My friend was talking the other day of the impending "Opening of School" ritual that takes place in June of every year.

"I have to start covering my daughter's books with brown paper," she said with a tired grin.

I was quite amazed to know that "brown paper covered books" are still around in schools. And here I was, thinking that schools must have grown up enough to stop burdening children with such silly stuff, especially when the quality of textbooks and notebooks has improved so much.

That got me thinking about a few of my pet peeves with the hallowed institution that is school. I belong to that half of the population whose memory of school is mostly unpleasant, barring a few golden years in between. (Having spent the 12 years of my school education in about 7 different schools, I am quite sure I have the width of experience, if not the depth.)

When I look back, I think of how seriously we took everything related to school, and how unimportant it seems now in the larger scheme of life.

I remember playing the role of Rama in a dance-drama for the Annual Day. Halfway through the drama, my garland slid over my left shoulder and stayed skewed that way until the end. My teacher was furious as hell, and angrily mentioned that many of the parents in the audience had also noticed it. I was never considered for any of her plays again. Contrast that with the screening of Mahesh Dattani's play 30 Days in September that I saw recently. Actors calmly moved the props between scenes, unhindered by the fact that the audience could see them. Why, they didn't even use real glasses in the restaurant scene! And to think of all the trouble my parents went to in hunting for the perfect wine glass for a Shakespeare play at school!

And then there was all the hullabaloo about the "Fair," the "Rough," the "Classwork" and the "Homework" notebooks. I am told some enterprising notebook printer has now come out with one huge notebook divided into sections for each subject and type.

I also remember being punished for all sorts of silly things, including drinking water for a longer time than it took the other kids. And this by teachers whom you could not respect even if you wanted to. There was a teacher who constantly chewed her necklace and another who always liked to re-drape her sari in full view of us all. Not to mention the "Sir" who constantly scratched his underarm, and the one who nibbled the chalk. To top it all, they would never "teach" anything, and instead make us read the textbooks out loud, interjecting now and then with what they considered an illuminating insight. These were hardly people we could idolize. Only once in a while would we have a gem of a teacher, who would know everything, be clean and well mannered, and never scold us for stupid things. They became the few idols in a disappointing world.

So whenever I hear people say that it's a shame that teachers, who mould the new generation, are paid so less, I think of the other side. Just as much as teachers deserve to be paid more, students deserve only the best, most sensitive teachers. There has to be a better screening process for teachers, especially at the primary level.

We also definitely need better schools, and I am not talking about those that take in only the top students and then boast of high percentages. Every child must study in a school that encourages learning in creative ways. Such schools would bring out a real hunger for knowledge. Even if such schools exist in India, they are exceedingly unaffordable.

And then there is the system itself, which probably encourages wrong priorities in schools and among teachers. I can't imagine how the change will come, but a beginning seems to have been made. For example, the CBSE syllabus for English, which concentrates on language skills rather than memory, is a definite improvement. There are probably other improvements taking place as well.

Hopefully, by the time our children grow up, even the smallest school will be more focused on "real" education. And brown paper will take its rightful place on cupboard shelves.