In the monsoon months of 2008, the entire school was involved in growing vegetables and grain, as part of the Land Mela. That year, all the fields were planted.

This year, we have a group of people who are mainly working on the land, so we decided to have a full-fledged vegetable garden. Along with the children having an opportunity to work in the garden, we also harvest and eat fresh, chemical-free produce. Since we have been growing more vegetables, we need to buy less from the market.

So far we have harvested cluster beans, lady’s finger, lettuce, cucumber, different greens and also smaller quantities of other vegetables.

The children are involved at every stage- preparing beds, planting, maintaining and harvesting, and also cooking and eating. In the rainy season most veggies grow quite easily so we can afford to cultivate the whole area.

During this year’s monsoon season, our Junior School gardeners have thoroughly enjoyed
working in their garden.
They involved themselves in the entire growing cycle:
Digging, removing weeds, preparing beds.
Sowing seeds and watching plants emerge.
Mulching and more weeding.
Watering…although in these months there has been much rain.

The latest inhabitants in the  garden are three scarecrows, assembled by the children.
They wear old sports shoes and red t-shirts.
One has a plastic pot as a head, another has straw hair.
And the third holds a colourful umbrella behind its back!
All have broad grins.

The scarecrows are surely as much a part of the stream of “observations” that move
the children as the sunbird nests they have spotted around campus.
Scarecrows dot the landscape as the children negotiate borders of ragi and togari fields.
Drawn to the quirkiness of these solitary sentinels, the children were inspired to bring
them into their vegetable garden.

Gardening, Walks in the outdoors, Nature observation activities, these have been the inter-connected strands of the ongoing Junior School Nature Journey.

Over the years, we have had the privilege to wander in our partially-wild campus and in the landscape beyond.

In the Junior School especially, children spend a good deal of their week outside the classroom.

In these early years, an appreciation of and sensitivity to the natural world has grown during these fairly unstructured hours.

This year, the Junior School coordinators decided to devote several sessions a week to an unfolding Nature Journey.

If you didn’t find the children harvesting french beans or piling soil on their potatoes, you may find them out on a long walk, along with an equally avid adult.

The Walks allowed for plenty of time to amble, pause, observe and wonder.

Here are a few accounts from the walk time.

Stopping by an agave plant.
It is in bloom and the flower stalk is tall.
On top of the stalk sits a parakeet, still.
When we return, half an hour later, one of the children exclaims:
Look at the parakeet! After so long it’s still there!

Dragonflies rest on the brick walls of the guest house.

A child notices holes on a leaf:
Look at the nibbles on this leaf!

Another child finds the exoskeleton of a beetle and wants to make a grave
to lay the exoskeleton in.

As the entire group looks at and learns about ancient plants: mosses and liverworts, questions arise:

How did the earth begin?
What were the first plants on earth?
How did man first become alive?

One child described how she harvests grass seeds:
“You get the pink stuff off and the bottom yellow stuff are the seeds. The yellow stuff is harder, you can feel it.”

The Walks were a time when we became much more familiar with bird life. We learned to recognize many birds, watched nests and became alert about being quiet in the presence of birds.
Some walks challenged us physically. Often, time out would be spent exploring slopes and crevices, navigating rock formations.

Still other walks were quiet, with no expressed purpose.

There were more structured Nature Activity sessions where children engaged
in activity that drew their attention to aspects of the natural world.

The activities included tactile sessions: feeling trees;

observation sessions:  such as sketching leaves,
watching seeds germinate, observing cocoons over a period, watching dragonflies
stalk tadpoles, documenting bird life and flowering trees on the CFL campus;

creative expression—writing poems
and
quantitative exercises—measuring plant growth vegetable garden and making graphs
of the results.

Nagini, Keerthi and Rupa, our Junior School coordinators and anchors for the Nature Journey share Reflections on this time with the children:

We have slowed down as we walk. We realize that slowing down makes you notice natural processes. Earlier, we would pass by a plant without even pausing.  Now we notice hidden worlds: a pupa under a leaf, a sunbird’s nest in a shrub.

Our time in the outdoors is a time to relate and to feel, each in her own way.
It is important for children to connect with what is around them, without necessarily naming or ordering.

Engaging with the natural world doesn’t have to do with action and result but with observation and tracking changes.

There is a distinct difference in the awareness of our surroundings
We not only stop to look more closely at something, some of us are also able to spot camouflaged insects and spiders and have a feel of  where particular creatures
or plants may be.

The children enjoy sketching.
They have also enjoyed becoming familiar with birds on the campus.

One child declared, enthusiastically:
“I love weeding!”

The experience was nothing like I thought it would be. I started out excited, curious and extremely nervous. Before we left, I was preparing myself mentally for the physical challenge of the trek and in doing so didn’t give much thought to other aspects of the trip. Therefore, I came back struck by the experience, taking much more from it than I thought I would.

We left for Delhi in mid May and really sweated it out on the train. From there we took trains and other vehicles to finally reach Munsiari, Uttarakhand. The rides were long and exhausting, but once we caught a glimpse of the stunning snow covered mountains, all the tiredness vanished and we stared out the windows, completely thrilled! We rested  at Sarmoli, a village in Munsiari, for a day. Early the next morning we started off with six porters carrying our food rations, the trekking-enthusiastic couple, Chaiti and Shane, and a lot of advice on how to pack, how stick together as a group and other suggestions.

Apprehensive, excited and still nervous, we started off. We had eleven days of trekking ahead of us, where we would walk in the Ralam Valley until day eight and then cross the pass over to the Milam Valley (where we would move along an old Tibetan trading route). So we went from Jhimi Ghat to Lingorani, to Burjiganga and all the way to Bugdiar  With aching backs and  yummy lunches– from big mountains to dense forests, from hot and sweaty to teeth-chattering cold, from mountain goats to mules, from rain-soaked tents to snow, we encountered a lot in those ten days. The trek was not a simple trek, but with the guidance of Chaiti, Shane and the porters all throughout, we managed rather well as a group. We’d start early in the morning, trek till we reached the campsite in the evening. Often some us were so tired that we barely had the energy to pitch tents before collapsing! And the bitter cold! Once the tents were set up, we’d put on layers and layers of clothing and all huddle up in a big tent drinking hot chai or soup till dinnertime. We got to know Chaiti and Shane well and really missed them when they moved ahead of us after Burjiganga. The porters took good care of us, and within a couple of days on the trek, we were very comfortable with them and we learnt a lot about each other’s lives.

Other than the physical challenge was the mental challenge of pushing yourself, dealing with personal difficulties and still remaining in tune with the rest of the group. With emotions under control, we were able to appreciate the gorgeous landscape. Now that we’re back here it’s hard to believe that just a while back we were walking through dense forests, long stretches of grassy hills, gushing rivers and snow-clad mountains and observing our surroundings as though they werethe most natural thing, when now, they  seem like nothing on earth! It really is a surreal experience to unzip your tent in the morning to see gigantic mountains shimmering white and brown against the bright blue sky; it makes you feel completely insignificant in comparison.

We saw a great deal of birds we had not seen before, including the Lammergier, the Monal and the Fire-tailed Sunbird, all which are specific to the Himalayan area. Another new and interesting sighting was the Pika (a mouse-hare), an adorable looking creature seen at various points! The landscape was very different from the one we are used to and we were constantly observing the changes in terrain, growth and life forms. It was interesting to note the marked changes in the terrain as we climbed, all along the trek; nothing like we had seen before. Though we were  greatly saddened to see parts of the landscape being destroyed due to  the hydro-power plant  (currently stalled due to local protest). coming up in Lilam.

Eleven days whizzed by and before we knew it we were sitting in the rain, a running factor all along the trek, at Jhimi Ghat,waiting for jeeps to take us back to Sarmoli. Mixed emotions again.There was the thrill of knowing we had completed the much-awaited Himalayan Trek, knowing we could go to the village and bathe, cleaning away eleven-days worth of filth, and amongst these feelings, a feeling of real sadness. Sadness that the trek was over and sadness that we were going back to the civilized world and would resume normal life soon. It did seem, for those few days at least, that we were actually living a different life, a completely different life.

Yet once we  reached Munsiari, we were greeted so well that we forgot these feelings for the time being. In  Munsiari we stayed at the homes of a few of the villagers, as a part of a Homestay program. Staying at people’s their homes, we saw their lives in a different light. They took pains to take good care of us and made us feel very welcome. Our evening was spent well, first bathing, and then chattering nonstop with Kamala di (the woman of the house we were living at) and her young son Kabiraj, all about our trekking experiences and sharing stories and jokes till it got rather late.

This Homestay program was initiated by Malika Virdi and other women in Sarmoli, Shankhadura and Naya Basti. The purpose of the program is to host visitors to Munsiari in local homes through whom they would learn about the many aspects of the place.

The most striking encounter was with the  strong women’s collective of Sarmoli and neighbouring villages.This collective is called Maati Sangathan, and the unity of the women is remarkable. They  support eachother immensely through this collective. The position of women in the village community has changed, and the women now have the support of eachother and so are a stronger voice and force, in the village as well as in their own homes. The women have divided up work, to collectively make woolen things, fruit juices etc rather than work individually so as to increase efficiency and productivity. The women also discuss issues they face in life, and with the support of eachother try and tackle them. Our group spent a few hours with them, they were free and open to talking to us about their work. It was extremely inspiring to listen to them.

Our trip was organized by Himal Prakriti, an eco-preservation  venture involving          the local people in Munsiari. Our contacts at Himal Prakriti, Malika and Ramnarayan, also introduced us to life in Munsiari. Ram organized our trek, right down to the last detail.

Malika, Theo and Ram have lived and worked together in Munsiari for over fifteen years. They have been deeply involved in the lives of people of the villages around and have worked with them to help preserve the area, improving aspects of the forests and of life.. We had met with Malika, Theo and Ram before we left and met with them again the day after we reached, and all throughout we were struck in awe of them. They have adopted the place, made it their home, and have brought about a number of changes in the area.

And that evening, we packed and were headed off the next day towards Delhi. A long and slow journey, everyone restless to get back home. And three to four days later, we approached Bangalore early in the morning and we all were thrilled to be back home. This yearning for home amongst all of us, made us seem like a bunch of “city kids”, waiting to get back to our comforts. Yet we made the most of our trip and there is a large number of us in the group who are looking for an opportunity to go back there at some point or the other!

 Thejaswi Shivanand

The quest for the meaning of human life is something that has plagued ordinary people and philosophers alike for millenia. I am similarly bothered as the jeep begins to climb the Shivaliks towards Munsiari, a good 300 km away, from the train station at Kathgodam. The station is located at the point where the Gaula river debouches from the Himalayas to densely populated alluvial plains, and we have travelled over two days and nights from Bangalore. I begin to wonder at the human condition as I look at the broad river glisten at a distance in the morning sun, and the endless towers of fissured earth being continuously uplifted as the Himalaya. Is it fatigue that awakens you to this question?

The question continues to come up as we reach Munsiari that evening, past driving rain and minor landslides. The Panchachuli pentatops present themselves spectacularly in the fading light. The sense of wonder and awe in seeing the mountain that is part of the human condition. Munsiari is a quiet town, usually an outpost even for the interprid tourist, but the next day sees us applying for permits to go on the trek to Ralam Glacier, and return via the traditional Tibetan trading route in the Milam valley. The question on the human condition arises again, with a sour note this time, as the official tasked with issuing permits asks for more paperwork. “Sensitive Border Area”. “Lives at Risk in the Remote Himalaya”. Sigh. Why do borders carve up non-existent lines across mountains? Rhetorical question, I tell myself, as we go on a flurry of activity to get the extra photographs and photocopies from the nearby photo printer, an innovation in Munsiari since I last visited in 2009. Ramnarayan and Mallika, of Himal Prakriti, the organization that put together our Milam trek then, help us this time as well. In our meeting before we leave for the trek, we hear of various other changes that are have happened, are happening or due to happen in the Gori Valley – the planned hydroelectric power projects, a road linking Milam and Munsiari, the state of schools, politics of jungle ownership, the role of women in the local village society, the flow of rivers in Himalayan geological history.

I begin the trek with disappointment when I see Jhimi Ghat, where we camped on our Milam trek, in a state of being blasted for a mountain road to link Munsiari and Milam. Piles of rubble extend right up to the stream banks along the steep valley, clogging the channel in parts. Dynamiting and JCBs alternate in carving up the mountainside where we saw over thirty or more vultures roosting two years back. The hitherto peaceful village is dusty. We end the day climb to camp at Paton village, the winter home of the Ralam villagers. There are few people here, as most have migrated to the short summer in Ralam. These villagers are migrants from the neighbouring Dharma valley, and are ethnically and lingustically distinct from their neighbours in the Bhui village. Apparently the secured the land ownership rights to Ralam village and its van panchayat from the residents of Bhui in 1964. But they have been moving between Ralam and Paton for atleast seven or eight generations, as recalled by living memory. The walk up to Paton is refreshing, we cross the Gori near Lilam and then have lunch at a stream, where we encounter our only amphibian of the trip, a spectacular mottled green frog, horsetails and spiders await in webs just a foot above the flowing water. Our camp is above the Paton village, in grazing land abutting the village school. The stunning sedimentary beds in the ridges on the other side of the valley raises the question again – we are in an ancient realm, far older than civilization. I feel like an intruder.

We pass fairly dense forest the next morning, as we cross the ridge from Paton, a north-facing moist woodland, dominated by atleast two if not three species of Maple, same numbers of Oak, an understory of Rhododendron and a sprinkling of conifers in the upper reaches. The trees grow in thickness and girth as we move further in, and the understory is a vivid stranglehold of aroids, ferns, lycopods, and astonishing array of fungi. The last of the rhododendrons are in flower. The dead trees rot in the forest and are part of this landscape, with woodpeckers and barbets aplenty in the old growth. This forest and others in the valley beyond belong to the Ralam Van Panchayat. The van panchayats are a system in Uttarakhand where the local forests are communally owned by the village and administered by an elected body. The Ralam van panchayat is one of the largest in the state and controls sizable areas of deciduous and coniferous woodland, and alpine grassland across a steep elevation gradient. Our walk on the second day reveals the gradient as we ascend and descend ridges in a seemingly endless series before we end up at Lingurani. The campsite is named after the abundance of Lingu, the circinate young leaf of a fern, edible when fried in butter and salt. The good sites are already occupied by an American group, and we have to make do with sites that are also favoured by goats and rainwater as the evening progresses! The redeeming feature of the campsite are the massive horse chestnut trees, all in bloom.

The next day sees us awake to open skies. We are cold from the previous night, and Angshu has part of sleeping bag drenched in a puddle. Amiti wakes to fifteen bearded goats staring at her. We decide to move on and save a rest day for a later date. The rain does not relent, but the mind does. I wonder at the human condition again. Why am I fascinated by the flowers and the birds? Why do I need an explanation for this fascination? Is there a hidden moral dilemma that this fascination is a deeply selfish action, uncaring about another’s questions and interests? I also wonder at the way the mind works when fascinated, I do not feel the weight of my bag and the rain when I see an interesting flower, or the flurry of Mrs.Gould’s Sunbirds feeding on a Berberis clump at 3000 m, or a spectacular waterfall on a sheer cliff. But the bag weighs on my mind, and back, otherwise. We camp at Kildam, another regular stop for sheep. Dhiraj,Yattu, and Prahlad, part of our kitchen-guide-porter crew, conjure up hot soup and dinner as the night recovers from the day’s rain and cold. Kailash, another crew member, gives me a clear quartz crystal that he found on our steep descent to Lingurani. He reminds me of someone, and upon query, I realize that his brother Tillu had accompanied us on the trek to Milam two years back. I wake up the next morning with the moon rising over the ridge above the campsite.

Ralam is the only settlement in the Ralam valley. We camp the next day at Marjhali, a few kilometers before the village. A landslide had destroyed the regular road and we cross a large, recent landslide and a tongue of old snow across the river, climb a ridge and reach Marjhali. Another species of rhododendron is in full bloom, the plant is much shorter and the flowers are larger, mauve instead of red. There is a speckled moth that reminds me of Biston betularia in the shade of a rock on the landslide. Horsetails and marsh marigolds sparkle along streams. A Golden Eagle flies overhead. Birch woodland begins and ends. Red-billed Choughs circle in flocks. We are in the alpine zone.

The Ralam river cuts deep in the valley, braiding on the river bed before the monsoon excess changes the shade and turbulence of the waters. Angshu, Anirudh and Abhimanyu make a snow man from snow collected on the hillside above the campsite. We come across sheep everywhere. The alpine sheep are curious creatures, they may let you pass quietly but as Maria discovered, might also just gently crash into the backside to indicate their presence! We spend a lazy afternoon before heading off early the next day to Ralam Glacier. Theo, also part of Himal Prakriti, joins us as he did the previous day from Kildam to Marjhali, and continues to offer valuable information and insights into the Himalayas. He tells us the story of yaks in Ralam that he helped get from Ladakh via Tibet several years back. We could see the yaks at a distance across the valley. He and Chander, one of the Ralam villagers, come along with us towards the glacier. The land is covered with juniper bushes and Cotoneaster shrubs. Streams enroute have Primulas, Caltha and Veronicas in dense huddles of white, yellow and blue. Potentilla atrosanguniea carpeted the floor of the grazing slopes with bloody blooms. Closer to the terminal moraine are dwarf willows in flower. Its a dry and desolate landscape; the long moraines on the laternal flanks of the glacier, the brown terminus of the ice flow, the river gushing out, the glistening snow and ice on the mountains above, all remind me of my own insignificance. The beauty is overwhelming.

Shane finds a fossil. Its a bivalve imprint fossil on shale. This part of the Himalaya was under the Tethys sea before India collided with Asia, and many fossilized creatures have since then been upfolded into mountains several thousand meters up. The finding of the fossil reminds me of the discovery of the Burgess shale, except that Shane, who is also Canadian, does not have a horse at the time of the discovery nor is the fossil as ancient as the Cambrian fossils found in British Columbia. Shane and Chaiti have accompanied us on the trek, and are an essential part of our group. They push us up when we are down (literally!), help us across snow slides, advise us on trip rations and liaise with the crew. They are warm and large-hearted people, like our crew, like the mountain people we meet wherever we went, like Theo, Mallika and Ram.

We sleep early on returning from the glacier. The next day, we have to cross the Burjikanj pass so an early start is essential. An exceptionally fine day on the glacier is not predictive of weather in subsequent days. We huddle and talk about our mental states. Mental states matter in steep climbs, and can make a significant difference to the quality of the climbing experience. Also, the weather is something we will be working against, so we need to be in top mental form. All of us. We decide that the slow climbers go first, the others follow. And so we begin at 5 AM, cross over to near Ralam, meet Chander who is there to show the way, and start climbing at 0730. It is 1130 when we reach the top at 4567 meters, after crossing increasingly smaller gentians and primulas, fewer birds, some treacherous ground, good weather and almost no snow. The other side of the ridge is deep in snow. We can see the large Milam glacier at a distance, and the two peaks of Nanda Devi and Nanda Devi East on a closer ridge across the valley. It is an exerting climb, and after a quick lunch we begin the descent after saying goodbye to Chander. He has to return to Ralam to plant out potatoes and other vegetables. In the short summer in Ralam, every day in the field counts and it is Chander’s third day with us. We need his knowledge of the lay of the land, and his wife need his hand in the fields.

Our initial descent of the first 200m or so of the slope is at 50 or 60 kmph – we slide down the 50 degree slope, an unforgettable experience that many of us want to repeatedly renew – we slide and climb back a few meters and slide again! The fatigue of the morning is soon forgotten. But the skies begin to darken and we have to move on. We make a difficult descent through steep slopes and deep snow, bordered by dwarf, fragrant rhododendron krummolz. The threat of rain is made real as we manage to set up camp at Bharmatganj, overlooking the Gori Ganga and Milam glacier at a distance. I revisit my question on the human condition. I don’t feel particularly exhilarated that I crossed the pass. I was more inquisitive of the primulas, genitians and the dwarf rhododendron krummolz. Is the motivation to cross the pass to see these plants, or be responsible for a group of children from Bangalore? Is the motivation for people in the Ralam valley to know the path on the pass to collect a valuable fungus that might net them thousands of rupees or for some other reason? In camp, huddled in the tent and talking shop with Shruthi and Abhimanyu, the answer isn’t immediately clear.

A steep descent along an alpine meadow and skirting the Gori brought us to Tola, a village that is partly in ruins. We are enroute to Martoli across the valley and stop here for lunch. There is a blue-fronted redstart nesting in a hollow in the ruins. A neatly lined nest with three chicks. We also see house buntings, and begin to see several species of warblers. The Eurasian cuckoo calls at a distance and flocks of Snow Pigeon and Hill Pigeon hurtle across the windy valley. It is interesting to note that every turn in the path can mean the difference between being in flower or not; aspect, as well as vegetation, have a critical influence on vegetation in the Himalaya – the thickest forests are north-facing.

Martoli is at 3400 meters, a quiet village in the Milam Valley that comes alive once a year in October for a Nanda Devi festival. Milam and the surrounding mountains have been open to mountaineers and trekkers only since 1993 when permits were first issued to travel in the Milam valley. It is currently a fairly well-visited valley for trekkers, and part of an ancient trading route to Tibet. After the hostilities with China in 1962, the route was closed an trading ceased. The trader communities stopped visiting these villages and the supporting farmer families found the short summers and harsh landscape less inviting. The villages slowly swept into decrepitude. Martoli is a typical example of such a village. We spend the evening and the next day resting and exploring the village and the birch forest. The forest yields a few flowering dwarf rhododendrons, flowering strands of the similar but unrelated Guizotia and Cassiope, isolated patches of Marchantia, horsetails and a purple orchid amidst Primulas along a stream. We meet several visitors at the local hotel – an old couple and their son heading back to Munsiari, a couple of German nanotech students enroute to Milam, a Bengali family enroute to the Nanda Devi base camp. Everyone has a story to say, everyone offers interpretations of the human condition. Our crew gave a wildly entertaining version on the evening of our arrival. The Bengali family praying at the Nanda Devi temple before their departure is another version.

Abhimanyu and Angshu outdo themselves and make another snow man, complete with arms of sticks and a discarded bidi stub and glasses for style.The snow man is soon dismantled and come in handy in a snow brawl a few minutes later. By now, many of us are sun-burnt, or mildly numb in the toes and fingertips due to frost bite. The wind dies down with the sun, and we sleep a quiet night. The next day is the long walk to Bugdiyar and we descend sharply at Rilkote and Mapang. The cliffs are high and steep and stunning. Forest and sheer cliffs and landslides compete for attention. The path goes quite close to the river, and with the drop in elevation, the humidity increases. We pass glacier-cut cliffs and sharp descents of the river to reach Bugdiyar at 2500 meters by evening and camp by the riverside. The river washes up rounded pebbles of varied colour and texture, a testament to the complex geology of the Himalaya. We are confronted by mating pairs of Plumbeous redstarts and an active nest with three eggs of the Grey Wagtail. The last day of the walk was through humid forests and some open areas closer to Lilam. We encounter Munna, also part of our previous trek crew. He now works for one of the companies involved in surveying the Bugdiyar site for a run-of-the-river power project. This involves a series of small dams on the river to divert the water into tunnels running through the mountainside and running turbines. Fact remains that this is a seismically active area, and that the river carries enormous amounts of silt weathered by the glaciers and eroded by rain – either way the turbines will be choked sooner than later. But the river bed will dry up. The lifeline of the people in the valley will no longer exist.

We reach Munsiari tired and wet. Binaji, mine and Srini’s hostess for the rest of our stay in Shankdura village, makes us feel at home with our first baths in ten days and a hot meal of rotis and subzi. The next day, we meet the women of the Maati collective at Sarmoli village, and hear their experiences of running homestays and include visitors like us as part of their otherwise busy lives. They also speak of their work as a collective, the experiences and politics of working with the van panchayat, male domination in the society, the impact of liqour on their lives. In living with them for a few days and promising to transport some rajma to Bangalore, we feel good at being part of their lives.

I leave Munsiari with the same unanswered, perhaps futile question – the meaning of human existence. I haven’t understood it any better, but perhaps I can put it in perspective – the Himalayas, its resilient people, the turbulent rivers, the captivating flora, the fine group of children that I went with – all contribute to the question, its very personal, present and future statements and meanings.

Our first step was to set up a committee of teachers to re-examine the financial picture, specifically keeping in mind fees paid by parents and salaries received by teachers. This group of teachers then met with a small group of parents, to exchange ideas and get a feel of parents’ questions and concerns. Finally, the teachers met the entire parent body (in four small groups) in order to communicate the issues involved and, again, to hear individual responses and new ideas. Out of this entire process, some new ideas were generated within the overall framework of CFL’s financial philosophy.

The spirit of dialogue in these meetings was tremendously heartening and uplifting. The parents unanimously put the wellbeing of the teachers and the school at the centre of the discussion. The staff found themselves in the unique position of having to reassure parents concerned about teacher welfare and security! There was a sense of complete and selfless participation in these meetings.

To put this long process into context, we would like to explain the broad outlines of our thinking regarding finance. One of the most important points determining our economic structure is that we are a small school and community. This is a conscious choice. We feel that an environment of familiarity and personal responsibility is essential if we are to explore our philosophy in a committed manner. Small numbers typically means that the cost of educating a single child is very high. We have avoided this pitfall by using specific strategies, which we will go into later. A second important pillar of our financial thinking is that CFL should be available to any parents interested in our educational philosophy, regardless of their financial situation. We have evolved mechanisms whereby such parents can be supported. These two decisions create interesting financial challenges for CFL.

We have an explicit philosophy that, as with any other educational institution, our educational process should be supported by society at large. Thus, the financial support for the school is not solely the parents’ responsibility; fees do not meet the entire running costs of the school. This approach emphasizes our dependence on a general goodwill for the school and its philosophy.

We don’t think of fees as merely as payment for services rendered. We need resources, financial and otherwise, to invest in educational ideas that potentially have wide social significance. Our education is not just about enhancing our particular children’s capacities; it is also about emphasizing the mutuality and reciprocal responsibility between self and society. The fee a parent pays is one way of making these educational frameworks and processes a reality.

One consistent way in which CFL has tried to meet the challenges posed by our economic philosophy is by fund raising. Over the years, we have received many unsolicited and generous donations from individuals all over the world. Other than this, we regularly raise funds to augment our corpus, the interest from which helps meet our annual deficit.

To make all of the above viable and not prohibitively expensive, we have to manage resources carefully and responsibly, and keep running costs low as well as effective. We think very hard and carefully before committing resources for any purpose, financial or otherwise. One significant way we have kept expenses down is by paying ourselves relatively modest salaries, compared to market rates.

The finances of CFL are closely woven in with ideas that we value as a school, such as transparency, dialogue, and economy in living. Our re-examination of the picture this year has only affirmed our trust in these ideas, as well as in the goodwill of all members of the community.