“The trouble with public schools,” groused a friend, “is that they just don’t foster ambition.” She had moved her son from a private school to the local high school a year or so ago.

Apparently her son was quite comfortable with the idea of going to a state college after graduation and even, horror of horrors, getting a few basic credits at the community college nearby.

To an Indian parent, a statement like that conjures up visions of desi gatherings where the names that are dropped are those of Ivy League schools, spit out between mouthfuls of tandoori paneer and chicken vol-au-vents. You might as well excommunicate yourself rather than admit that your smart, intelligent child hasn’t made it.

But let’s consider this before we import our educational biases into the US; my Caucasian neighbour’s talented daughters are now in a state college studying to be a teacher and a nurse respectively. We’ve known them since the girls were in elementary school and to all accounts they were excellent students, earning steady As. They went on through the public school system and chose careers that they felt they would enjoy the most.  Yes, they did not feel the drive to apply to Berkeley and Stanford nearby, not even to UCSF, but their lack of ‘ambition’ means that someday, the local infrastructure of education and medicine will be populated by very capable candidates. The same applies to students who go on to perhaps mundane but very worthwhile jobs as firefighters, city planners, transportation officers and park rangers. The result is that the people in service industries are there because they genuinely enjoy what they do and are there because they want to be, not as a compromise choice from frustrated desires. A clear example is the quality of teachers in my son’s school – the worst of them could give any Indian teacher I ever had growing up a complex. I have a lot more faith in the institutions that influence my daily life because I know the people that populate them are there by choice.

The flip side, of course, is that there is a crisis of lack of competitiveness. Hungrier and more ambitious students from other parts of the world are aiming for the best positions in American colleges, the PhDs  and the best paid jobs. As Tom Friedman wrote in his article “Laughing and Crying” the graduation list of Rensselaer Polytechnic sounded like the patrons at the Dim Sum place down the street. There is no doubt that there should be more emphasis on science and math at school. A little push to improve grades would also not be amiss.

At the same time, I hope we never get to a situation like India, where the degrees of B.Sc., B.Com and B.A correspond to Smart, Not-so-Smart and Downright Dumb. The education system here accommodates for a spectrum of intelligence, financial capabilities and ambition. The most motivated will rise to the top, regardless of the lack of push from teachers or parents. The less ambitious will happily settle down to a life of small triumphs, participating in PTAs, volunteering at neighbourhood shelters and coaching their kids’ Little League games. They will be the pillars of the society.

In India, economic and social pressures dictated our narrow choices. Here, our children have the opportunity to discover what they are really good at and hopefully make a comfortable living from it and at finding a balance between work and family.

Let’s give our kids the chance to find out and be accepted for who they are and want to be. If that means we have to grit our teeth and smile bravely while informing our friends and family that the little Tam-Bram genius is pursuing a career in wedding photography..so be it.

If you are among the remaining 6 Indians who haven’t heard of Kumon, it is an after-school tutoring program in Math and English operated out of franchises. Developed about 50 years ago in Japan, the system emphasizes a graduated approach to mastering technique.

I succumbed to Kumon after my 11 year old had a particularly rough year in 5th grade. Surrounded by scions of engineering toppers, the poor child managed to feel dumb when he didn’t get all straight A’s at year-end and was receptive to the idea of supplemental help.

The nearest Kumon center was a short drive away, located in a strip mall surrounded by gas stations and fast food joints. As seedy as its neighborhood, the place was decidedly low-tech, with hand-written notices liberally papering the single room with its aluminium chairs and tables.

Naren was given an HB pencil and a test sheet and asked to solve the problems. It took him about 30 minutes and at the end the harried franchise owner, who was also dealing with half-a-dozen other Indian kids, categorized him in some way not obvious to the layperson(me) and handed him a box with practice sheets for the coming week. Naren’s job was to finish one sheet set every day.

My job was to correct said sheet. The Kumon system takes the concept of self in “self-motivated learning” to a new high. There is no instruction, none at all. The difficulty level is calibrated and graduated in such a way that the child is supposed to simply progress by himself(herself). The child learns on his own and the parent corrects his/her work.

After a few days of this, I had serious doubts. Why was I paying to be doing all the work? Creating the question set is dead simple, after all. I could come up with the 50 questions or so in about 15 minutes.

Turns out what you are paying a 100 bucks a month for is not the Kumon test sheets, but two completely different services that Kumon provides. The first is the answer booklet. Making up the questions may take a matter of minutes but solving the darned questions yourself is another thing altogether. Even if it is only compound fractions I have to deal with so far, the pain involved in getting down and dirty with 5th grade math is gladly to be avoided for 3 dollars a day. I freely admit, I am not smarter than a 5th grader.

The second, more important service, at least in my household, is that of outsourcing discipline. I can just imagine the pitched battles I would have every day with a recalcitrant tween over sitting down with pages of math in mother’s illegible hand. Somehow, when it’s all typed up and comes in a neatly packaged box, the bitter pill becomes a lot easier to swallow. The same child, who would look and behave as if he was being asked to stitch buttons in a dingy sweatshop if asked to do chores, meekly finishes his Kumon set first thing every morning and brings it over to be corrected. At least for a few minutes a day, I have the joyful illusion of being the parent of a well-brought up son. I don’t know if the Japanese work-ethic is being transmitted by some mysterious process of osmosis, but whatever it is, it seems to work.

So Mr. Franchisee, you can count on one more loyal Indian parent to enrich your coffers on a monthly installment plan. It is not because we think very highly of your methods. It is because we know the value of outsourcing and just can’t pass up such a good deal.