Part 7 of 24 in Reclaiming Education: The Micro-School Revolution← Part 6Part 8 →
I’ve often found that life’s most profound lessons emerge not from textbooks, but from the simple, unassuming moments we encounter daily. Just last week, I watched a three-year-old in an Indian courtyard, her eyes wide with wonder as she lifted a stone, questioned the crow’s cawing, and concocted an impromptu game using a stick and a couple of slippers. No syllabus dictated her actions, no teacher prompted her curiosity. It was pure, unadulterated exploration — an instinctive pursuit of knowledge that seems to dwindle as children are ushered into the structured confines of the classroom.
This brings me to a conviction that has solidified over the years: Curiosity is the default setting of a healthy child, yet our conventional schooling systems often replace this innate inquisitiveness with compliance. Schools, as they function today, tend to reward rote learning and conformity over critical thinking and creativity. They produce students who excel at ticking boxes rather than questioning the status quo.
The National Education Policy 2020 attempts to address this, advocating for foundational literacy and numeracy, flexibility in learning paths, and vocational exposure. It envisions the child as a discoverer, an explorer of knowledge. Yet, most schools remain lagging behind these ideals. They stick to their antiquated methods, leaving parents to shoulder the responsibility of nurturing their children’s curiosity. And frankly, parents do not have to wait for schools to catch up.
One might argue that boredom is the enemy of learning, but I challenge this notion. In Indian households, we’re quick to fill every moment with enrichment activities. If a child is still, we add a class. If a child is noisy, we hand over a screen. What we inadvertently create is a generation that cannot tolerate an empty hour. Yet, it is within these unoccupied stretches that a child’s mind begins to wander, questions begin to form, and genuine learning occurs.
An empty hour is a breeding ground for curiosity, a space where the mind is free to roam and explore. Filling every moment with structured activities raises passengers, not learners. As parents, we must defend this free time fiercely, even if it feels irresponsible when relatives ask what the child is “doing.”
Agency, then, is not about permissiveness. It is about giving children the power to choose their paths within boundaries we set. Imagine telling a child, “We need to get stronger at fractions this month. How do you want to practice — through kitchen measurements, a game, or a short lesson with me?” The destination remains non-negotiable. The journey, however, is theirs to chart. This is the essence of agency — the freedom to choose, anchored by the responsibility to learn.
I think often of Kabir, an 11-year-old from Indore, labeled “distracted” in school. His mother, Reema, noticed that Kabir’s distraction stemmed from a lack of interest in the material, while cricket statistics captured his complete attention. She struck a deal with him: 90 minutes every weekday belonged to him, provided he kept a “curiosity notebook” with one question a day. In three weeks, Kabir’s notebook was filled with questions about swing bowling, the aerodynamics of the new ball, and structural engineering queries about stadium roofs. Reema did not provide the answers. Instead, she guided him to search for them, to consult a civil engineer uncle, and to explain his findings to a cousin. Kabir’s school still demanded worksheets, but now he had a parallel curriculum that he owned. Reema’s initiative inspired other families to form a Saturday pod where each child brought one question they owned. Kabir’s notebook became the model, a testament to what happens when agency is nurtured.
So, what does autonomy look like at different ages? For the youngest, say ages 4-7, it could be as simple as choosing which story to hear or which corner of the room to play in. For those aged 8-11, planning a small project or keeping a list of questions may suffice. As children grow older, from 12-15, they might take on real responsibilities within a learning pod, such as managing an attendance sheet or caring for plants. By the time they’re 16-18, the learning environment transforms into a studio, not a classroom, where they can engage in internships, open schooling, or build public portfolios.
Here’s a thought experiment: Delete one extra class or hour of “revision” from your child’s weekly schedule. Mark this hour on the family calendar as “child’s time.” Protect this time for 14 days and observe what unfolds. In my experience, you may witness the blossoming of curiosity and agency.
The common belief that structure and constant engagement are the keys to learning needs dismantling. Instead, we must embrace the reality that curiosity thrives in freedom, and agency flourishes in choice. As parents and educators, our role is not to dictate every moment but to cultivate environments where children can direct their own attention and follow their own questions.
After all, isn’t the goal to raise thinkers and innovators, not mere followers? The world is evolving, and so should our approach to education. Let’s raise a generation that not only seeks answers but also dares to ask the questions that no one else is asking.