Saturday, October 24, 2015

On Theory of Knowledge...snippets from a larger thread of conversation.

I agree with my colleagues who argue that it is important to not over-generalise the results of this survey. However, discounting student opinion entirely is not the solution either. The survey as a whole does seem to reflect my experience with students/student essays & presentations over the years both as a TOK teacher, Coordinator and Examiner.

I find it important to refer to school ethos vis-a-vis the treatment of TOK. The more sensible and sensitive students seem to have picked up on this aspect and have duly reflected on the school's/teacher's approach and erudition. I have taught TOK in two schools in the same city in India, and the difference in terms of perception about TOK was/is palpable. It is not surprising then to find that students tend to find their TOK lessons "confusing" to say the least.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Before and After

A random what's app message from an ex colleague asking for an opinion about a poem (nothing was divulged about its origin) resulted in my editing/reworking/fooling around with the initial text at her behest.

The before and after follow :-


Wave by wave, the water hits my skin
Crashing into me, taking me down
My thoughts are scattered with every blow
Peace fills me up even as I drown.

Happiness is a distant goal
Life is a winding labyrinth
Day by day, I'm picked apart whole
My conscience the only constant

Questions go unanswered, dreams have me on the hook
The rat race makes me question my ability
Will this tide ever guide me?
Will it ever save me from onlooker's pity?

I realise there's no need to fight, a burning fire consumes me.
Change comes from within, evolution the only way to survive
I embrace my problems, become one with them.
I've never been so clueless yet never been so alive.


Self Help

Wave upon wave.
Salt water on skin.
Forming a skein,
all enveloping.

Thoughts scatter.
Scramble. Surge. Storm.
Are still.
Divine drowning.

Self actualisation?

Seven habits.
The eighth habit.
The law of attraction.
Life; a pecsniffian Janus.

The conscience.
A tenuous tether.
An anchor.
At sea.

The high seas.
More questions.

Dreams; a mirage.
The quest.
What quest?
Clueless. Calm. Convenient.

Salt water on my skin.


Definitely not a poet.

Friday, September 11, 2015

And almost bon voyage again...

Applesauce seems to be getting rather redundant considering that there is limited leisure. There is no time to stop and think. No time to mould meaning from banalities, and post a string of verbose words posing as profound erudite thought.


The weekend is like the new year. That time of hope when you make more resolutions you are unlikely to keep. The Wunderlist on the smart phone is full of to dos that shall make one feel productive come Monday morn. The accomplishment IS the list. There is little wonder at not having done a thing. 

The week has been hectic. Work has been exacting. Students have been/are demanding. The weekend is spent on Skype-ing with students. Books then are merely meant to be patted like good dogs who are always around. Books/dogs are not necessarily hugged or paid attention to. Weekend binges (encouraged by the Binge Baba on television) are the only thing one has energy for. Lethargy is relaxation. Malaise is rejuvenation.