Putting the Soul in Solar

 For The Energy and Resources Institute

By Jigyasa Jyotika

 _________________________________________________

'...Nargis didi pahle yun na thi. Parde mein ghar se bahar kadam uthane se hichkichati… samay uske liye mano tham sa gaya tha…’

 

Today, Nargis ‘di’ not only ventures out of her home in the remote village of Vade Logayein in Bihar’s Bhagalpur district, to both conduct and participate in a self-help village group,  she holds her head high and keeps meticulous accounts of the solar lantern lending business that has taken over the lives of Vade Logayein’s populace. She hasn’t heard of the contentious women’s bill that may make it to the Indian Parliament some day, but Nargis di has come to know what it feels like to be empowered.

 

Silhouetted against the still darkness of the village nights, the lanterns, distributed under TERI’s Lighting a Billion Lives (LaBL) scheme have brought more than just ‘sunshine’ to the slum nights. The solar lanterns under the initiative, lend themselves rather uniquely to catalyzing a chain of socio-economic and cultural changes, because of the ‘sustainable’ in their design, especially among the women. Ushering in unprecedented self-reliance for the villagers’ energy needs, the sustainable and clean technology also fosters a host of associated benefits – female entrepreneurship, education, livelihood generation, safety and healthy, smoke-choke free lifestyles.

 

Renowned for their weaving of some of the finest silk fabric in the world, Bhagalpur’s mostly women rural artists, while dutifully carrying the legacy of the age-old weaving tradition forward, ironically, are forced to weave in the dark with all the finesse the task requires.

 

‘Bunai shaam ko nahi hota, usmein najuk najaria jo chahiye’, ’ (You can't weave at night..it's an intricate task) says Sahbajoo Jee, the weaver and entrepreneur who is in charge of TERI’s Vade Logayein solar charging and lending station. Sahbajoo’s journey from her veil to managing the station, for which she received training in repairing and troubleshooting problems from TERI personnel, was a long one. Along with Nargis and other village women, Sahbajoo had no clue of what was going on when talk of setting up the charging station initially took place between TERI, its implementation partner NGOs and the Vade Logayein men-folk.

 

‘Gaon ke marad baitha karte the..kuch samajh mein nahi aata tha..hum log ko kuch nahi batate kya baat hua…Humko to baat ka bhanak hi nahi laga’, ’ says Nargis. (It was the men-folk that discussed things..we hardly had a clue about what they spoke of..we wouldn't have imagined they were talking about this.)

 

Persistent coaxing by NGO personnel slowly brought the veils down and a women’s self-help group formed where discussions of village issues started taking place. As the group evolved, somewhere, the will to make a difference grew. The women learned to read and write and take charge of the station from keeping accounts to calling TERI directly for technical assistance. It is through them that the lanterns have found their way into the center of village life. From providing longer weaving hours that earn as much as double the income in some cases, cooking without being choked by kerosene lantern smoke and fire hazards, driving away snakes, bichhoos (scorpions) from home, wild elephants from the fields and crocodiles from rivers in some cases to lighting up marriages and other festivals, the sustainable solar lantern is everywhere. But the single biggest beneficiary of the lantern is the student.

 

‘It was my exam last month. I got up to study at 4 in the morning. The lantern makes it easy to study for longer time and with better concentration,’ says a student’

 

Having evolved a womens’ social upliftment club (called the MEENA club) that aims to help women attain equality via assignment of social responsibility at several of their sponsored villages under the LabL scheme, some NGO groups have identified early that social responsibility like the lantern lending business is one of the best ways to attain equality.

 

Vade Logayein’s women, like those of many others, live in abject financial and social poverty, but together with their plight, their pre-lantern avatars are fast morphing into ones with new pride, confidence and conviction.

 

‘Inse toh hamari posison badal gayi hai,’,' (This changes our position [in society]') says Ayesha Begum, a resident of Sahsoul village in Bihar.

 

With the unique appellation of Jesus Gopal, the (male) LabL entrepreneur of Sahsoul prophetically says ‘Yeh toh sab jagah kranti le ayegi.’ ’ (This'll bring about a revolution all round)

 

In other villages like Dhulkot, the revolution is already visible. Eight babies were delivered at home under solar lantern lighting by families that took the lanterns home for use by a mid-wife who would otherwise have performed the operations in the dark, or worse, would not have gone to the assistance of the families for lack of lighting on the way.

 

In the Hasanpura and Dahinala villages, 41 babies were delivered from across 18 villages using solar lanterns at a Primary Health Center (PHC) that has frequent power cuts. Parvati, a PHC nurse who assisted the deliveries and rents upto 4 lanterns at a time says, ‘Jeevan mein ujala hi sab kuch hai.’ (Light is the mainstay of life)

 

That some of the villagers have really taken to the lanterns is visible in business initiatives. Rohitashwari Devi from Rajasthan’s Chotakankrana village, where women do not take part in decision making normally, is her own B-school. She enjoys a significant clientele and has developed a sense for how to safeguard the lanterns she lends out. Under her regime, users have to shell out the entire cost of a lantern if it is broken or dysfunctional. With the doubling of her income after the lantern business came along, Rohitashwari Devi now makes 5000 rupees a month from the 2000 she made before and uses that to fuel her daughter’s education. She is the force behind her daughter’s stellar performance at school and her aspirations to be the first in the family to gain admission to a college.

 

The responsibilities that the new-found women entrepreneurs of these villages have taken up are kabil-e-tarif, as much as the solar lantern is ‘kabil-e-tariff’.

 

The humble lantern may have gone a long way, yet, the road is longer and meandering. Especially for the millions that still suffocate silently.

 

Given its potential, solar energy could well sustain the entire Indian economy solely, if only we put our soul into it.

Quirky Science Fiction

 https://www.instagram.com/p/DZbjssNEjoO/?igsi=MWVicTZsNGFudHZqdg==

Check it out! 'Kartik in Cosmic Chaos' by Jigyasa Jyotika is available on Amazon at: 

 https://amzn.in/d/0ihphcjH

Quaint and Quirky

 

Sir, Are you still with the tour?' yelled the stout, very-blonde tour guide in the Ebon stalactite-stalagmite caves in Deerton, Michigan, in Dhananjay's direction. 

 

Dhananjay,or DJ as he went by, stood transfixed, oblivious, inside the cave. The icicles around him hung in mid air, like jagged ancient photographs, with a salon-fringe, capturing a  moment in time when water on its way down, was stopped by a cold hand and cruelly solidified. He suddenly felt one with this 200-million year old chilly marvel of nature, his childhood progress arrested by the icy fingers of the indescribable many. The caves took him back to his six-year-old self, in Europe, when he’d visited the Postojna stalactite-stalagmite caves, in Slovenia, on a school trip from Berlin, where he’d lived. He remembered enjoying the caves tremendously as he eased into them, but the terror he felt as soon as they’d entered the cave, as a kid, rushed back to him. He distinctly remembered desperately grabbing on to the annoyed guide’s hand. And together with it, came back the ‘B’ for bewilderment that defined that phase in his childhood. 

 

'Sir, this is the last call for you! We're moving on!'

 

'I'll find you guys in a bit, I think I'll just be here for a while,' he managed to yell back to the guide.

 

DJ hadn't bargained for this, as part of his trip at all. It was supposed to be a rejuvenating spring break event, a getaway from school, a few months after his breakup with Ananya. But here all this was.

His mind kept racing back to how so much that transpired between them, had come and gone. 

His thoughts whirled to days after Thanksgiving, when he and his void, walking up and down campus, at times more weary than cheery, had heard thunderous ovation emanating from the campus library. The area soon became abuzz with students and onlookers. DJ weaved his way down the bustling pathway to the library, a forgotten chai latte warming his hand. He was wont to going into his inner world more and more of late, when a cacophony of sound erupted again from the quad ahead. Detangling himself from thoughts of intriguing neuroscience, he hastened his pace.

 

In the centre of the grassy expanse, stood a dark-haired woman, her short tresses whipping about her. In her hand, she brandished a bright yellow frisbee, not at a playful dog, but at a flock of pigeons. 

 

"Come on, you feathery philosophers!" she yelled, in apparent, mock-frustration. "A little game of 'fetch' won't hurt your existential pondering!"

DJ stood at the edge of a geranium flowerbed. His gaze, along with that of many in the crowd surrounding the area, turned to the woman again.

The pigeons, unsurprisingly, remained unimpressed by her calls and shuffled around the sundial at the quad's centre.

Suddenly, the frisbee sailed errantly, taking a detour on the windy day and docked itself towards a group of students engrossed in a textbook on the grass. A collective yelp arose as the frisbee smacked one of the textbooks, sending papers scattering.

The woman's laughter filled the air, as she rushed towards the carnage, apologetically. 

A faint smile finally twitched on DJ’s lips, as he stood rooted, still sipping his chai latte.

As DJ watched, the woman, scooped up the papers and began an animated apology, complete with elaborate hand gestures. The students, initially flustered, found themselves drawn into her act, a few even chuckling along.

Finally, she straightened. "Consider it a pop quiz on the importance of…frisbee reflexes?" she declared, handing the textbook back to its owner. The student, a lanky man, could only stammer out a thanks.

‘I’m Ananya, by the way!’ she said, waving to the man before she left the grassy area.

‘Brian’ he replied, finding his hand waving at her too. The crowd started to thin at this point.

Ananya winked at Brian, before turning around, her gaze landing on DJ. The amusement in his gaze mirrored in hers. She tilted her head, a playful challenge in her smile.

"Well, hello there," she said, her voice lilting a little. "Care to join my next scholarly pursuit? Perhaps involving pigeons and existential dread?"

DJ, completely disarmed by this whirlwind, found himself returning her smile. "Perhaps," he replied, a touch breathless. "But only if you promise to translate the pigeon coos for me."

‘I’m Ananya , a speech therapist, so I’ll try to get them to talk human to you then,’ she smiled.

‘Oh! I’m DJ, training to be a neuroscientist.’

‘Well, I could use a neuroscientist’s help in speech therapy alright!’

‘Haha,’ DJ found his humour as Ananya's infectious laugh filled the air.

‘Well, I’m running late now, but we should talk sometime!’ Ananya said, on a more serious note, scribbling her email ID for him on his hand.

For DJ, she was the first of a kind -- A mix of a free-spirit and an academic student. 

After some animated writing to each other, DJ and Ananya decided to meet over a quick bite at lunch at one of the campus cafeterias. Despite prepping himself for the 'unexpected' with her, DJ found himself visibly surprised at her belief in after-lives.  

‘We’re from the land of reincarnation, DJ!’ Ananya snapped her fingers at DJ. ‘Why are you so lost?’

‘Well…’ DJ said, fumbling for words. ‘I’m not religious,’ he finally said.

‘Ah well, the concept isn’t a religious one alone, it’s more in the spiritual realm.’

‘I see,’ DJ said.

‘Ya, a lot of scientists are afraid to embrace their spiritual sides, for fear of going against the ‘culture’ of aethism, DJ,’ Ananya continued. ‘My Dad’s one of them!’

‘Hmm,’ DJ said, smiling more than he intended to.

DJ’s phone popped up an alert that reminded him to return some library books and finding something free-spirited awakening inside him in her presence, DJ mustered up the courage to ask her out on a date.

‘Sure, let’s meet at the cafe, ‘day-after-tomorrow’ from the library, for lunch on Saturday’ she replied, with a wink. 

‘I’m going to a conference later on the weekend.’

‘Who talks like that?’ DJ asked amused.

‘A speech therapist?’ she shot back. 

After the first few awkward exchanges on the date, the reticent DJ found himself at a loss for words. Soon he found Ananya doing her Ananya thing and launching into Dhananjay's checkered core, empathy emanating from her, like an unbridled horse. Before he knew it, she'd reached Dhananjay who found himself bringing out his own core, feeling like a half-munched upon apple. And when he got into his element, unjudged, he and his void began to come forth with a force.

As the evening went by, Ananya’s amusing amour amassed more and more ‘foray points’ slowly until he could just about barge into her heart like he’d always belonged. He took his place like a near-insider, giving her the impression of someone bumping into her with unintentional intimacy and pushing her into a corner in quick, confident strides.  As soon as he moved towards her, his head angled just right, she yielded to his unstated declaration.

It started to rain just as they headed out of the downtown area. The water slid down their faces, outlining some features and rushing by others, as if taking a cue from their togetherness.

Over the next six months, their relationship had become like a runaway child, with a will all of its own. They’d watch it romp about, helplessly, paying no heed to either parent.

‘What happened to us?’ DJ wondered for the umpteenth time. Ananya hadn’t offered any explanations, leave alone closure. She’d only left, as unexpectedly as she’d entered his life, leaving behind a string of questions.

Hit by the unexpected news, DJ stood at the window leading to his pigeon-holed balcony, his head angled exactly at that of the furious rains. The confident downpour gave him silent solace. Building their ‘son’, each Lego piece at a time, had been their gift to each other. And DJ had no closure, so the son lay untouched, glorious as ever, which didn’t help. He was still as strong, radiant, righteous and oh so layered and angled between the two of them. He was just no longer relevant. Irrelevant. How that word stretched itself out on the window ‘pain’ in the rain. Spelled itself out irreverently. Irrelevant. Irreverent. As if the words had a right to be there.

DJ yelled at the empty caves, the resounding echo making his anger a trifle more dramatic. But magically, after ten-odd years, somewhere the ice that had settled onto his soul, started to melt into the cathartic moisture his hardened and seemingly stoic existence had long thwarted him from descending into.

 (Coming up in Muse India!)

 

 

 

 

 

Kartik in Cosmic Chaos

Contact : jigyasa.jyotika@gmail.com 

The Heart of the Octopus

The hospital was like an octopus waving its arms in the air. All its occupants living, breathing inside its multi-wingedness. The teams of folks in blue,green and black scrubs huddled in various corners discussing the new, strange arrivals. The patients. And their medical and non-medical quirks! While patients sat in designated areas, talking about undesignated topics like the yawn coefficient of the doctors, the stubborn and lost intern, the sleepy inefficiency of its staff,the outdated methods of the hospital and the callous bureaucracy of its money-depositing personnel. At the Emergency wing of the creature, multiple visits to the billing counter, lab and the pharmacy, located on different floors are designed to keep the attendant 'entertained' and on a decent workout, while the patience of the patient is tested inside. 

 

Just below the surface of the mollusc though, lurked compassion. The staff that speeded up when I yelled 'Can you please behave like you're actually in Emergency?' And the lab test woman who centrifuged my mother's blood in a jiffy after I mentioned her age. The billing fellow who 'believed' me, when I said she was entitled to the Central Government Health Scheme's (CGHS') discount, without  producing the CGHS card, because it was an emergency. 

 

The hospital is a unique place, where panic, rivalry, confidence, love, humor, humor under heavy pressure, reassurance, rigid protocol and overcrowding among all sections of society, sit next to each other, interacting, hollering, moving, mixing. It's where compassion comes out raw, and sometimes the extreme life and death scenario. It's where one swings between complaining about the competence of the doctors on whose shoulders our lives rest and the overwhelming feeling of dedicating everything to them, when they turn around and do a good job. 

 

While this feeling of awarding doctors the status of gods is ancient, it seems that 'Google God' has taken away at least half the holy status, both enabling and terrifying patients with the deeper how and why of medicine, beyond just the symptom-fixing and quick explanations. The real 'how and why' that doctors across the world have an unsaid consensus about. The vow to never open that pandora's box. As a friend of mine and a doctor says, the medical profession 'eats cooked food, without most of the worries of gathering ingredients, which is the domain of research'. This brings me to how a field can be exalted, specially in India, beyond necessity too, without due credit given to its very basis. Where, for example, in covid times, (or any other times), does the fluid in the injection come from? Is the most important part of the process the insertion of it or the 10-15 years of biological research on average that go into developing the vaccine? Research is for the ones who don't 'make it' to medicine, of course. 

 

As a researcher-turned-writer, a question does plague me though. When will the arms of the octopus start to coordinate what's going on with a patient? A friend of mine passed away, supposedly because of her various bodily systems being treated in silos. 

Where, pray, in other words, is the heart of the octopus? Or is it in the general physician's office? In which case, the various scrubs might need to talk to each other. 

 

As I leave, I pay a final visit to the MRI facility to book a scan. My job half-done, I turn to see an old man, talking to me in rapid Kannada. 

 

'Sorry?' I say blinking at him stupidly. 

 

'I'm giddy, can you help me to the lounge outside?' he finally says in English. 

 

'Of course,' I say taken aback but offering him steady support. 

 

His brimming eyes tell me that he's braving his illness alone, as the desensitised nurse perched next to him decides to stay put.

 

I return to the MRI facility, to finish my booking and ask the nurse if the patient who just headed out is alright. She goes out with me to the lounge area, where he's nowhere to be seen. 

 

The octopus at the end of it all, is a great leveler and a reminder of the trust and play of altruistic human instincts that society is based on. And how closely medicine’s Hippocratic oath resonates with  community initiatives like 'Medecins Sans Frontieres' and ultimately activism, in its willingness to go out of the way to 'fix' wrongs.

Broken Glass (published in Muse India)

My New York-to-Delhi flight landed, its wheels whirring in satisfaction on the runway, as if with a sense of accomplishment. I had just been offered my first job as an Assistant Editor at a prestigious not-for-profit organization in Delhi. I was to join the next day. I collected my belongings, mostly afraid of not being able to collect myself entirely for this brand, new opportunity.

 

Day one. I walk into my editor-in-chief’s office, only to be sent out. A copious amount of c(attitude) wafted through the room, mingling with her cheap perfume. When I finally did get a chance to speak with her, she was already eyeing me scornfully. Then her eyes moved to my resume, sitting on her desk.

 

‘Your resume’s all over the place!’ she remarked. I could almost hear mastiffs growling in her epiglottis.

 

‘Well, M’am,’ I tried to be at my polite best, ‘you have to be able to see the common thread running through it all..’

 

‘Who hired you? Are you related to the Director?’ she barked out her next question.

 

‘Sorry?’ I displayed surprise at this one, more in sheer amusement at the non-profit’s dynamics, than in righteousness.

 

‘Alright, the only role I have for you, at the moment, has nothing to do with the interests you’ve listed. We don’t have any slots there. Is this acceptable to you?’

 

‘M’am, I was hired to fulfill a role linked with my education and expertise, so I don’t think that’s quite fair..’ I trailed off.

 

‘This is all we have. Take it or leave it,’ she beamed at my squirming self.

 

‘M’am, please, I’ve started work with a lot of aspirations. Please see what you can do..’ I pleaded, getting the gnawing feeling, I was doing so vis-a-vis a stone-heart.

 

 ‘I don’t have all day, so tell me if you’re ready for us to place this responsibility on your shoulders,’ she smirked in satisfaction.

 

‘M’am, I can’t take up this role..I’m willing to wait for a new..’ I was cut-off by her grinding her teeth.

 

‘Look, even men don’t propose after just the once, so, who do you think you are?’ she laughed, spewing a little spit-spray into the air.

 

Back at my desk, I tried smiling at the middle-level editors who only source of entertainment seemed to have been eavesdropping on my conversation.

 

‘Hi,’ I said to the one I was to report to, touching her arm slightly.

 

‘What are you doing? You have to prove your worth around here before acting friendly,’ she was reprimanding me already. I stared at my laptop, wondering whether I’d imbibed too much Americana, while making the fatal mistake of returning to the famed Indian workplace.

 

I excused myself to take a break and call my ‘seasoned-corporate-fellow’ friend, asking for his advice on if there was a special way to deal with  this hell-hole, but my phone was out of battery.

 

I returned to my desk and slumped, poring over an article. This was supposed to be one of the most exciting days of my life! When I could display my prowess at manipulating the written word, while of course, it seemed now, preventing others from manipulating me.

 

‘She wears barbed wire and eats broken glass,’ someone said to my back. Taken aback, I flipped around in part-panic, to see a smiling face standing behind me.

 

‘Hi, I’m an illustrator here,’ he said.

 

‘Hi,’ I managed slowly at this point.

 

‘Santosh,’ he extended his hand.

 

‘Priya,’ I replied, still surprised.

 

‘Ya, our editor-in-chief..she wears barbed wire and eats broken glass,’ Santosh said again, placidly.

 

‘What?’

 

‘She wears..’

 

‘Ya, I heard you. What does it mean?’ I quizzed him.

 

‘She’s very demanding and she’s on the board of directors, so this organization can’t do without her,’ he declared slowly, like he was decoding a mathematical theorem.

 

‘Well, why did they hire me, if they don’t have roles for me?’ I said grumpily.

 

‘Let’s get coffee!’ he suggested.

 

Coffee tasted confused, like I was. Santosh maintained way too much deep eye-contact, all at once for my liking and as we finished our last sips, I decided to give the conversation with the editor-in-chief, loaded with sharp objects and other ‘cutting edge’ weapons, yet another go.

 

‘M’am? May I come in?’ I asked her.

 

By this time, she was sitting with a male colleague of hers and they were both giggling over something.

 

‘Yes? What do you want?’

 

‘M’am..’

 

‘You know what? You think you’re such a great writer? Do the cover story for our monthly magazine. Six thousand words. It’s due in five days,’ she finished my sentence for me. Only, this time, I could see the shards inside the shark.

 

‘OK, M’am,’ I muttered and left, not knowing quite what to make of this rather odd challenge.

 

 I stuck to my desk in the coming few days and toiled away at the cover story, burning the midnight oil to meet the unreal target.

 

When I finally sent it off to the middle-level editor assigned to me, she didn’t make significant changes in track-change mode, but changed a few skin-shades when presenting it to the editor-in-chief, in private.

I was summoned to the glass-eyed prickly chief next. A little weary, I walked in.

‘Hmm. Priya, you did a decent job, but you couldn’t do it alone, could you? You did need Rohini’s help after all!’ she declared, tapping her pen on the cover story, leaving little ink marks on it, like the little inky, scars on my psyche.

 

‘HELP’ ran the alarm bells in my head, as I returned to my desk.

 

‘Hi!’ Santosh appeared out of nowhere. ‘Coffee? Tea?’

 

‘I need to get out of this place…’ I muttered under my breath as we left.

 

Santosh was the only thing stopping me from losing my mind. He smiled too much and lingered on, on my eyes too much after the conversation was over, though. In broad daylight? In the middle of office? I was more of an evening-person to even just feel my ‘sentimentality’ better. I looked around the coffee-place and there were at least six ‘innocent’ bystanders lurking, looking -- randomly, purposely.

 

‘Santosh!’ I said. ‘We have to get out of here,’ I said.

 

‘Where?’ he asked.

 

‘Back to our desks,’ I replied.

 

My first week turned into weeks and weeks into months. The sights and sounds of the folks at work started to blur into one amoebic, never-ending monster that assaulted my senses and threatened to swallow me at any instance. The work itself stimulated my surviving neurons.

 

At the end of each ‘politically’ monotonous day, I’d drag myself into my car, slump and drive wearily through the traffic python, to go home, wade through dinner and unwind with a book that lay half-opened on my face, until I’d wake up the next morning.

 

‘We’ve a conference next week to prepare for, people!’ declared the chiefy-chief on a morose Monday morning.

 

‘Priya, write the first draft of my speech and put it on my table by tomorrow, after proof-reading it,’ she picked on me last.

 

'Ghost-writing?’ I asked.

 

‘Yes, ghost-writing’ she repeated. ‘You have a problem with that?’

 

‘No, M’am,’ I replied.

 

On the day of the conference, our team left in cars that parked themselves at the lobby of a grand hotel.

 

The announcements and talks began, without much ado. But twenty minutes before the chief was to go on stage, word went around that she’d just discovered she’d brought the printed copy of the penultimate draft of the speech with her. By mistake. And, smartphones hadn’t been invented yet.

For the first time, I saw her face wilt and go a fairly deep-crimson.

 

‘What am I going to do?’ she asked looking at the faces of the team of editors and illustrators, that had gathered backstage.

 

‘M’am..’ I said, very slowly. ‘May I?’

 

‘What?’ she turned sharply to me.

 

‘Only I know where the differences between the ‘pen-ultimate’ version and the latest ones lie, and I can fix it for you in less than 20 minutes,’ I stepped up, a little amused for the first time and before anyone could say another word.

 

‘Really?’ the chief-editor took a staggered step backwards in disbelief.

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘Then do it,’ she said, un-frowning just a little.

 

When the speech was done, members of the audience sought the chief out, but I knew that once she was done, she’d perhaps look for me. I walked towards the exit, deliberately.

 

‘Priya,’ I heard her voice call out to my back.

 

I turned around, in slow-motion, without saying a word, in possession of the ‘upper-hand’ temporarily.

 

‘You are an outstanding writer. And thank you. The Voice, surprised me, which too tended to be something of a surprise.

 

I flipped around again, only to walk away in sure steps, the twin-mongrels of disbelief and disgust trailing behind me.

(https://museindia.com/MuseIndia/Viewforum?topicid=89113)

Motivation in STEM Learning

Two ideas were thrown up during the brainstorming session last week to motivate students towards inter-disciplinary STEM learning.

The first was citizen science (or amateur science or crowd-sourced science).  The term implies involvement of the public in inquiry and a shared discovery of new knowledge. A project like this can involve one person or millions of people working in collaboration towards a common goal. Typically, public involvement includes collection of data, analysis, or fact-reporting.

Very diverse fields like geophysics, chemistry ecology, astronomy, medicine, computer science, statistics, psychology, genetics, engineering and others have become part of what citizens study recently. The massive collaborations that can occur through citizen science allow investigations at continental and global scales and across decades—leading to discovery that a single scientist could never achieve on their own.

Examples of ongoing and cool citizen science projects include:

Nanocrafter

When you play this game, you’ll create nanomachines using real DNA sequences and make inroads into the field of synthetic biology

NASA’s SMAP Satellite Mission

The SMAP (Soil Moisture Active Passive) is a NASA satellite that orbits the earth measuring soil moisture levels. Citizen scientists can collect soil samples from their area to compare to data provided by the satellite

Play to Cure: Genes in Space

Cancer Research UK created this incredible space adventure game that allowed users to analyze genetic data and help develop treatments for cancer while having fun at the same time! The project has now ended, but the results are sure to have long-lasting benefits

(Source: Discover Magazine)

There is a national Citizen Science Association conference; The White House’s Open Science and Innovative Forum and a Federal Crowdsourcing and Citizen Science Toolkit.

The idea is powerful and grasps people’s imagination because it bridges gaps by harnessing the power of the masses, who are motivated by curiosity, reuniting science with leisure participation in the process.

The second was family science nights that brings together families for a special evening science event in which kids get a chance to share their learning and show it off to their parents and even discover new things with their siblings and parents. An evening like this consists of hands-on science stations with simple instructions set up in tables in a common area. Older students and teachers cover stations, depending on the activity and help families run the experiments.