The Profound "No": A Lesson in Agency from a Special Child
Written by Smita Dhage
My journey to a Zilla Parishad school in a remote part of Yavatmal involved navigating an incredibly narrow, unpaved road, a mere thread through the landscape. Arriving around eleven in the morning, I was greeted by a heartwarming scene: students and teachers had meticulously prepared a beautiful exhibition. Some of the girls, dressed in their finest, offered a traditional aarti, applied a tilak, and then performed a graceful dance to the welcoming melody of "Saanson ki sargam gaye suswagatam..." Their performance filled me with pure joy.
Deeper engagement with teachers brought to light two critical areas impacting their daily lives and professional satisfaction. Firstly, the significant burden of additional administrative duties was a recurring theme, detracting from their core teaching responsibilities and diminishing their passion. Secondly, alarming environmental concerns, such as the lack of secure infrastructure leading to incidents like finding snake skin in cupboards and restricting access to learning materials, were shared.
These candid exchanges underscore the complexity of their roles and the diverse challenges they navigate. Our messaging must therefore focus on empowerment and belonging while acknowledging both the administrative pressures and the need for improved learning environments within government schools. Our strategies should address both these aspects, exploring avenues for administrative support and advocating for better infrastructure to truly build teacher capacity and community.
The exhibition itself, the primary purpose of my visit, was a testament to the students' grasp of the year's learning, guided by their dedicated teachers. At each stall, two students stood proudly beside their beautifully arranged work. Their confident and effective explanations of their projects were met with the teachers' evident pride. The effort invested was palpable.
Amidst this vibrant activity, two girls stood apart, their hands clasped, their nervousness evident. "What have you prepared? Tell me about it," I gently inquired. But they remained silent. A palpable tension grew among the teachers, unsure of the girls' reticence. One girl, Riya, stood utterly still, hands folded, her silence absolute.
Riya was a special child, and her teachers spoke with pride of the significant progress she had made since joining the school. She had even created a storybook with her own drawings. The teachers gently encouraged her, "What have you drawn? How did you create these clouds? This tree? Tell Ma'am about it." Yet, Riya offered no response.
I could sense the teachers' growing anxiety. It's natural for educators to feel concerned when a visiting guest witnesses a child's silence. There's an inherent desire for students to showcase their learning. It mirrors our own behaviour at home, urging our children to perform for guests — to sing, dance, recite. But do we ever pause to consider the child's own desire to perform? Does that question even arise?
Observing the teachers' unease, I turned to Riya and asked directly, "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Without a moment's hesitation, Riya replied with a firm, "I don't want to."
In that instant, a powerful realisation struck me: this special child possessed an incredible strength—agency. She could assertively and fearlessly decline when she didn't want to do something — a truly significant skill.
So, I posed another question, "Okay, you don't want to tell me about that. Fine. Then what do you want to tell me?" Still, Riya remained quiet, her hands folded, a peaceful stillness about her. But then, her friend standing beside her offered a suggestion, "Riya is good at reciting ukhane (traditional Marathi couplets)."
A remarkable transformation occurred. A radiant smile illuminated Riya's face, and a newfound confidence blossomed within her. And just like that, she began to recite more ukhane, her voice filled with joy.
It was then that a profound thought resonated within me: when children are given the freedom to pursue their own inclinations, when they are empowered with choice, they approach everything with joy.
The nurturing atmosphere Riya's teachers had cultivated in that remote school, the freedom they extended to their students – it was truly admirable.
In today’s world, the ability to say no with conviction is an essential life skill.
Can you recall a time when you felt compelled to do something you didn't truly desire, simply because you couldn't say no? Do we possess the same inherent strength that Riya so clearly demonstrated?
Yes, truly—Riya is special.
