Gandhiji Would Have Been Proud, Partly

I asked three girls from each grade – a total of nine students – to look over a survey for me, mainly to ensure they understand the text and the questions.

“Let’s sit away from the other girls since they are studying,” I told them. “Why don’t you sit on the benches outside of Niranjana ben’s home?”

There are two green benches and a swing that seats two right as one walks through the school’s gates, all of which sit outside of Niranjana ben’s small home. When Niranjana ben, the school’s founder and director, is on campus, one can almost always find her on the swing during the evenings, with various visitors sitting on the benches and keeping her company. As she talks with her guests, she keeps an eye on the girls who are supposed to be doing homework but often end up chatting with each other.

The nine girls walked the 10 feet and I handed them the survey and its cover sheet. I walked over to the swing and sat down.

A few of the girls started sitting on the ground which, thanks to the incoming monsoon weather, was crawling with makkodas – black insects that look like ants, only magnified ten times.
“You can all sit on the bench,” I said.

They looked at each other confusingly and proceeded to sit on the ground.

“It’s okay. Seriously, please sit on the bench,” I repeated.

Two of the girls got up and moved to the bench, while the others stayed put. One of the girls situated on the ground yelled at the two bold ones who dared move up.

“What are you doing? You can’t sit there!” she told them.

“It’s really okay. You can all move to the bench,” I said one more time.

My reassurance only managed to keep the two girls on the bench where they were. The rest of the seven girls read the survey sitting on the concrete, and I sat on the swing with guilt for the ten minutes it took them to look over the pages I had given to them.

Such class divisions are so prominent at Sardar Kanya Vidyalaya, a school founded on Gandhi’s principles – or rather Gandhiji’s principles, as the girls once corrected me.

In the short five weeks I have been here, four people have inquired about my caste – two of them volunteer instructors and the other two students. I simply don’t see why it matters, and neither has anyone else I have known - even when I lived in India. I had foolishly thought this age-old system which determined one’s status in life had died a decade-or-so ago in the slowly progressing India.

SKV, though, managed to flash reality right in my face. The girls here, all of whom grew up in poverty and are therefore mostly from the lower ranks of the menacing caste system, don’t sit on benches. They sit on the ground unless given permission by Niranjana ben or an authority figure. And they never, ever sit on the swing. That’s only set aside for Niranjana ben and her special guests. Even Eela ben - who serves many vital roles as the school assistant, the school nurse, Niranjana ben’s maid, and her cook - doesn’t dare sit on the swing. That, of course, isn’t surprising given that she doesn’t eat with Niranjana ben or her guests – something I learned after I once foolishly asked her to join us at the table.

“She’ll eat later,” Niranjana ben had said in a voice that bordered on laughter.

Of course, I had thought to myself. Someone needs to serve the food...

Such reminders of class/caste divides present themselves regularly at SKV. They almost always come up in verbal remarks so I rarely pay attention. However, when I see that they are so engrained in the girls’ minds that they need permission to sit on a few pieces of wood, it’s hard to fully appreciate SKV’s excellent efforts to bring education to these girls, especially when I’m told that SKV runs on Gandhiji’s principles. I’m sure seeing trivial rules that separate castes would make him proud…

Ironically, when I asked three of the girls what they liked best about SKV, they all said the same thing: the sanskaras. The values and everyday teachings they are taught here.