The privilege of learning through play

The kindergarten our son will attend seems to holistically endorse Maria Montessori’s philosophies. Representation Pic/iStock

Yesterday afternoon, we visited the kindergarten that our firstborn will begin attending from September. I'd only ever seen it from the outside, peeping occasionally into the gym room whenever the occasion presented itself. Having only ever encountered the building from the outside, I hadn't imagined that the interiors could be so expansive. I assumed it was cramped, because the town decided to build an annexe next door on the site of the erstwhile fire station. But really, the extension is designed to expand possibilities.

Shortly into our visit, I felt like a kid in a candy store, utterly fascinated by the inviting nature of the space, a little lost between the myriad rooms, each hosting an elaborate range of activities designed to engage toddlers and preschoolers. I had flashbacks to my time in junior and senior KG in Kurla, which, unlike the Montessori system, followed a classroom structure. We sat on benches in a class facing the teacher, who taught us what it was felt we needed to know using a blackboard. We didn't have games or tactile activities. We learned shapes and patterns, and how to recreate them on paper. By the time we were done with senior KG, we had already learned cursive writing. I know we sang a lot of songs and played a lot outdoors, but we didn't have access to an alphabet library or a sewing station, nor did we have opportunities to do collage work or refine our fine motor skills with scissors. One of the rooms at our son's future kindergarten had a counter with magnifying glasses, slides and a whole area dedicated to natural history. In the same room were tables and chairs around which they could mould with play dough, play with magnetic tiles, make patterns with different-sized and coloured wooden cubes, and play with dice to learn numbers. There was one room dedicated to alphabets, and I saw alphabet blocks in different forms, shapes and sizes that the kids could use to familiarise themselves with writing. One tiny room that served as a bridge between two rooms held a hospital-style bed. It was designed for kids to act like either doctors, nurses or patients. Upstairs was a woodworking station where they could use real tools under supervision. Another vast room was called Dreamland, a cinema for book projections and shadow puppetry. Adjacent to it was a small music room with a range of instruments. Besides an outdoor play area, there was an indoor gym with a ball pool, space for Bobby Cars, a slide and other equipment. We also surveyed the kitchen, where their daily meals are cooked. Our toddler is already a fan of the cooking - he gets the same fare at the daycare - a well-balanced diet with lots of vegetables, fruits, meat, fish, rice, pasta and once a week, dessert.

Can you imagine how much a space like this costs us per month? Zilch. While we pay a subsidised rate for day care, much of which gets refunded by the State, from kindergarten onwards, education is free. I had been nervous about the facilities, because my partner had told me that all he ever did at kindergarten was play. I told him we learned to read and write. He said they don't bother here with teaching kids skills they would invariably learn at school. But visiting the kindergarten and witnessing how holistically it seems to endorse Maria Montessori's philosophies felt deeply reassuring. I also couldn't imagine the need to buy our child any more toys, after having glimpsed the sheer abundance and range of what he will have access to, come September.

The awareness that our child will have an upbringing so vastly different from my own makes the world from which I come seem so distant from this world I currently inhabit. This fact can sometimes feel alienating. I understand this is part of the terrain when it comes to being an immigrant, but knowing that doesn't make it easier. At the same time, I hesitate to get into conversations around who had it better, my partner or me, because when I consider my deep capacity for resilience and my ability to be resourceful, I know these gifts come from not having enjoyed very many privileges. I am adept at stretching funds, making do with very little and making that little go a very long way. I am proud of my propensity towards repairing things and not just discarding them when they are broken, as is the norm in many western societies, where the culture doesn't exist anymore and is being steadily revived.

Still, the question lurks within me: what could I have been if I had access to world-class educational facilities without my parents having had to burn a hole in their pockets? Shouldn't all children be entitled to such lavish nurturing environments that feed not only their brains but their bellies? How did we manage to build so much inequality, and how do we explain these inequities to our children?

Deliberating on the life and times of every woman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She posts @rosad1985 on Instagram
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The views expressed in this column are the individual's and don't represent those of the paper.