You drive west out of Mysore city. As you drive out the bright city lights will dim. In 20 kilometers or so, the bright 'city' lights will be all but gone. However, there is still electricity -- as you move away from the city you will see lights -- but they become more and more sparse. You see villages with a few lights. Then you see villages with only a couple of lights. Then you see villages with maybe one light. Then maybe no electricity at all.

The road starts out as a nice tar road. It starts narrowing in a bit. From a road where two motorized vehicles can pass each other, it narrows to a width where only one motorized vehicle can pass -- if you meet someone coming in the opposite direction, you get off the road on to the dusty shoulder and let him pass. Then the roads start having potholes. The potholes get bigger and bigger till you have a road of potholes and only patches of road. Continue on and you will soon be on a mud track. It takes an hour to drive 5 miles, because you simply can't go faster. You are told not to be out late on the road, since you might encounter wild animals.

You first see people on cars and two-wheelers and buses. This gives way to more people on bicycles, and soon most people are on foot. People herding cattle, sheep, goats from one village to another. People who stop and stare at a car in wonder. You will see an occasional rickety looking van bursting at its seams, people perched all over driving on the potholed roads. You might just see a bus.

But one thing you will see for sure in every village as you drive further and further into the remote parts of Mysore district: a Sarkara Prathamika Shale -- in other words, Government Primary School. Village after village you will pass by a primary school structure. A building with four walls and a roof, and a playground. The building looks to be badly in need of paint and the playground is decrepit. But it exists. You marvel that the government has penetrated so deep in its quest to build schools. It is pretty amazing that about 94% of India's one billion people are within 1 kilometer of a public school [PROBE].

So, has primary education in India been this wonderful success story where almost all the children in this country of 1 billion can go to school? Will illiteracy very soon be a thing of the past? If schools have reached many of the farflung corners of India, what is the problem? Why aren't we 100% literate? Why have only 15% men and 9% women in the above 25 age group completed Class X? [PROBE]. Why, oh why, is the average years of schooling for men 2.9% and for women 1.8%?

A good question. A natural question. A complex answer.

Let us look at a day in a Sarkara Prathamika Shale. Neelamma, a dalit child, whose parents barely make ends meet, is on her way to school. She is going there with an eagerness to learn, with a child's curiosity of what the day will bring. She takes her place in the last row, along with other dalit children. She is short and would prefer to sit in the front rows, but she knows her place. She is hoping against hope that the teacher Mr. Nanjundaiah will be in today. But she is disappointed. The teacher does not come in that day. Nor does he come in for several days thereafter.

Finally he does come one day, though he is an hour late. The children huddle together in the classroom. It is a dark, dirty room, and the blackboard is chipped in places. But never mind the room, maybe they will do something fun today. The teacher spends some time marking attendance. He then opens the book to Chapter 2. Write down this chapter in your notebooks, he says. The children bend their heads and begin copying. The teacher reads the newspaper he has brought with him for a while. He then gets up and walks around the class. His eyes glance at the dalit children in the back, and he wonders casually, as he sometimes does, what is the point in educating them. True, the caste system was not a pleasant thing. But then with such backgrounds, would these children learn anything? He doubted it. But he mentally shrugs his shoulders. If the government insisted on educating them, that was fine. But he wished the government would realize that they couldn't even write decently. Oblivious to his thoughts, Neelamma is doing her best to copy well. She feels thirsty, but will have to go all the way home to drink water and would miss most of the class. She decides to ignore her thirst and continue.

Neelamma goes home. Her mother Manchamma asks her what she learnt today while trying to get the fire to burn -- the firewood she collected was damp today and the room is filled with smoke dimming further any light filtering in. Neelamma shows her what she wrote, and then talks about the little she understood from it. A house, she says, has a verandah, a living room, a bedroom and a kitchen. She pauses, trying to visualize that. It seemed different from her one-room thatched hut. Maybe the concrete house of Mr. Ramaiah, whose son went to the city, was like that? She had never been inside, but it supposedly had three rooms.

Neelamma did not understand one paragraph. She shows it to her mother, who looks at the picture and tries to make it out. She wishes at least her husband could read so that they can explain it to her. Ask your teacher tomorrow, she says.

Yes, if he comes, says Neelamma. The next time he comes he will make us write Chapter 3. There won't be time to ask him questions. Neelamma sits outside the door and reads and re-reads Chapter 2, trying to make more sense out of it. It soon gets too dark to see. She debates, as she often does, whether she should continue to try reading by the hurricane lamp. But it hurts her eyes. Besides her father will soon be home and will need the hurricane lamp to eat by. She shuts the book and goes in.

Her mother watches her come in, and gives her some chores to do. She is glad to have her help, she is very tired today after a long day of working in the fields. She does her best not to disturb her when her daughter is studying. She would like her daughter to not have to work in the fields like she does. Maybe Neelamma could become a teacher like the lady teacher in the next village? She could wear nice starched sarees and read letters for her mother. Maybe she herself would be able to buy a kerosene stove. If she had had one, she might have been able to attend the adult literacy classes held in the evenings in the village. Maybe she could even live in a concrete house with three rooms, like that of the man whose son went to the city.

Mr. Nanjundaiah waits for the bus to come. He silently curses, wondering why it is late. It finally appears and he thankfully gets in. If it didn't turn up, he would have had to stay in the village, and wouldn't have been able to help his son study for his Mathematics test tomorrow. It is a longish bus journey to the city and he curses again, wondering how long he would have to put up with his rural posting. His colleague Mr. Mallikarjun always managed to get city postings because of his connections. Nothing was because of merit nowadays. If one didn't have connections one was doomed to rural postings. What happened to the Gandhian ideals of treating everyone fairly? He should perhaps console himself that he was within commuting distance from the city. His friend Nagarjun was in such a remote place that he had to stay there and see his family only once in 2-3 months.

He fell to calculating how many days he had before his next paycheck. He needed to pay tuition fees the next month for his two children who go to private school in the city. He had moved them last year to an English medium school and it was expensive. But it was worth it. All his friends sent their children to English medium schools. It gave children a solid foundation for good careers later in life. Thankfully last year he had paid off the loan he had taken for the donation fee for his B. Ed course. Now he could more comfortably afford the private school fees. He was lucky that he had not had to bribe anyone to get the job itself. His friend Nagarjun had that loan to clear as well. And having a rural posting now he could not supplement his income with tuition classes in the evening like Mr. Mallikarjun did. Most rural folk could not afford it.

His thoughts strayed to next week's parent-teacher meeting. If he stayed for it, he would miss the bus. And no way was he going to stay overnight in the village. He wanted to go home to his family. One of the reasons he came into the teaching profession was so that he could have time in the evenings to do other things such as help his children with their studies. And what was the point anyway. What did the villagers know about education? He didn't see the point in talking to them. And at the last meeting they wanted the teachers to come on Sunday. On Sunday! That was the only day he got free. He wasn't going to spend his Sunday meeting with the villagers.

Next month he had to go to a teacher training program. They seemed to be increasing in frequency these days. At the last program they had received a lot of training in what they called 'joyful learning techniques'. They were supposed to spend a lot more time talking to the children, playing with them, rather than have them write down stuff. He supposed it would be fun for the children. But what would the children go home and tell their parents? What would they show? They wouldn't have pages of written material to show. This was another one of these new-fangled notions which will not work. At last month's program he had got some teaching kits to use. But he couldn't store them in school -- there were no cupboards and if he left them in the classroom they would be stolen for sure. So he had to store them at home, and they were too awkward to carry every day to school. Just look at the private school his children went to. They had a nice office with lots of cupboards and a library. And just recently the parents had requested some extra drinking water taps and that was being attended to immediately by the management.

He got off the bus and walked home thinking of the report he needed to write on the last literacy survey. He had had to spend several days on it collecting data, and it was now ready for the report-writing part. Maybe he would stay home tomorrow and write the report. He wouldn't even have to take leave then. That way he would be able to attend his daughter's school day program -- if he went to the village, he might not make it back in time. Yes, he decided. That is what he would do.

The next morning, Mr. Mahesh, the Deputy Director of Public Instruction, was looking at the reports by school inspectors and feeling more and more irritated. Why in the world were so many teachers absent from their duties? He looked at another chart and started comparing them, and on several of the days the teacher had other survey duties. That made up for about 50% of lack of teacher attendance. What about the other 50%? Really, this was too much. He wished he could stop the upcoming promotions of some of the teachers. This promotion based on seniority was really tying his hands. How would the children learn when the teachers were barely there?

A year passes and then another. Manchamma looks at her daughter and tries to figure out whether she is learning enough to become a teacher. The problem was she would soon be in Class V. After that she would have to go to another village to study. Many of her friends had not sent their daughters there -- the girls were too young to go in the only bus that came by, and what if they missed the bus one day? It would not be safe to walk home and the walk was too long. If she felt her daughter was learning something, she would try and do something. But she had been feeling lately that there was more and more her daughter couldn't understand. She had been asking more questions about what she wrote down. Maybe there was no point. It was hard to dream above one's station. Better to just accept things, get her trained in cooking and household work and get her married early. Maybe by the time her children were born, things would be better.

Mr. Ramaiah, who lived in the concrete house, was thinking of getting together with other relatively wealthy people in the village and starting an English medium school. His two younger sons were going to a private residential school in a nearby town -- it would be nice if children could stay with their parents and not have to go to a residential school. He and two others had worked out the economics -- with about Rs. 200 per month in tuition, they could break even. There were plenty of B. Eds without jobs these days. A salary of Rs. 1,500 or so would get some teachers. Thankfully they were within commuting distance from the city and could get teachers from there. Building would cost something, however. Maybe he could collect donations from families who sent their children to school. A fixed donation or Rs. 10,000 or so for every child enrolled into the school. The government should just start privatizing all schools. What was the point in government schools? No one learnt anything useful nowadays. Things were not this bad when he was young. He went to a government school, and look where he was today -- a concrete house, one son earning in the city, and two sons in private school. Things had deteriorated so badly that the government schools were barely functioning. Really, the government has to do something about it.

He opened a letter he had received from his son yesterday. His son had written excitedly about a school excursion to the Science Museum. He smiled. This school was really worth it. His sons enjoyed the playgrounds, the library, the excursions. Just recently they had acquired a 'computer' which everyone was talking about these days. It was good that the children were exposed to all these new things at an early age. The teachers did a good job. His sons were getting good marks. How smart his sons looked in their trim uniforms, ties, socks and shoes. The letter had many English words, he noted with pride. He smiled again.

What do all these stories of lives of people across India add up to? The fact that only 2% of all government school teachers send their children to their own schools. The fact that bureaucracy makes any accountability almost impossible, and that corruption is rampant. The fact that teacher training programs are not very effective. The fact that caste/class discriminations are rampant. The fact that teachers often belong to upper castes, middle-classes, commute from nearby cities, and consider themselves superior to village parents. They don't bother to take the time to attend parent-teacher meetings, let alone talk to them individually about how well or how badly their children were doing in school. They don't belong to the community and just cannot connect with the villagers. Much of their time goes in securing comfortable postings and supplementing their income through tuition classes. The fact that 90% of the government budget goes to teachers' salaries, thanks partly to strong teachers union activities. The fact that while primary schools exist in most villages, upper primary and high schools do not. Parents are reluctant to send their children, especially daughters, across long distances. If 94% of India has access to a primary school, only 57% have access to an upper primary school. Government schools often follow sound education experts' advice that learning is best done in the mother tongue; this has partly led to the large-scale exodus by the middle-class to private schools.

It is not as though parents do not want to send their children to school. They very much want to. But to which school? What are they learning? Like the rest of us they aspire for better houses, a two-wheeler, a TV, a radio, good clothes, good food, some entertainment and travel maybe. But do they see themselves getting that from rural government schools? No. Which might explain why states like Tamil Nadu have 100% enrollment in class I and over 40% dropout in the first couple of years.

So, is a school bad by definition if it is a government school? One is tempted to make that conclusion given all our experiences with the government bureaucracy in India. But wait a minute. Think of the Kendriya Vidyalayas. They are government schools. And they function well. Perhaps it is because several of the teachers' children go to those schools. The teachers feel a kinship and hence a responsibility to the students in the school -- they all belong to the same class, you see. Perhaps it is because decision-making bureaucrats ensure a constant and generous flow of funding to KVs, for after all aren't their children studying there? Perhaps it is because middle-class parents are not intimidated by the teachers and ensure that they do their job. Perhaps it is because they are located by and large in cities and towns and the teachers live there and do not commute long distances. They are from there and they understand the environment there. If we can have Kendriya Vidyalayas for the middle-class, why not for the poor?

There have been recent moves which have been beneficial to government schools. One is the attempt to decentralize control of schools. Village Education Committees have been part of recent government education schemes. Members consist of teachers and parents and the goal is that they work together. But these can be ineffective for the variety of reasons described above. There are have been attempts to devolve power over the school functioning to the panchayats. This has several advantages, though there have been some incidents of the village sarpanch misusing his power over teachers.

Teachers who belong to the community can also make a big difference. Because of reservations some of the caste and gender disparities between teachers and students have reduced a little bit, but there is still a long way to go. If teachers could be hired because they are local, because they know the community, because they consider teaching a vocation, instead of because of the number of degrees they have, that would help improve the situation.

Interaction amongst teachers would help as well. Often young, motivated teachers are isolated by the apathy of senior teachers and management. Along with training programs, meetings where they could interact with each other would be very useful.

Several NGOs (non-governmental organizations) are working on these issues. The Tamil Nadu Science Foundation (TNSF) has been working on teacher interactions amongst each other and adaptation of new learning techniques in rural schools. 'Maya' has been working on making the village education committees more effective (see http://www.sulekha.com/column.asp?cid=139682). Asha for Education and several organizations are taking advantage of the 'adopt a school' scheme of the government of Karnataka. Under this scheme, a donor or an NGO adopts a school and takes over infrastructure improvement (drinking water, toilets, addition of classrooms, whitewashing of classrooms), teacher training, providing educational material and any other facility necessary for the improved functioning of the school. The Citizens' Initiative for Elementary Education (http://www.ciee.net) has been working on several aspects of improvement.

The problem is severe. A vast majority of children (around 80%) go to government schools, indeed it is the only education they can afford. It is the government's responsibility, and hence the responsibility of every citizen, to ensure proper functioning of the schools. It is possible. Well functioning government schools like Kendriya Vidyalayas exist. A concerted effort from the government, the NGOs and the general public will make this possible. Let us not write off rural schools. Let us give Neelamma a chance.

References:

[PROBE] - Public Report on Basic Education, Oxford University Press, 1999.
Personal communication with school teachers and NGO coordinators working in the area of improving government schools.