May 3 was an epic day. On the more modestly epic end of things, the day began with Teach For India welcoming the newest batch of 150 Fellows into teacher training Institute, and into this movement to end educational inequity – in fact a major landmark event. However, the real blockbuster would come later in the day.
Lest the newbies reserved doubts that the Fellowship would be tough, at 9:00am they were thrust into an experience our CEO introduced as, "for some of you, outside your comfort zone; for the rest, way outside your comfort zone."
Our project: visit a Pune slum, and spend three hours developing real bonds with individual children. The rules: spend no less than one hour interacting with a given child; do not acknowledge the presence of other Teach For India Fellows and staff; and do not buy anyone anything. The staff, of which I am a part, tagged along, ostensibly experienced in the matter at hand.
If this exercise sounds easy, my hat's off to you. I can remember how I felt the first time I was asked to visit a slum – I was queasy. (My imagination evoked that familiar state of discomfort – maybe walking home late at night, accidentally traversing an ill-reputed neighborhood – you walk purposefully and look ahead, trying to cover ground without looking rushed or nervous.) However, as I learned that day, slums can be darn friendly places, so as we set off on the bus, I was feeling good.
I spent the first hour at the home of Tararem, a 10 th standard boy with fluent English, who aspired, reasonably it seemed, to be an engineer. I learned that his hobbies include Rajasthani classical women's dance (he showed me photos of himself performing for his classmates; brave kid), and that he was married at age five to an infant girl. (I thought he was mis-speaking until he showed me photos of this also. He hasn't seen her since the wedding, but they'll reunite when she turns eighteen, in five years.) I met the charming sister and parents, learned some Marathi, and we posed for photos. My spirits were high as I carried on. However, my good feeling soon turned to great when I made an unexpected discovery: Michael Jackson still lives – he has been reincarnated as an 11-year old Indian boy.
I was standing in a circle with five or six boys, attempting to communicate with one of them about his Bollywood aspirations. (His hair was meticulously slicked back – he looked the part.) Naturally, the conversation turned to dancing, and the will of the crowd compelled me to bust a move.
Before I had even a moment to experience that form self-consciousness reserved only for dancing white men, there was an eruption of motion – I had unknowingly made the universal signal for "silent dance party".
When this would-be-MJ commenced with some leg kicks and spins, I saw resemblance; by the time he broke out the emphatic crotch grab and moonwalk, it was unmistakable. His friends tried various imitations, some impressive, but none quite so fluid and precise. In that moment I acknowledged the possibility that Michael Jackson may actually be the most beloved human to ever live.
Not much can put a person at ease more than a troupe of frolicking boys doing the moonwalk. I was feeling more than a little smug as I joined my Teach For India counterparts at the bus – "did any of you meet Michael Jackson?"
Photo 1: Mini-MJ, center-left. Photo 2: Tararem, right, and sister Laxmi.
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