My
teenage daughter is now in Grade 11. Friends have begun asking me what she plans
to do after school. I reply that I would like her to do what she likes. In my
time, if your academic intelligence was well established, you were given three
or four choices: an Engineer, doctor, Chartered Accountant or architect. During
our school days, without knowing much about any of them, we picked one of them,
and as a consequence spent our remaining life first studying and then practicing
it. In my case, I had realized I didn’t wish to become an engineer or an
architect, I found machines incredibly boring. Medicine was rejected; I looked
away at the sight of blood. By process of elimination I qualified as a
Chartered Accountant.
Only
years later, I realized the world was too big to be squeezed into a handful of
professions. In this week’s diary, I will tell two stories that illustrate this.
*****
Dada Rege was the founder of my school. He
didn’t have a PhD or DLitt after his name, but he was a passionate educator.
Though the school grew to have a couple of thousand children, he knew most of
them. Once a teacher complained to him about a 12-year old boy. This boy, the
teacher said, sits at the back and keeps scribbling in the notebook.
“That boy, “Dada Rege told the teacher, “is
a mathematics wizard. He knows Maths better than you or me. Let him keep
scribbling, please don’t distract him.”
That boy is now a renowned mathematician
in the USA, a professor at the Rochester University, an expert in the number
theory.
Of course, not all children in our school
were as bright as the math wizard. Once a mother, a very worried looking
mother, came to meet Dada Rege. Her son hated all school subjects. There was a
tamarind tree in the school’s courtyard. This boy would, at a whim, leave the
classroom, climb the tree and sit at its top. Sulking. As a sign of protest.
Teachers grew tired of complaining.
“What should I do to improve his grades?
Should I send him to a coaching class?” Asked the worried mother.
“Listen, that’s not going to help.” Said
Dada. “If he so passionately hates studying, no amount of schooling or coaching
is going to change him. Please do me one favour. Observe what he likes. There
must be something he enjoys. Anything… not necessarily to do with the school.
Take your time, and please let me know.”
In a month’s time, the mother came back. “It’s
nothing to do with academics. My son loves water. In the monsoons, he is happy
to roam around without an umbrella. Since he was one or two years old, he liked
splashing water.”
“Good, good.” Said dada. “Now you focus
on that, focus on what he loves. Forget his school grades. We won’t be able to
do much about it. But let him learn swimming. Let him do in life what he
enjoys.”
*****
This conversation took place more than
fifty years ago. Dada Rege passed away long ago. Now his grandson is my neighbour.
In fact, I heard this story from the grandson. That boy, the boy who was a
duffer in school, came to meet him recently. He lives in Australia. The boy who
loved water now heads an international team of scuba drivers in charge of
special assignments. Assignments such as debris’ search of a missing plane require
his expertise. He recalled the conversation between his mother and the school
founder.
*****
This second story is about my classmate
Sanjay and his daughter.
Across Shivaji Park, our local park, is a
small lane leading to the beach. A pony moved up and down in that lane carrying
children on her back. Sanjay’s five year old daughter took a ride. Sanjay took
out his wallet to pay the ponyowner.
“How much?” He asked.
“No, nothing, sahib” said the man.
“But my daughter was riding your pony.”
“Look, I allow her to ride whenever there
is no other customer. So I don’t want to charge her. But I can tell you one
thing. Your daughter is what, five… right? I’ve never seen a five-year old who
can control a horse by herself. True it’s a pony, but when your daughter is
riding, I don’t need to give her any support.”
Sanjay heard this and within a few months
registered his daughter for horse-riding at the Bombay racecourse club.
*****
When Sanjay’s daughter, Sanjay and I sat
in a coffee-house she was 12 or 13 years old. Already a proficient horse-rider,
she was competing in the relevant age categories. (A few years later, she would
start taking part in European equestrian championships. The family would move
to Bangalore, a city with the best hippodrome and horse riding facilities in
India. But all this had not happened yet when I talked to Sanjay’s teenage daughter).
As a matter of formality, I asked her
what she planned to become when she grew older. As expected, she said, horse
riding was her love. She planned to become a full-time jockey.
“But,” she added, “Jockeys can
professionally work until 30, maybe 35. I would like to pursue another career
at the same time.
I want to become a horses’ dentist.”
She said India had only three qualified horses’
dentists. All three were in high demand. The visit fee for a horse’s dentist
was Rs 25,000 (about USD 400). Once she ceased to be a jockey, she would be
dealing with horses’ mouths for living.
I congratulated her on the clarity of her
thoughts. I offered my best wishes.
*****
Horse’s dentist. Before that meeting I didn’t know such
a profession existed. And that it was lucrative to be one.
The world is full of such esoteric
professions. If you love something exceedingly, like this girl loves horse
riding, you will discover careers most people know nothing about. Rather than
getting trapped into the quadrant of doctor-engineer-CA-architect, it is
important the child pursues what she likes. Some unknown career will be waiting
for her at the other end.
Ravi
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