‘They demanded I delete photos’: I was warned off reporting on a zero-enrolment Kolkata school

KOLKATA: The gate to Dum Dum Kishor Bharati High School stood open, its grandeur diminished by time and neglect. Beyond it lay a single-storey yellow building, weathered and forgotten. A shabby signboard on the wall identified it as Swami Vivekananda Vidyapith (Prathamik Bibhag).

This was the school I had come to see — a school with zero enrolment. Guided by an acquaintance, I had called a teacher, who invited me to visit at 10 am. Although I arrived half an hour late, the eerie quiet that greeted me made it seem like time had stopped here.

According to the latest UDISE Plus report , India has 12,954 schools with no students but employing 31,981 teachers. West Bengal has most such schools – 3,254 – and these employ the most teachers in such schools of all states – 14,627. Swami Vivekananda Vidyapith is one of them and I had gone to understand how a school established in the 1950’s ended up with no students.

Armed with a camera phone, I began to document the crumbling structure. However, my clicking was interrupted by a voice from within the primary building, calling me inside. Stepping into what seemed like a staff room, I found three teachers — a woman and two men. They offered me a chair, their curiosity evident.

‘A victim of politics’

I explained the purpose of my visit and soon, the conversation turned to the school’s plight. One teacher was particularly candid. “This school has been a victim of politics,” he began, his voice tinged with frustration. “We come here every day and sit idle because there are no students. The government has failed us.”

His words flowed, a mix of grievances and determination. He urged me to document the school’s condition, to let the world know what was happening here. As I resumed clicking pictures, the first teacher appeared, his face a mix of politeness and concern. He greeted me warmly but quickly moved to silence the new teacher.

“Be careful about what you say,” he warned, his tone firm.

Undeterred, the second teacher retorted, “I’m not afraid of anyone. The truth must come out.”

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The tension between them was palpable. Eventually, my contact directed me to the high school building across the compound.

The high school presented a similar picture of despair. Inside, I met three teachers, each for a different subject. The room we were in had once been a computer lab, now reduced to desks with no computers.

‘No support, no resources’

They spoke openly about the school’s downfall. “There’s no support, no resources,” said a teacher, her voice heavy with resignation. Another added, “It’s disheartening to come here every day and find nothing to do.”

The teacher who had earlier silenced his colleague, now began to share details about the school’s condition. He led me to the chemistry lab, which was in ruins, and pointed out classrooms locked or filled with filth. He even urged me to photograph everything, a stark contrast to his earlier stance.

The conversation was interrupted by a retired teacher who lamented his plight. “It’s been two months since I retired,” he said, “and I haven’t received my pension yet. I don’t even know if I’ll get it.”

The ‘local councillor’

Amid this, tea was served, prepared by a teacher, providing a brief respite. The mood lightened until the teacher who was earlier so candid returned, accompanied by two men claiming to be sent by the local councillor. They demanded I delete all photographs I had taken, warned that the councillor would take action.

My heart raced. Fortunately, I had prepared for such a scenario. Carrying two phones, I had already slipped the one with the photos into my bag. Handing over my other phone, I showed them that no pictures remained. The high school teachers backed me up, confirming that I hadn’t taken any pictures.

The men, seemingly satisfied, left. After they were gone, the teacher turned to me, his voice a mix of frustration and revelation. “It was he who informed the councillor,” he said. “He wanted revenge for being stopped earlier. But let me be clear — I’m not afraid of the councillor or of any political pressure.”

His words hung in the air, a testament to the complex interplay of fear and defiance that pervaded the school.

As I left the premises, I felt a wave of relief. I silently thanked the universe for helping me navigate the situation and for the fact that the men hadn’t searched my bag.

The school, a symbol of neglect and political entanglement, left a lasting impression on me. Beneath its decay lay stories of resilience and frustration.