Day 2 at the Orientation Course for supposedly newly-appointed under/post-grad teachers. The genreal junta is upwards of 40. A lot of grey in the room. Grey hair. Not cells. Those seem to be in severe shortage. The first session is with this decrepit old dude who laughs mid-way through every sentence and insists on calling pedagogy "peda-goggy". Surprisingly enough, his lack of a sense of humour meets with distinct approval from a snickering roomful of mostly-inarticulate teachers. End of the session, the sexist pig (all teachers are "he", all students are "she") points to me, sitting in the backbench, fiddling with my phone and says, "You're not listening. I can't see your face with all the hair." Said hair was obviously all over. Like me, it has a mind of it's own. And doesn't react well to stupidity. Or sexism. I tuck my hair behind the ears, freeze my face into a wide smile and go, "See all you want, now." The schmuck has the decency to look embarrassed while the class titters. That went well, right?
Session 2. Another long lecture. This time about education in India. A lot of faff. Way too much idealism. Too much of socialism without any background of politics/economics/reform. Guess that is what teachers all over learn to do. Be all full of hot air, ready to explode. At least, always ready to release.
It scares me, this general air of incompetence. And the validity it seems to have acquired in my profession. This perhaps is the future we are faced with. At one point of time, it was "publish or perish". Now, it is "plagiarize or perish". Do not try to think. Do not even think about being an individual. And do not be embarrassed while at it. That is the lesson I came back with.
Death of the teacher?
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