today are grappling with a sense of loss. They are missing out on face-to-face education. They are also missing the joyful, spontaneous moments that shape their school experiences. These moments teach them to relate to others, be kind, lead, and share in the journey of learning. 

We must ask: What future are we preparing our children for if we focus only on academics and neglect their emotional and social growth? Technology is important in education. But, it should not overshadow that learning is, at its core, a human endeavour. Our students are not just information consumers. They have emotions, dreams, and fears. They also have great potential.

As I finally reached home after the long journey, I reflected on the day’s events. Two very different people—Master Partho and Professor Barua—had shaped my view of education. Each, in their own way, had done so. Partho's honesty reminded me of the value of friendship in learning. Professor Barua, with his vast experience, stressed the need for lifelong learning. He also urged teachers to engage students emotionally in their classrooms.

I realised, education is not about ticking boxes or achieving grades. It is about the journey of becoming. It is a quest to be wiser, more compassionate, and more connected to the world around us. Both Partho and Professor Barua had, unknowingly, become my teachers that day. I was deeply grateful for that.

[Published in monthly news bulletin of IOMS @http://gyanvigyansarita.in/PDF/Web-Bulletins/Yr-20-21/Oct-20/24-RajeevaPathak.html, Edited]