I was a 2006 - 2007 fellow working on education reform in rural Gujarat, India. Without the hard work and thoughtful leadership of Anand, Roopal and Sonal Shah, this experience would have been impossible. Perhaps I would have still come to India, but I know I would not have engaged with my work, my identity, and my community so deeply without their guidance and support.

“I used to be like you,” he says, eyes scanning his classroom to make sure his students were on task. “I used to be optimistic. I used to have faith that things could change. And then I came here…” he trails off. The conversation ends as I struggle to find the antidote to his words and fail.
This conversation was one of the hardest I had in Kutch, Gujarat while I was working on education reform. I had seen for myself the challenges teachers face—inconsistent attendance due to inconsistent livelihoods, local politics creating barriers, and students unprepared for the school environment. But, I had always seen this teacher as inspiring, one of the few teachers who had managed to rise above these difficulties to educate his students successfully and holistically. To hear his weary was a disturbing reminder that there was no one or nothing in the system to continue propelling these teachers forward.

Enter me, probably the most unlikely candidate to inspire someone else. Practical to the core, I have a habit of distilling any visionary thoughts into a list of to-dos. Compounded by a four month course of changing projects and NGO disorganization, I had serious doubts about my ability to do anything worthwhile—to be the proverbial “change”. I still had a few strengths on my side; despite my own disillusionment, I trusted other people, I loved children, and I had faith in the power of education. These beliefs fed the slow and steady fire that burned in the bottom of my stomach, but I did not think my inspiration was infectious enough to motivate others to share my passion.

Many people in my NGO had told me that my project was not big enough or exciting enough to make a difference. And on bad days, I too did not see how my project—creating an interactive learning center in the community—would do anything for the vastness and seriousness of the problems I saw. On day one of the learning center, I walked to the school to turn the key for the first time, with some fifty story books in my arms as my only resource and eleven children following me excitedly. As I shrugged off my own self-consciousness as everyone stared in a mix of bemusement and puzzlement, I felt the fire surge a little. Maybe this will work, I thought, maybe my to-do list, when all the boxes are checked, will crystallize into something bigger than I am capable of imagining.

And so the first day started. Only one other adult came that day, the local teacher with whom I had conversed a few weeks before. He came in as the children sat on the floor, excitedly reading stories, the books strewn across the floor like confetti. He smiled, shook his head, and left. Two days later, and he came again, watching the students as they learned how to make three-dimensional buildings in Google Sketchup. Three days later, he returned, watching the students as they worked in independent groups on four different activities. “Have you heard about this book that helps teach self-learning?” he asked. “I tried to find it when I first came here but could not. It might help you.” And then, the next day, he came back after school and spent twenty minutes with the students, helping them as they constructed a homemade jigsaw puzzle map of India. As he got up to leave, another teacher came in and disparagingly asked, “What, do you actually have fun here?” He smiled widely and sincerely and said, “My students are learning because they want to. What more can a teacher ask?” And then I realized that my fire, small though it might be, was still strong enough to re-ignite his flame—and what more can I ask?

Sonal Singhal
August 2006-2007 Fellow