Learning Unlearning and all that …..

The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn.
Alvin Toffler
Yesterday sitting in an interview board of Staff selection Commission I met with about a dozen such illiterates holding degrees from some of the well known Universities/colleges. How would you react if a first class masters’ degree holder from University of Delhi for English (hon) failed to recite a single poem of Shakespeare..or Keats…or Shelly ? The chairman of my board, a retired bureaucrat , was not much shocked with the blank and confused look of the interviewee . I am sure he must have seen a lot more such samples during his thirty odd years in the government. But with just 8 years of experience , I found it difficult to believe as among the interviewees we had History graduates unable to tell the significance of 1707 AD as the beginning year for –Modern Indian History. There were people working as tax assistants unable to distinguish between direct and indirect taxes and MBAs (shockingly from my own university) who could not explain two factor theory of motivation . Probably one can let go of ignorance about theoretical aspects of a subject studied but how do you ignore the poor language skills? Or ignorance about the world around us ? All candidates were using terms like naxalites, Maoists, insurgency, terrorism, fundamentalist organisation loosely. Neither they knew the difference between these nor were they aware of its correct usage. Another senior professor on the interview board informed me that the situation is almost similar even in Civil services interviews. His reading was that one can get most degrees without much knowledge of the subject or command over the medium of instruction . I can’t blame it to students. Most of them were from small towns and were trying hard to break the ceiling between Bharatand India . If some of my friends are to be believed , in corporate sector too there is acute shortage of qualified staff . My sister informs me that in big IT firms we have engineers on roll who don’t know even the most elementary logic and in my own office I find Hindi translators with abysmal knowledge of the language .
My first reaction was of disbelief followed by anger …..gradually I realised it is not surprising at all. Where is the scope for imagination? Of taking interest in a subject ? Of learning for learning sake ? It is simply a stepping stone to get into a secure livelihood . Don’t you come across students ‘preparing for competitions’ asking about which subjects are ‘in’ and are considered scoring these days . You get to meet parents of school going children inquiring about which branch has better chances of getting a job. We have our school boards making examination patterns more and more objective to ensure less stress , better marks and …err..poor language and expression skills for students . We also have our syllabus designed by barely eligible educationists. Years back I found a classic case in this regard when my father started teaching English to our Milkman’s son who was doing his 10th from UP Borad with Agriculture stream. The boy was totally disinterested in opening the book . My father diagnosed the problem after a while . The prose and poetry chosen for his compulsory English textbook was devoid of any sensitivity to his surroundings. A village boy of UP studying amidst poverty and illiteracy of elders was to go through essays about English Parishes, Wordsworth’s Lucy Grey and even ‘La belle dam sans merci’ to learn a language still foreign to him. Things and scenes explained there were so strange to him that they hardly made any sense to his mind. My father was so agitated that he started compiling a book for this boy’s reading which included stories by RK Narayan, Ruskin Bond and poems of Sarojini Naidu. The boy found this interesting. But to pass his exam , he still had to mug up the ‘foren’ poems and texts with which he can’t relate to . The teacher of their school was also a fresh graduate quite uncomfortable in English and a product of the same system. Naturally like all other classmates he was keen to take refuge of ‘guidebooks’ written in awful language and ‘key books’ and guess papers . All his friends were just mugging up part of these booklets to ensure passing marks – for most of them no doors of jobs will open without mandatory school degrees and school degrees will not be obtained without resorting to these horrid keybooks and guessbooks. Many would not even buy the original textbook to save some money. What knowledge of subject we can expect from these kids in future?
This is not only for village students , even my colleagues complain that their kids studying in best public schools are discouraged to innovate while solving maths sum. They have to ‘learn by heart’ even the explanations of poems and steps of maths equations solving. No scope for expression even in literature subjects and no question of deviation in solving mathematics. On our word processors we have spell checks to ensure correct spellings and tools to ensure correct grammar. There are interactive TV channels to help them with homework and still the quality of education from school to college is nose-diving . Degrees like MBAs, MCAs and engineering are available from Never-Heard-Before institutes and hordes of our young men and women are making big with international companies. I am not for ridiculing these youngsters. They are simply a product of their education system and surroundings . It is the same culture that forces our young sales executives to speak in English and wear ties in the hot summer days to ‘make an impression’ while selling goods…however uncomfortable it makes them . But next time you found the call centre executive faltering on a well rehearsed sentence or speaking nonsense – think about it seriously. Its about time we take a serious note on our education system. We must take our kids out of the obsession for marks catching techniques and encourage them to the good old ways of learning rather than just acquiring paper degrees . Or else let us be prepared to face a situation (already there in many government sector offices) where we have workers incapable of understanding the work assigned to them for want of elementary knowledge of the field .

Yarrows forever ...

It is beautiful. It is majestic. It is endlessly, effortlessly charming. And more than all that — it is home.

This place resists the rush of time, holding its ground with a quiet dignity — and thank heavens for that. It is a stillness caught mid-river, a droplet of memory suspended in the flow of years, nestled among the ageless Shivalik ranges of the Himalayas. Generations of officers have walked these paths before me — calling Yarrows not just an alma mater, but a place of belonging. A place you fall in love with at first sight… and then again, and again, each time your eyes meet its familiar curves and corners.

I return now, after three years, wearing a different hat, carrying new responsibilities. But ever since this journey was set in motion, the work has remained a faint echo. What filled my heart was something else entirely — the quiet pull of remembrance. Shimla — a city that wears all its seasons like jewels. And Yarrows — our royal refuge, resting like an old soul above it all.

It’s almost impossible to count the things I miss about Yarrows once I’m out in the vast, hurried world. I miss the serene Buddha beneath the walnut tree, smiling gently at all who pass. I miss the camellia bush, on the cusp of bloom — each bud a whispered promise of spring. I miss the hush of twilight as it slides behind the pines, and the nostalgic chuk-chuk of the toy train tracing its path through the Glen Valley like a memory come to life.

But more than sights and sounds, I miss the feeling — the cocoon of comfort that wrapped around me during my probation days. The laughter echoing down corridors, the friendships forged in quiet corners, the unhurried walks to Annandale and the grandeur of the Viceregal Lodge. And above all, my own little universe within Yarrows — Room No. 11 — still etched in memory like the warm glow of a lamp left on for you.

When we first arrived here, tales of Mr. Jinnah’s ghost were passed on to us — half in jest, half in wonder. A ghost in a hill cottage is always welcome, almost a status symbol for any house worthy of a place in the history books. And surely, Yarrows deserves one.

Mr. Jinnah’s stature does suit the grandeur of Yarrows. But then, one might ask — why would his ghost choose this faraway home to haunt? Of course, this was once his summer retreat, and it is said he spent his honeymoon here with his beautiful wife, Ruttie. But he lived in many more splendid houses during his lifetime. If his spirit visits Yarrows, I imagine it’s only occasionally — drawn by the warmth of those happy days long gone.

More likely, though, it is the ghosts of our own kind — the old boys and girls of my service — who return here. Drawn by the memories, by the magic that once lit up their lives.

And once at Yarrows, what else is one supposed to do but sit by the window and soak it all in — the stately deodars swaying gently in the breeze, the sun weaving patterns through clouds, the mountain flowers blooming with casual brilliance. If that’s not enough, a walk is always an option — even at midnight. After all, Yarrows is just ten minutes from the Viceregal Lodge, once home to the Viceroys of India.

Another ritual from my Yarrows years — “mall-ing.” That is, going to the Mall Road. We did it religiously, every other day. The Mall, Scandal Point, the Ridge, and the ever-beautiful Christ Church — that was our pilgrim’s route. And of course, no pilgrimage was complete without the customary stops: Baljees for hot gulab jamuns, Devicos for snacks, and Beekays for soups and pizzas.

It’s impossible not to feel nostalgic in Shimla. Every building has a history, every corner a tale. At every turn, I feel the presence of Rudyard Kipling and his poetry. Every view reminds me of a similar one from a time when India was ruled from this town.

About halfway between Yarrows and the Mall stands one of the most impressive castles in town (well, second most impressive — after the Viceregal Lodge): Gorton Castle. It houses our Shimla Office and looks like something straight out of Harry Potter — a perfect biscuit-tin picture.

Then there’s the Retreat, Knockdrin, Kennedy House, Observatory Hill, Strawberry Hill... so many places to visit and admire. There’s really nothing better than walking. For those who’ve read Rajaa Bhasin’s wonderful book on Shimla, the city becomes a living museum — where every step links you to history.

I can spend hours at the Viceregal Lodge — simply sitting and admiring. It’s a pity they still don’t offer a full-fledged tour for visitors. The place is brimming with history’s mysteries — some true, others spun with imagination. And the romance of it all is magnified by the lovely weather.

Shimla is beautiful in every season, every month — but I love it most when the valley is wrapped in a white robe of clouds. Except for a few winter days, the weather is always pleasant. No wonder the British felt so at home here. “Like meat, we keep better here [in the hills],” wrote Emily Eden. I would paraphrase that for Yarrows probationers: “Like apple blossoms, we bloom naturally over here.”

The probationers — God bless them — are always the same. It’s such fun to meet these ‘owner-residents’ of Yarrows. It’s a pity that this air of confidence, that twinkle of intelligence in their eyes, combined with a blessed ignorance of the world outside, will slowly fade once they leave. But perhaps that’s just life. We learn, and unlearn, to find the right balance.

Today, I heard a horrid suggestion — that Yarrows should be taken away from probationers. Apparently, some committee of architects and conservators found fault with the furnishings and the structure, saying it doesn’t “gel” with the building’s heritage.But who can explain to them that this is not just a heritage building? This is our home. We love its imperfections as much as one loves one’s mother — even if she has buckteeth.

And when I’m at a loss for words to express what Yarrows means to me, I borrow from the Beatles. So here I go again:

There are places I’ll remember
All my life, though some have changed.
Some forever, not for better,
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall.
Some are dead and some are living —
In my life, I’ve loved them all.

The Story of Stuff

It was nothing less than a paradigm shift for us. We entered our Kolkata home with just 2 chairs , 3 what-nots and 3 book racks in it . We left it yesterday with only these articles….and before I forget to mention, in between there were 56 cartons of what can generally termed as ‘stuff’ created in last 4 years and which was sent with movers and packers yesterday morning. It was unbelievable. How and when we managed to surround ourselves with so much clutter. While packing I found half a dozen picture frames of all sizes , about 10 pen set (never used) , bed sheets we didn’t recall buying, books we never read and even cutlery sets and silver bowls for which we have no use in decades . To begin with we had a big house and nothing to fill it with and today we desperately hope to get a bigger house to fit in our ‘stuff’ . The best part about this stuff is that one never realizes when it is growing around you and one fine day, when you feel it is time to clear up the clutter , each article looks so useful and so beautiful.
Inspired by a very thought provoking documentary narrated by Anne Leonard called ‘The story of Stuff’ my friend Rani has stopped buying things…specially clothes. I admire her determination but feel weak at heart whenever I find myself surrounded by beautiful things in a store. My wishlist of articles to get never gets smaller. In fact I thank God that I don’t have enough money to buy all the things I desire to get or else the situation would have been worse. Shopping undoubtedly is a panacea for many a ills . It can cure boredom, depression and even anger . It calms down the mind and distract attention like magic. But the outcome of such shopping sprees is disastrous. I always end up buying things I don’t need . Long back my former boss gave us the a sane advice of not buying books to read them. He gave example of his own life where he has so far donated about 10000 books as he was unable to carry the load from one transfer to another. But with transfer veterans like me this sounds rather funny. Well, if you count all the times I had to shift my belongings since childhood , it would be not less than 12. And we really liked ‘to carry our world with us’ on these transfers. Papa’s favorite cacti and mummy’s carefully grown pots included. I recall these incidents (much to the amusement of my husband) that truck was stopped midway to water the plants . We did manage well despite absence of professional movers and packers in those days. Since packing was mostly done by either family members or by domestic helps, it was an arduous exercise involving decision of what to go where , making lists(in two copies) for each box and numbering of boxes. For all you know the unpacking may take a while(due to non availability of Government quarters) and you may have to hunt for one particular item in between. But despite these precautions , true to the Murphy’s law of Packing , the item you need most urgently was always in the last box in the most inaccessible corner. These boxes(mostly wooden) were a permanent feature of our garages during the period of our stay at a place. They will be again called for when the next transfer was announced . But even with those amateur techniques there were very few casualties of packing-unpacking . Now imagine,talking of leaving books behind....I still have my comics in tact with me after 7-8 shifting since the days I read them last . Even the china and ceramics in my parents house are transfer veterans …and still in tact .
The story of our stuff in this present transfer episode is still only half told. The unpacking is yet to start and I can foresee all the vacant corners and the shining floor tiles disappearing under the furniture .But then this is the fun of transfers- it gives you an opportunity to rearrange your world .