Back to the Classroom
Lessons Beyond the Lens
I’ve learned “how to learn” by teaching children. Fortunately, life has given me ample opportunities to be in the company of curious children. It started when I was in college volunteering for a few NGOs, continued when I was a Teach For India fellow, and most recently, this year when I was in Pune teaching writing and photography to school students.
I feel that the highest form of trust children extend is to their teachers. They arrive with so much curiosity and so many questions, trusting that their teachers know what’s best for them. Even though schools have become a norm and it’s the parents who enroll their kids, the curiosity of young children is always ignited.
Whenever I enter a classroom, I feel a deep sense of responsibility and privilege for the opportunity. Being in the company of children is enriching and a learning experience for me as well. When I was a teacher with Teach For India, I was only 20-22 years old—an age where my own perspectives and insights were still borrowed from those around me. I may have been good with the subjects and had the best of intentions, but I was not yet at a stage where I could mentor students. However, I did try my best to be someone they could approach without hesitation.
I’m not much different now, though a few years of living with intention and meaning have given me some resources to be a better teacher, if not the best. This year has been all about facilitating workshops and being on stage—sometimes in online sessions and other times in offline gatherings and events.
My apologies to the dear adults who have attended my workshops—I love you all dearly, but the most humbling and heartfelt moments of facilitation have been in the company of children. Once in May when I was in Pune (I wrote a Substack about it) and now, as I write this, sitting in the guest room of Pratham’s skilling centre, where I’ve been given the opportunity to lead a photography workshop.
I’ve been trying to write this newsletter since Saturday, the usual day I send this digital चिट्ठी (letter). I attempted to write it several times, but I had to leave on Sunday for a 10-day trip across UP, which meant finishing prior work commitments and packing. Seated on the train, I opened the tab to write, but the anticipation of the coming days overwhelmed me, and I felt a sort of creative paralysis. The tab has been open on my browser for four days now, and I neither had the courage to close it nor the energy to write.
I arrived in Mahoba late at night with my train running six hours behind schedule. I had barely slept, let alone felt rested, but I was supposed to lead a photography workshop for 25 young photographers—an ambitious task that I’d been looking forward to for two months. The primary school where we gathered was 30 minutes from Mahoba, and as I rode pillion, the fresh morning air whipping around me and blasting in my eyes through the perimeter of my spectacles, I started to feel a bit refreshed.
The students had come from villages around Mahoba, and some had travelled quite a distance to attend the workshop—a commitment I deeply respect and never take for granted. We started at 10 a.m. on Monday. I was a bit nervous; the kids were not, and that helped immensely. As always, I began with games, laughter, and banter to ease them into the idea of an adult stranger from Delhi teaching them. We sat in a circle, did introductions, and after the games, moved on to the workshop. The morning games set the perfect tone, and the students responded well to the material I had prepared.
I showed them some of my work, from photographs of children across India, to the landscapes of the Himalayas, the recent clothes drying at different places and the light entering my house in Bir.
The students made remarkable observations about the photos and the meanings they carried. Together, we deduced various elements from the images, guessing things like time, location, agriculture, and local habits, all based on what they saw in the photos. The students did most of the analysis—I was just asking questions.
Next, the students formed groups, chose a project, and worked on a photo story of 10 images within the school premises. Over the two days, they took multiple photos on mobile phones, with me giving rounds of feedback along the way.
On the second day, I worked with the students to compile their photos, prepare a presentation, and practice presenting to the entire class. In their groups, the young photographers showed their work to their peers, the school staff, and me. I sat there among the audience, feeling proud of their work and confidence.
The workshop concluded at 3 p.m. and felt nothing short of magical. I’m incredibly proud of the students’ work and did everything I could to ensure they felt the same. We parted with multiple rounds of goodbyes, and upon being asked by the students I gave my phone number to them while they cutely repeated it several times to remember it. Some asked when I’d return, and a school teacher who overheard commented that the mark of a good workshop is when students ask this question. I was too tired to fully process this, but upon returning to my room, I crashed and later woke up with a sense of emotional heaviness—the kind you feel after saying goodbye to someone close at the airport. A feeling of wishing them well on the upcoming journey while also wishing for more time together. As I write this, I send silent prayers and my best wishes to all the students who trusted me, though I also admit finding myself longing for more time with them.
I arrived in Kanpur yesterday evening after a long yet comfortable bus ride to conduct the same workshop with a new group of students. I’m looking forward to the experience. My ears still ring with the music that unfolded in the past two days in Mahoba, but I’m preparing to give my full attention to the students who will join today. Little do they know, their teacher hopes to take away a lesson or two to write about in a future newsletter!
Thank you for allowing me to share my experience here with all of you. Even before sending it, I feel heard, seen, and acknowledged. That’s the power of writing. More on that another day. For now, I’m off to teach some kids the magic of photography.
If you have read till this point and if you’re aching to see the wonderful photographs shot by the children, check out the document below which is a compiled PDF of all their beautiful documented photo - stories.
Bonus: I created a photo series alongside the students, without revealing it to them. Can you guess the themes each student group chose? I’d love to hear your thoughts!
I invite you to reflect and write on the following prompt:
Reflect on the moment when you unexpectedly became the "student" in a situation where you thought you were the "teacher". What did you learn, and how did it shape you?
Write a short story, poem, or reflection of a time you gained a new perspective through teaching, guiding, or sharing with someone else.
As a feature of all my newsletters, I share one song, one book, one plant-based meal, one film/video that inspired me, and some photographic updates from my life.
Song: Ajj Din Vehre Vich — a song I’ve been hooked on for the past week.
Book/Newsletter: I enjoyed reading How I Started Making Visual Stories. I primarily practice photography as a visual medium, but I’ve always been fascinated by paintings, sketches, and other forms of visual storytelling. Collage seems like an approachable and accessible art form!
Meal: I really enjoyed this Bhojpuri Thali I had the day after Chhath Puja. PS: The name of the meal was Bhojpuri Thali
Film/Video: Especially suited if you’ve already watched this phenomenal film, though I hope it still resonates even if you haven’t seen it yet.
Photographs:
Thank you for reading my newsletter! I hope you enjoyed reading it. If you liked my work, please consider subscribing. I write weekly on topics ranging from photography and nostalgia to loneliness and living as an artist. If you have any feedback, I would love to hear from you—feel free to email or comment! Wishing you a wonderful week ahead, and I look forward to seeing you next week!
Hi Rishabh, I wish I had spent at least a day of my childhood with a camera in my hand, curiosity in my mind and a fantastic Teacher like you to guide me around :). I am so so happy for those lucky little people who are learning from you. Superb work, awesome writing and wishing you all the best :) .
How did the workshop manage to start on time if your train was six hours late? 😰
This entire experience sounds very fulfilling. I've taken photography classes (as an adult) in the past and I always felt like I never learned anything 🙃 I've had a better time doing it on my own.
How do you learn about these opportunites? Do schools reach out to you?