Ode to students for whom marks aren't everything

As the university semester came to an end last month, a significant number of my students were graduating this year. The final grades meant the world to most of them. A few students who had rarely reached out to me during the courses, sought meetings and began to send messages to discuss their progress and grades. Others wrote back after the grades were published with pleading, desperate messages to reconsider their score since their future prospects depended on getting the highest possible marks. Or so they had been led to believe.

I understand the anxiety and stress of students. They are yet another new generation in a world that measures their worth in terms of their marksheet, their first salary and the status of the university where they go for higher studies. Their parents have paid exorbitant fees to get them the best opportunities available and they never fail to remind their progeny of what is expected of them.

“What we call civilisation demands the denial of human needs,” writes Dr Gabor Mate, author of ‘The Myth of Normal’. “Our schools are full of kids with learning difficulties, mental health issues that are trauma-based, but teachers never get a single lecture on trauma. We are not a trauma-informed society.”

As a teacher, even as one witnesses the slow motion breakdown of students, specially the most gifted ones, one meets others who display extraordinary resilience while coping with the system. They not only survive, they thrive. And their life doesn’t seem to depend on grades to feel worthwhile to them.

Today, I write a tribute to the students who knew they were not going to get the best marks and they were absolutely fine with that. I promised this to one of my students whose final submission went missing from the folder where he had uploaded it, and when he was informed about it, he was calmer than the person who had frantically searched him down to ask him to help us retrieve his lost submission.

After 24 hours of trying to coordinate despite failing Internet connections and unstable online storage, my student sent me a voice message. He told me how hard he had tried to salvage the situation and how sorry he was about whatever seemed to have gone wrong.

Then he said, “I know you have to submit grades and all, but I’m helpless.I know you can’t wait and all any more. I have to graduate and you have to turn in the grades… Either way, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to mess this up, but I guess that’s how it is.”

I did not expect to feel as relieved as I did when I heard this message. I wrote a note in my journal: “I’ve been so busy and overworked trying to extend care to everyone besotted, obsessed and dependant on getting the top grades. I must not forget to appreciate those who have coping skills and perspective to imagine a perfectly wonderful life beyond all this.”

I sent one last text to my student. “Thanks. I promise to write an ode to students who don’t disintegrate when they get less than an A.”

In the middle of writing this column, I took a break and attended a scheduled online session of guided meditation conducted by a friend. For half an hour, I lay down in a quiet corner, trying to keep my attention on my breath and my body. I’m not always successful at keeping my attention steady, but I always emerge relaxed. My brain feels like it has been cleaned gently and I don’t feel the weight of a clutter of thoughts for a long time. I often find that the calmness acts like a filter. Clarity emerges from the silence.

Take breaks, I say to my students. Quiet breaks. There is no need to always set oneself up to be acknowledged, appreciated, judged. We have the right to disengage. We can return to the self. We have far more autonomy than we give ourselves the permission to believe. Playing the victim can become a default response in a world where we feel the cards are stacked against us. It even yields results in the short run. In the long run, it stunts our own potential.

Discussing their final performance with another student over email, I wrote, “The point of all learning is to get closer in touch with how one is wired, what inspires us, what is easy for us, what needs practice but remains compelling to us, etc. Grades will fade in relevance soon, but the experience will stay and I love that you are engaging with the course and its learnings from this perspective.”

As I look back at my interactions with trainees and students through the decades, I realise that fostering a sense of autonomy is one of the most important gifts a teacher can offer. Offering them choice, not shaming for creating anything less than perfect. Honouring the process of learning and experimenting with form and style, rather than judging only the final submission or exam performance.

The writer is a filmmaker, author and teacher