75.Are Museum visits truly fruitful?

 

We often hear that museums are treasure troves of knowledge—places where history, art, and culture come alive. But are they always enough? Do they fully ignite our curiosity and deepen our understanding? 

Museums undeniably offer invaluable opportunities for learning first hand about civilizations, scientific marvels, and artistic masterpieces. Guides often serve as the storytellers, weaving facts with flair. But can they really enlighten us on the rich tapestry of cultural stories behind each artefact? 

Last week, I found myself pondering this question in a very personal way. While preparing for my classes  on Indian Knowledge Systems—a key part of the new Four Year Integrated Teacher Education Programme—I used to  delve into the fascinating worlds of ancient Indian architecture and kingship. To illustrate, I shared a story from Kerala history: the exquisite craftsmanship of the Sri Padmanabha Swami temple’s Gopuram, and the legendary act of the Travancore king surrendering his sword and wealth to serve as a humble devotee of Lord Padmanabha—an act of humility and devotion unheard of among rulers worldwide. 

 

Last  week when a group of my former students from NIT Calicut visited Trivandrum, I recommended exploring local heritage sites like the Napier Museum, Sree Chitra Art Gallery, Kutharamalika Palace, and Chitralayam near the temple. At Chitralayam, as the guide shared facts about old photographs and artworks, I couldn’t help but add cultural insights—stories that breathe life into the artefacts beyond mere dates and names. For example, when the guide pointed to the Vallakadavu boat jetty, I shared how it was part of an ancient waterway used for transporting goods—a piece of local history that adds depth to the exhibit. 

But here’s the catch: the guide, noticing my familiarity with the site, quietly stepped back—probably realizing I could contribute more. And that made me reflect: how much cultural richness do we miss when we rely solely on guides? 

The truth is, despite their expertise, guides face the challenge of covering the vast, complex collections they oversee. They know a lot, but not everything—especially about the nuanced stories behind each artefact. 

So, what’s the takeaway? When you take students or visitors to a museum, don’t just let the guide do all the talking. Take the initiative—share your own insights, ask questions, and weave cultural stories into the narrative. Be an active participant in the learning journey. 

I’m sharing a screenshot of a message from one of my students after the recent museum visit—proof that a little curiosity and effort can make heritage exploration truly enriching. 

Remember: Museums are not just about viewing objects—they’re about experiencing the stories that make our history and culture come alive. 

74.Are we witnessing a shift that challenges traditional values?

 Back in 1997, fresh with a Post Graduate degree in Education, I was preparing to step into the world of teacher training. Although the salary for my guest lecturer position at Calicut University’s Teacher Education Centre in Ollur, Thrissur, was modest—barely enough to start a family—I accepted the challenge. My father, eager for me to marry, pressed me to settle down, but I was driven by a passion to teach.

Thrissur, the cultural heart of Kerala, was a place I’d heard so much about from my sibling, who had begun her career there in a central government office. I was told about the unique nature of its people—their courteous manners, their graceful interactions, and a culture that felt different from anywhere else. When I first taught a batch of 30 student teachers—mainly girls with just four boys—I experienced this warmth first-hand. Their deep sense of responsibility, eagerness to learn, and respectful attitude made every day a joy. I cherished every moment of those six months.

Curiously, that 1997 batch, which I fondly call the “Ollur batch,” turned out to be special in my entire teaching career. They were diligent in reconnecting with me over the years. Around 2019, they formed a WhatsApp group, and within a few years, they  managed to trace 25 of  their classmates— a few living abroad with spouses, others teaching in Thrissur. Despite the distance, a face-to-face reunion seemed elusive—until a virtual get-together two years ago, and then a heartfelt in-person reunion last month, April 2025 in Thrissur.

Seeing them after so many years was a shock—many had transformed physically, and some barely recognized each other. The joy was palpable. They even gifted me a group photo from 1997, a nostalgic treasure. During our conversations, I was curious: how had their careers unfolded? One, surprisingly, had pursued an MBA and become a corporate executive. Others, still in education, shared their experiences.

However, what saddened me was a recurring theme—many of them didn’t seem to fully enjoy their jobs anymore. One teacher, now a Plus Two lecturer, recounted an incident: a student caught for malpractice retorted, “Teacher, be careful… I am a minor.” That moment struck a chord. We all agreed that students from 1997 and those in 2025 seem worlds apart in attitude and behaviour.

This realization aligned perfectly with my recent professional engagements. This month, I was invited by Macmillan Education to conduct sessions on “Positive Teacher Discipline” and “Making Learning Happy” across three schools. After a session at Christ Nagar Public School in Attingal, the principal honoured me with a felicitation and a memento—a gesture that reinforced my belief in the importance of nurturing positive educational environments.

Having completed these interactive sessions, I often find myself pondering: Are these changes in student attitude for better or for worse? Is the evolving student mind-set a sign of progress, or are we witnessing a shift that challenges traditional values? As educators, parents, and mentors, it’s a question we must continuously reflect upon.

In the end, whether it’s a student warning a teacher “I am a minor,” or a teacher trying to foster joy and discipline in the classroom, one thing remains clear: education is a journey of constant change, demanding adaptability, understanding, and a heart full of hope.