The following is a description of a typical government school in Bangalore city. Compare this with the facilities a child from a middle class family has access to and the whole issue of equity in education is starkly clear.

It is a small, dilapidated building with walls that once may have been bright and uniformly coloured, but now - having seen the rains often enough - tell an entirely different story, one of neglect and weariness. There is no sign or school compound wall to signify "This is a place for children". Perhaps it is better this way, for had there been a wall, there might have been less space to move around!

The sole room inside the building is dark and poorly lit. The windows are shut tight. There is no electricity connection, ruling out the option of artificial light. Light only enters through cracks in the roof. The air inside is quite stuffy.

On the walls hang a few faded and torn charts and on the corner of the blackboard last month's date is still etched. The floor is bare and cold - a relief in the summer but hard and uncomfortable during winter. The room looks like it has not been swept in weeks. There is a single wooden desk and two rusting steel chairs.

It is close to 11:30 a.m. and the place has just started showing some signs of life (school is scheduled to begin at 10:45 a.m.). Children of all ages are strolling in from the slum nearby. Some arrive carrying a book, some just swinging their hands; others with their younger brother or sister in tow decide to return to the slum at the last moment.

A woman with a dour expression slowly trudges toward the building - she does not seem very pleased to be coming here. The children shout and wish her, "Good morning". Her mouth curves into a possible smile as she opens the room door and children rush in. She asks them to sing the national anthem- the result is jumbled phrases echoing from different parts of the room.

The children sit, huddled on the floor in the single dark room and "lessons" begin for the day. The teacher writes a few addition sums on the blackboard, tells the children to complete the assignment and settles down to finish the administrative work to be submitted to the head office. Some of the children try to work on the sums, some are too busy fighting, and others seem disoriented. One boy-a bit braver than the others - inches towards the teacher's table and requests help with the sums. "One moment," the teacher says, not looking up from her paper work. "Sit down. I will come." The boy sighs and resigns himself to struggling over the sums on his own. A few children come up to the teacher and ask if they can go to drink water. She allows two children to go. They run out even before she can ask them to return quickly. These children will, of course, not return. They must go to their homes in the slum to drink water, after which they would much rather play marbles than return to "school". The parents, who daily send their reluctant children to school before leaving for work, obviously assume their children remain there the entire day. Perhaps if the teachers and parents ever met, parents would be more aware of issues concerning their children's education. But then again, the teacher on her part is quick to conclude that people from the slum are "like this only" and will never take responsibility for their children's education.

By 4 p.m.(one hour before closing time) the teacher is ready to leave and children (those who have not yet been able to "escape") have reached their saturation levels. So "school" closes for the day. Tomorrow will be just like today - unless, of course, the teacher decides not to come (this is always a possibility).