(The forthcoming book: From the Principal’s Desk – A Journey of Lessons)
Dr Arun Prakash
It was a few days before my viva for the D Phil degree at the University of Allahabad when the results of the civil services preliminary examinations came out. To my surprise, I had qualified for the mains! Now, this might sound like a straightforward success story, but let me tell you, it was as unexpected for me as for anyone else. I had picked chemistry as my subject for the prelims, not just one part of it but the entire scope of chemistry—organic, inorganic, physical, and beyond—while my specialization for the postgraduate degree was in physical chemistry alone. So you can imagine my surprise; I wasn’t exactly the top candidate for remembering details outside my focus area!
Before I continue, let me clarify a small detail about my degree. While most universities grant a PhD, the University of Allahabad, like the University of Oxford, offers a DPhil, which stands for Doctor of Philosophy just the same. The distinction lies purely in terminology, though it does sometimes cause confusion. But for practical purposes, DPhil and PhD represent the same level of doctoral achievement.
Memory has always been a curious thing for me. I don’t know if you’d call my memory “photographic”—far from it, in fact. If you asked anyone close to me, they might even call it patchy! My father, for example, would often get our names mixed up; he had his own way of assigning us different names so he could call out anything, and we would know it was for us. I’ve continued this tradition in my own life, giving my daughter multiple names, so whenever I call out a name—any name—she understands it’s meant for her. It’s just how our minds work, isn’t it? Sometimes it helps, sometimes it confuses. But in those days, preparing for an exam like the civil services meant more than recalling a few different names; it was about keeping a vast collection of reactions, equations, variables, conditions, and reagents ready at the tip of my tongue.
Chemistry is a subject brimming with complexities; the same reagent might behave differently at different temperatures. One compound will yield a particular product with dilute acids and something entirely different with concentrated ones. The sheer volume of these details can seem overwhelming. And here I was, facing an objective-type paper, which meant questions could come from any corner of chemistry. Yet, somehow, despite my self-proclaimed “pathetic” memory, I managed to get through and qualify. For someone like me, it was an achievement that seemed nothing short of a miracle! But how did I pull it off? We’ll come back to that question a bit later.
Memory, as I’ve come to realize, has layers. Some things I read or hear once, and they remain with me forever, without any conscious effort. Take this example from my early school days, when I was perhaps in grade 3 or 4. My father, who worked away from our village, would visit only occasionally. Each time he came home, he brought with him a rich tapestry of stories. Those stories weren’t just for entertainment; they were his way of imparting life lessons, of sharing wisdom in a way that felt like an adventure. One story, in particular, made an indelible mark on me, and it’s stayed in my mind ever since, unchanged by time.
It was the story of Priyadarshan, the serpent, and Gangdutt, the frog. Now, in this tale, Priyadarshan the serpent found himself trapped in a well, with no way out. As days passed, he started eating the frogs in the well to survive, one by one. Soon, only Gangdutt remained. As Priyadarshan prepared to make him his next meal, Gangdutt pleaded with the serpent, convincing him that he had a better plan: if Priyadarshan let him climb up with the help of the villagers’ water pail, Gangdutt promised to bring more frogs into the well, giving Priyadarshan a steady supply of food. This sounded reasonable to Priyadarshan, so he allowed Gangdutt to leave. And with a clever twist, Gangdutt, once out of the well, delivered a message to Priyadarshan through the lady who had helped him:
बुभुक्षितः किं न करोति पापं?
क्षीणा नरा निष्करुणा भवन्ति।
आख्याहि भद्रे प्रियदर्शनस्य,
न गङ्गदत्तः पुनरेति कूपम्।
Roughly translated, it means:
“What sin would a hungry one not commit?
Those weakened lose all compassion.
Tell Priyadarshan, O lady,
That Gangdutt will not return to the well.”
Now, here’s the thing: I heard this story only once, and I was very young. Yet, to this day, I remember it clearly, including the Sanskrit verse. It’s as if that shloka etched itself into a deep layer of my memory, where it stayed secure and unforgotten, through the years. Strangely, there are things I’ve repeated or revisited countless times that haven’t stayed with me so clearly. I still remember certain numbers—my class X roll number, the registration number for the first scholarship I received after topping my exams, even though I haven’t needed to use those numbers in decades. They remain, like old friends who don’t leave.
It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Some memories and pieces of information seem to embed themselves deeply, while others fade with time. There’s a unique blend of factors—memory, IQ, concentration, environment, necessity, commitment, passion, and the allure of reward—those influences what sticks and what slips away. But can we consciously improve our learning outcomes by adjusting how we approach studying? Can we build on the natural strengths of our memories to retain more, to understand better, and to recall with ease? These are some of the questions I hope to address as we delve into the topic of study techniques and maximizing our learning potential.
It’s fascinating how much we’ve learned about the brain’s workings, especially in the past few years. I remember a time when “learning” simply meant memorizing facts from books, repeating them until they somehow stuck in our heads. But today, we’re witnessing a revolution in understanding the mind—peering into the brain’s hidden corridors to see how information really takes root. So let’s take a moment to explore some of these insights, to marvel at how our brains, those intricate, mysterious organs, work behind the scenes as we try to learn something new.
Imagine the brain as a constantly evolving map. For the longest time, people thought that map was fixed. Once you reached a certain age, they said, your brain couldn’t change much. But thanks to modern research, we now know this isn’t true at all! The brain has a miraculous quality called neuroplasticity, meaning it can adapt, reorganize, and even rewire itself as we learn and experience new things. Think about that—a structure constantly reshaping itself, like a landscape transforming with every new discovery, every lesson learned. Each time we revisit an idea or practice a skill, our brain strengthens the pathways that connect those neurons, like deepening a well-trodden path through a forest. So, repetition isn’t just a chore; it’s a way of paving new roads in our minds.
Now, let’s talk about memory, that complex, sometimes capricious, keeper of information. We often think memory works like a library, with neatly stored “books” ready to be pulled out when needed. But memory is much more dynamic than that. At the heart of it all is the hippocampus—the brain’s memory centre. When we learn something new, it’s as if the hippocampus says, “Alright, let’s store this.” But here’s the twist: memory isn’t just about storage; it’s about retrieval. Each time we recall something, we reconstruct it, slightly altering it as we retell it in our minds. That’s why study techniques like spaced repetition and active recall—that is, testing ourselves instead of just passively reviewing notes—are so powerful. By practicing retrieval, we’re not just recalling information; we’re making it stronger, weaving it more securely into the brain’s neural tapestry.
There’s another side to learning that we sometimes overlook—the role of emotion. Think back to a story or lesson that left a deep impression on you. Chances are, it wasn’t just the facts you remembered but the feeling it evoked. Emotions, you see, play a powerful role in learning. The amygdala, another part of the brain, handles emotions and works closely with the hippocampus to tag memories with an emotional “weight.” This is why stories, with their twists, dilemmas, and resolutions, are so memorable—they activate both the logical and emotional parts of our brain. When we’re genuinely interested, excited, or moved by what we’re learning, we’re far more likely to remember it than if we’re bored or disengaged. This is why good teachers tell stories; they know that once an idea is tied to a feeling, it’s hard to forget.
And then there’s sleep, the unsung hero of learning. We might have grown up hearing that studying late into the night was the key to good grades, but research tells us something different. While we sleep, the brain isn’t just resting—it’s busy organizing. The information we’ve gathered throughout the day is reviewed, sorted, and stored. In particular, REM and slow-wave sleep stages are essential for memory consolidation—the process of transferring memories from short-term to long-term storage. That’s why a good night’s sleep after studying can make a huge difference. In fact, studies have shown that information learned just before bed is retained more effectively, almost as if our brains are primed for one last mental filing session.
Now, let’s talk about focus. Picture the brain’s prefrontal cortex as the air-traffic control tower, coordinating and directing attention. When we’re focused, this part of the brain keeps distractions at bay, helping us zero in on the task at hand. But here’s the catch: the prefrontal cortex gets tired quickly, and when it does, our ability to concentrate wanes. This is where techniques like the Pomodoro Technique come in handy. By working in short bursts—25 minutes of intense focus followed by a brief break—we’re essentially allowing the prefrontal cortex a chance to rest and recharge. It’s like pausing to catch our breath, giving us the stamina for sustained focus without burning out.
But what about motivation? Why do some subjects light a fire within us while others feel like drudgery? This brings us to the brain’s reward system, powered by the neurotransmitter dopamine. When we experience a win—whether it’s acing a test or simply grasping a new concept—dopamine is released, reinforcing that positive experience. This is why small rewards along the way make such a difference in learning. Imagine tackling a big, complex topic. By setting tiny goals and celebrating each small victory, we’re giving our brain a little burst of dopamine each time. It’s the brain’s way of saying, “Yes! Keep going!” And those little boosts can keep us moving forward, even on challenging days.
Now, here’s an interesting twist: while the notion of “learning styles” (like visual or auditory learners) has evolved, there’s strong support for multi-sensory learning—the idea that we retain information better when multiple senses are involved. Imagine trying to memorize a poem. You might read it, then say it aloud, maybe even write it down, each time engaging a different sensory pathway. By using various sensory inputs, we’re lighting up more areas of the brain, creating a network of connections that makes recall easier. It’s like building a web instead of a single string—stronger and more resilient.
Finally, let’s talk about mindset, a concept that science has shown affects how the brain responds to learning challenges. When we adopt a growth mindset—the belief that our abilities can improve with effort—the brain reacts differently to setbacks. Instead of shutting down when faced with a tough problem, a growth mindset encourages resilience and persistence. Those with this outlook activate parts of the brain associated with motivation and problem-solving, giving them the mental stamina to keep pushing forward, even in the face of mistakes. And here’s the best part: this mindset isn’t fixed. We can cultivate it, teach it, and use it to build resilience in children, helping them see challenges not as barriers but as opportunities to grow.
So, what does all this mean for us as learners? It’s a reminder that learning is about more than just putting in the hours; it’s about working with our brains instead of against them. Use spaced repetition to solidify what you know, add an emotional element to make it memorable, sleep to consolidate it all, and take breaks to stay focused. Celebrate every little win, engage as many senses as possible, and most importantly, believe in the power of growth.
In the end, learning is a journey—a dance between neurons, a symphony of memory, emotion, and focus. And as we move through that journey, it’s a gift to know that our brains are constantly adapting, growing, and ready to learn. So, let’s dive into it, equipped with insights that bring us closer not only to the “what” of learning but to the “how”—the magic that happens beneath the surface, in those silent, wondrous recesses of the mind.
Looking back now, it’s clear that what I did to succeed in the civil services preliminary examination wasn’t just sheer luck. Unknowingly, I was practicing many of these very techniques. I repeated key ideas, turned them into stories, worked through them with emotion, and slept well—well, most of the time! In a way, every success story holds these hidden patterns, like familiar rhythms quietly leading the melody. Isn’t it wonderful to think that, even as the science of learning advances, some of the most powerful tools have been with us all along, waiting for us to rediscover them?
So, as we embark on our own learning journeys, may we lean into these timeless principles with new understanding, knowing that every new skill, every bit of knowledge, is another path well-paved in that intricate map within our minds.
Next: Identifying strengths and areas for improvement.
