I was excellent at math when I was at the primary level. I used to score full marks or a little less than full. Then, at a very tender age, unknowingly, some sort of megalomania crept into my head that “I’m good at math.”
That psychology led me to reduce math practice, as I thought I was “good.” I started reading math rather than solving them on pen and paper. My scores started plummeting by the day.
By the time I was in the eighth grade, my skills in math were showing a marked decline, and in the following year, I started flunking the subject.
When I was in class X, math became a scary subject for me. Whenever I used to sit with it (algebra, trigonometry, and arithmetic), I became panic-stricken. Somehow, I passed with a very low score in my secondary and higher secondary exams.
On the other hand, I was extremely good at geometry. Anything related to geometry made me happy, and I was solving many difficult problems without any practice.
It doesn’t matter how old the students are, all of us love to play games. Games are a great way to keep people engaged, and it doesn’t hurt that they are fun
My geometry teacher loved me for being good at his subject, and my math teachers hated me for being a loser.
I discovered that my geometry teacher used to cheer us up all the time whenever he communicated with his lot. Something made me realise that the difference between the math teachers and the geometry teachers was their attitudes.
The math gurus were all sombre-looking, proving their subjects to be serious as hell, and the geometry teacher always made us believe that the problems were all part of a game. The geometry sir advised us to play with the problems.
Years later, I had an opportunity to teach English in a school-and-college.
For a few days, I acted as an orthodox teacher going by the institutional norms. I discovered that no one was interested in textbooks.
I thought again.
Then, I started telling them about the history of the English language and literature. I told them stories of Greek and Roman mythologies. I recalled what our geometry teacher used to do in his class.
I recalled how our Bangla teacher, Faruq Latif Sinha and Rafiq Nowshad, used to handle their literature classes. Sinha and Nowshad sirs always used to make us laugh with real life examples.
These teachers had, first, evoked some kind of love for their subjects; then, they used to take us through the texts.
In a similar fashion, I had asked my students to write letters to the editor in the newspaper column. They all wrote.
I edited them and went to an English newspaper’s editorial department. In two-three days time, the newspaper started publishing their letters with their names and addresses. After that exercise (they termed it fun), I never had to press them to read their textbooks. They read the texts on their own and no one flunked English in my classes.
Decades later, when I became a father of school-going children, I came to know from them that they experienced a similar atmosphere in their classrooms; my children weren’t enjoying some of the subjects.
My daughter had similar problems as me in math, and my youngest son didn’t understand English grammar properly.
I inquired about it and he said: “Our English teacher is too serious; she’s more interested in our haircut and shoe polish than English grammar.”
I said: “Come baba, I’ll explain it to you.”
wBut I didn’t.
I searched a few grammar lessons on YouTube and requested him to watch the videos. After one hour, he came to me and said: “Papa, I got it, it’s clear now.”
The examples that I’ve just detailed out were, perhaps, cases of our teachers failing to make their classes interesting. That’s why, I believe, the motivational factors remain missing during the classes.
I remember, all my math teachers used to rebuke me and punish me for not being able to deliver.
It doesn’t matter how old the students are, all of us love to play games. Games are a great way to keep people engaged, and it doesn’t hurt that they are fun. The classroom content would have to relate to our lives.
Many a time, what the teachers teach are way too remote from our real world.
We’re learning those things because we have to, but if the lessons have a connection to our lives, it would be easier for us to be interested in them and fathom them.
Our classrooms aren’t interactive at all. A teacher standing before us, speaking, we’re taking notes -- that is quite boring. Participation from everyone is missing.
This is an era of great technology. The use of technology could open up great motivating windows for students in the classrooms. Our skill-level would increase manifold if only our classroom teaching became a bit interesting.
Ekram Kabir is a fiction writer.
