CBSE Admissions: It's harder to get an LKG seat in Chennai CBSE schools than undergrad admissions to Yale

On Friday the 13th, I stood with a flock of parents in front of Harrington Road's Chinmaya Vidyalaya Senior Secondary School. Today was the day where parents checked their interview times displayed on a large bulletin board... if one could call it an "interview." Parents were batched in groups of 22 to appear before the principal in a mere 30-minute increment. Over the course of 7 days, the principal would see an astonishing 1,979 LKG candidates for a meager 160 seats (40 of which are promised to RTE candidates). With barely a minute per parent, I couldn't imagine what metrics the school used to determine whether a family stood in the small "acceptance" pile or the "rejected" heap: would it be the mother's brand of handbag? The crisp material of the father's shirt? Or would it be determined by the 3-year-old child's ability to stand still without making a fuss over the duration of the meeting?

Other than these snap impressions, I assumed the main admissions criteria would come from the application itself. Having filled out 30+ of these forms for the school, I could recite the application questions in my sleep: What is the father's profession? Yearly income? Caste? Community? Mother and father's education credentials? Little was asked about the child, except for vaccination schedule and whether they had a sibling enrolled in the school (alumni received preference).

Looking at the board I noticed a handful of applicants had their own 30-minute time slot. I could only speculate who these candidates could be, though I imagined them to be the ones actively wooed by the school--perhaps they were politicians, wealthy, or otherwise well-connected. With each candidate being expressed by a mere number, the names and personal details of these families remained a mystery.

From these metrics I realized Chinmaya's acceptance rate for LKG general admissions stood at a mere 6%. This figure shows greater exclusivity than just about every Ivy League institution in the US (Harvard is the exception, but barely): For the official figures, Yale's class of 2018 acceptance rate was 6.7%; Harvard's 5.9%; Princeton 7.3%; Columbia, 7.0%. 

Before any school congratulates itself for such an association, it's worth dissecting the societal harms created by such exclusivity. For one, LKG admissions is not based on the merit of the child--at least in the case of Ivy Leagues, the single biggest influencers are the student's achievements of GPA and test scores. While one could arguably point out that these factors are also heavily influenced by the parent's socioeconomic status, it simply doesn't come close to Chennai's school system. Here, parents are the single biggest influence on admissions. 

Indeed, schools give LKG seats based on the parent's income, education, and profession. With the school unable to meet with each family due to time constraints, some of the criteria may be chalked up to stereotypes, too: "this child comes from a Brahmin household, so her parents will naturally prioritize education," or, "how can a child from the ST community possibly have the resources to perform well academically?" 

Some schools do have admissions tests for the child, though I find such benchmarks equally absurd: What could a school possibly ascertain regarding a three-year-old's academic potential? Who among us can remember ourselves at that age, and could make honest associations from those traits to who we are today? One may as well look to the child's astrological sign or birthmarks as a more accurate predictor of academic success. Instead, school administrators delude themselves into believing that a child who can hold a pencil upright is more deserving of a seat than one who struggles because they're used to sidewalk chalk; or that the extroverted child who can regurgitate color names is better suited for school than the one who occupies his time daydreaming quietly.  

The result of this rigorous, exclusive system is that the best education goes to those of high birthright rather than character. Chennai's current education system would completely fail to identify and support some of the world's greatest visionaries: those who didn't speak until the age of 4, the shy ones, and the many who grew up in a poor household. All would be overlooked in favor of the child from wealthy, well-connected backgrounds. Indian society is already stacked strongly in the favor of this demographic, but never have I seen the preference so clearly as I have during LKG admissions season to some of Chennai's top schools. 

To be clear, the fault is not with the school (not entirely, anyway). The school's admissions procedures are perfect for attracting parents who can give their institution more resources, and therefore more opportunities to boost rankings/test scores. Money means well-equipped computer labs, after school tutoring, higher teacher salaries, state-of-the-art smart classrooms, iPads for students, and ample extracurricular offerings. 

And whether we like it or agree with it, wealthier parents are (statistically speaking) more inclined to foster academic excellence than the parents from poorer backgrounds--it has nothing to do with personality and everything to do with access to resources. It is, after all, a luxury to be a stay-at-home parent whose sole job is to look after the needs of the child. It's a luxury to have a well-stocked collection of books at the child's disposal; the linguistic ability to converse with the child in English; the ability to pay for expensive tutors during exam season. Now contrast this child with one from a poorer background: the parents cannot speak English, the mother works two jobs just to feed the family (and let's hope there's no alcohol problems as is so prevalent among this demographic), the child's environment of poor sanitation/hygiene lends itself to ample sick days and inability to focus because of malnutrition problems, and basic internet access is lacking. Parents from both backgrounds could be equally as well-meaning, disciplined, and self-sacrificing, but these traits mean nothing in the eyes of a school seeking the safest candidates. My support for the RTE comes from the fact that this legislation is the only thing offering poorer children any hope of gaining a valuable academic experience comparable to their well-off peers. 

In the meantime, for parents who don't get into Chinmaya Vidyalaya's general admissions... your child might have better luck for Yale. 

  

Chetpet, Chennai RTE CBSE Drive, 2015

It's that time of year again! Another RTE drive; this time, CBSE-style.

Historically, CBSE schools have gotten somewhat of a free pass from following the Right to Education: they were not under the State governance umbrella, most of the press attention has been during matriculation drives in April, and their admissions window is chronically short and difficult.

On the last point, we've encountered an unusual hurdle that we've not anticipated--online applications. Two schools mandate printing and filling out their school applications that have been specially marked as "RTE." This differs from filling out and personally submitting the usual standardized government-issued applications. It's also problematic because parents have just two days in which to download and complete these documents. Prior to these two days, parents have no access to admissions information. One might think that approaching the school and asking about admissions would prove fruitful, but many parents with whom we've spoken have been met with a mere, "it's all online; look there" from the watchman.

Online applications also pose the usual barriers to low-income groups, such as the lack of internet access and inability to read/understand English. Absent intervention from outside groups such as NGOs, it seems only those from a more privileged background (financially or otherwise) would be able to navigate this confusing landscape.

Online applications with last-minute information sharing also creates inordinate hurdles for the NGOs trying to assist the parents. For example, we anticipated turning in physical documents and government applications. With online applications, we have just two days to coordinate application intake. Moreover, because we will not even be able to see the application and required details until Monday, we cannot prep the parents with what info will be necessary. As of right now, we do not know if we can physically print the online school applications or if we have to send the information via the internet. We do not know if receipts will be issued, or what to expect as it pertains to confirmation of intake.

Age requirements have also been problematic. According to the Joint Director of CBSE, schools must follow state mandate. Our understanding based on thorough readings of government orders distributed on the Tamil Nadu Dept of Education's website reveal a "3 by July 31st" mandate. Upon approaching schools we were informed that the requirements have now become "3 by January 1st" rule. From where and how this was distributed remains a mystery. Because we want to work within the parameters of the school's wishes and we have some degree of advance notice, we will ensure applications meet this standard. 

Times of India highlights what those on the ground already knew: The RTE numbers are fudged

This article brought to mind a conversation we had with Sec. Sabitha concerning our work with the RTE: "You should consider yourselves lucky to be doing this work in Tamil Nadu. We have the best track record and admit more kids than any other state. Last year we admitted __(some figure in the tens of thousands)___".

We left that conversation not only dejected, but confused--thousands? How? We struggled to admit a mere 11. Where were these thousands of families with awareness of the law, and where were these schools who welcomed them with open arms? In our experience, no neighborhood knew of the law, nor did a single school wish to admit them without being thoroughly apprised of the law.

Ultimately, we came to the same conclusion as the article, which is that something was rotten in Denmark.

A RTI submitted by one education activist and published in a Dec 10th article by the Times of India answered our confusion. It illustrates that the Tamil Nadu Dept of Education artificially inflated its RTE figures--instead of 89,000 students receiving seats, the figure is closer to 2,959.

The number of seats given in Chennai? Just 112, states the RTI.

We had personally witnessed the issuance of roughly 40 seats across three schools. Given our very small sample, we may assume that the number might be larger than the 112 reported. At no point are we naive enough to believe the official figures, however, which report the submission of over thousands of seats.

From our experience, the lack of auditing regarding seats is appalling. When a school claims it has administered seats to underprivileged children, no education official actually checks. Every school gets a mere rubber stamp (and perhaps a payment to the official, depending on the situation). Given that there is no incentive to prevent a school from artificially inflating its numbers for compliance--quite the opposite, as both the school and govt get money for each seat--this system is unlikely to change.

I do not suggest that schools are automatically putting fake names to give the appearance of propriety. Are some schools guilty of this conduct? Absolutely. But the situation of artificially high numbers is by far a government problem, as highlighted by the article. The thought of centralized funding trickling its way into state coffers is too much to resist--ergo, 89,000 seats. So long as the government can falsify the numbers, they will. Unless and until more stringent auditing occurs to ensure that 1) such children on the roles exist 2) the children are in fact legitimate RTE candidates, little will change.

What saddens me is that our work is already hindered by the State and Central government's refusal to pay schools for admitted children. We have little to say when a school official cries in frustration, "we can't afford to give seats for free, and the government will never pay us." Reimbursement must be a priority. Given the inflated numbers, however, I as a tax payer cannot support a system so deeply mired in corruption and deception.

The article may be found here.

LKG Lesson Plan: Colors

LKG Lesson Plan: Colors

To teach colors, start by finding one prevalent on the clothing or classroom material. State the word simply, pointing to each example. Also ask each kid to repeat the word to ensure they are enunciating it correctly.

After one month of teaching colors, the kids can now successfully answer, “what color is your shirt/pants/this sign/door?” (note: when asking, point to shirts, pants and objects in question).

I also use two videos with catchy songs and cartoons:

Marker exercise: Another color lesson entails packs of markers. I bought a pack of 40, and I now brand them as “color sticks.” I may give one kid 5 markers, and then ask, “give me the green marker. Green.” I also make a give motion. I also hold up 5 different colors and ask the kids to take the correct color. For advanced kids, I may ask them to take “red, green, and blue.” I also introduce the word or by stating, “please take yellow or blue.”

Positive reinforcement: If a child is touching the wrong color, I state, “that’s yellow…. That color is blue…. This one is green! Good! Give me the green marker.”

Starting Our RTE Tutoring Program

When we went to schools and talked with them about admitting RTE students, we reassured them, "we will also be looking after these students to ensure they don't fall behind." And thus, the idea of an English tutoring center was born. Establishing the center required a few things: first, finding a venue. Second, a teacher. And third, inventory. 

Finding the perfect venue was a huge lesson in patience and local politics. The venue had to be big enough to host at least 11 kids, within walking distance of the parents, and reasonably hygienic. We actually came across the perfect classroom on the first try--it was a full-fledged, beautiful Montessori preschool. Unfortunately... the owner wasn't keen on having the liability of more children on the premises (even after hours), and no amount of rent money seemed to change their minds. 

The second venue was a 7x7 room belonging to a newly-deceased relative of someone in the area, and because we were desperate to get started, it was the makeshift classroom. We called all of the parents to come to a quick orientation session, and not all of the parents and kids could fit into the space! It was stuffy, hot, claustrophobic... and all the kids immediately started crying. I laugh now, but at the time I remember being mortified at the disastrous evening. The space was problematic because of the politics: the woman just died, so people were coming in and out to perform poojas and other rituals. The posters of politicians on the walls weren't exactly conducive to teaching, either. 

Next was finding the teacher. With the space being so close to the Madras School of Social Work, this was our first choice for recruitment. The teacher we initially hired didn't have teaching experience, but always wanted to teach kids. We decided to try her out, but she unfortunately realized that teaching a room full of 3 1/2-year-olds in a tiny, hot room wasn't her ideal job. Her replacement was a young Masters student who took the role as his internship, and I still wish him all the best. It's at this point that I'm able to step in and fill the teacher shoes until I can find another person. In the interim, I'm devising lesson plans and methodologies: This will make it easier to train someone as to my requirements. The "teacher" component is still in the works, but I honestly don't mind filling the post in the interim--if we plan to scale our tutoring program, it's really important to streamline the curriculum. I can't do that unless I actually engage in teaching. 

In the time from teacher #1 to teacher #2, we found a new (amazing!) venue. CMCT (Christian Mission Charitable Trust) has a soup kitchen for the elderly within the neighborhood. They only use it during the lunch, so we asked if it was possible to use the space for an hour in the evening. Very graciously, they agreed to our request. I can't begin to express my gratitude: it truly is a great space based on the size and location. 

As to the inventory, shopping was easily the most fun. The classroom is filled with plush toys, cars, yoga mats for comfortable sitting, notebooks, markers (which I use more for color sticks than anything else), crayons, paper, letter cut-outs, slates, and so forth. I bought several things in the US but I realize it was silly of me to do so--the item I use most is easily my laptop, as this enables me to show videos and create presentations. Images are crucial to conveying new English words. 

Well, the tutoring program was off to a bit of a rough start, but it's still going strong!

So you want to apply for a seat under India's Right to Education Act...

And this is why we help parents... good luck!

2014 RTE Chennai: School liaison work

This year, we worked with several schools to facilitate applications under the Right to Education Act.

Our liaison work was filled with ups and downs. For starters, not a single school expected us to come along and drop off applications this year. I can understand why this surprise would be most unpleasant for several institutions.

Imagine you are running a private school. While you know that the RTE is law, few (if any) parents actually show up on your doorstep. As such, do you really sacrifice 25% of your seats (and thus your income) on the possibility that families may apply?

We found that most schools probably answered "no" to this question. Now, I am not stating this in an accusatory fashion, but rather, practically speaking. When we entered an institution, we went in with the assumption that they very likely filled their seats back during general admissions months ago. Schools that issued scholarships to underprivileged families earlier were even less enthused when they were requested to give up more seats. And so, we knew that if they took any of our applicants, they were probably going to have to literally shove extra desks in the classroom and notify their LKG teachers of the new admissions. If their LKG class wasn't yet full, then I have to think many groaned that they had to set those aside for our candidates.

Thus, the first part of work as a liaison was delivering the unfortunate news to institutions that we were seeking their compliance with the Act. Out of respect, I will not express the reactions of the schools, but not all of them were thrilled. Some of the correspondence submitted on our end was reminding schools of the RTE provisions based on our discussions, mostly so that everything could be documented in the event of follow-up.

Our next step was discussing how they wished to receive our candidates: would they prefer to meet with the parents, or could we drop off the applications on their behalf? Most made everyone's lives easier by agreeing to take the paperwork from us. Organizing the parents and requesting them to take time off is not easy, just as I have to think it's not easy for schools to meet with 20 sets of parents in the midst of their busy days. Additionally, most institutions recognized that meeting with the parents to review their applications runs the risk of screening, which is a somewhat vague term but is expressly prohibited under the RTE. I am always happy when schools opt to work with us instead of with the parents: it makes communication so much easier, especially if we have to clarify any misconceptions or misinterpretations later. Sometimes, schools gave false information to families when they went on their own accord. Having to call up 20 families and rectify the matter, and then set the record straight with the school is a headache for everyone. It bred mistrust and frustration between all parties. All of it could have been avoided had the school mentioned the issue with us directly.

The next step was witnessing the admissions process employed by the school. Some were most welcoming in allowing us to partake in their public lottery. Others used admissions methods that we found... well, questionable at best. We will not be explicit, but our hopes were never raised until we saw the actual results. Even though we could use the laws of basic probability to estimate numbers, we reminded ourselves never to assume that we knew what was going to happen. We refused to speculate how many of our applicants would be granted seats.

After admissions were announced, we'd relay the news to parents. We also had to play musical chairs by assessing which accepted families already had a seat elsewhere, and which remained on the waiting list. This required contacting all of them and gauging their status. We then relayed other information to parents, such as the cost of school fees, start dates, and when to come and fill out further paperwork.

At the end of the day, we recognize that being a liaison is not a right but a privilege bestowed upon us by the institutions. They do not have to allow us in their doors, though we have to hope they recognize our good intentions: we do not wish to be aggressive or hostile, particularly as it relates to RTE compliance.

We do not wish to be activists; rather, we see ourselves as support structures for families first and foremost. If following the Right to Education is a mandatory protocol (which it is, for better or worse), then we try to make the experience as easy as possible for the schools. We enter every institution with the goal of being respectful and cooperative; not combative and argumentative. If we perceived that a school was attempting to evade the Act, then our conduct regrettably may have come across as the latter.

Additionally, we recognize the concerns of schools with respect to adjustment and assimilation. Part of our roles as a liaison is ensuring the children have adequate resources to perform well in the classroom. When possible, we meet with the schools to determine how best to achieve academic goals and social integration.

What we would do differently:

• I understand that many schools probably felt ambushed by our presence so late into the season. Next year, we anticipate school visits to occur well before the RTE admissions season. We will use the occasion to explain our work and ask about their RTE protocols. The early start will also serve as a heads up that they are not to fill their RTE seats during general admissions, as they should expect applications from our group come May.

• We will also ask the schools about their application requirements. Going into this season, we hadn't fully understood that schools have personal discretion with how they handle certain aspects. For instance, we assumed age requirements were a government directive rather than up to the school.

• I think we'd also give a better introduction regarding our work and identity. Going into schools, we assumed that our identity was irrelevant, as they must follow the law independent of who we were. When schools asked us, I was always a bit surprised: why should it matter? I then learned that most schools want to ensure that we had good motives. I later found out that some wealthy parents try to exploit the RTE to gain admissions, which is truly unfortunate. So, while our identities should not technically matter, we found that informing schools of our background could only help.