In a classroom at Suraah school in Dehradun’s Katapatthar village, students receive a fictional letter from archaeologist Alexander Cunningham, requesting their help in investigating an Ashokan edict found nearby. Curious, the children visit the site, study the ancient inscriptions, and then respond to Cunningham’s question: If you were to leave behind an edict of your own, what would it say and in what language?
This curiosity-driven and student-led journey into history, is one among the many lessons that take place at the school everyday, one that reflects the philosophy of its founders, Shrey and Jyoti Rawat, who believe learning should start with wonder rather than textbooks.
Lovingly called the ulta-pulta school by children, Suraah was born out of Shrey’s response to a growing concern in Uttarakhand’s hill villages: families moving to cities in search of better education and livelihood, leaving local schools deserted. As of 2024, as many as 16,000 schools across the state had shut down due to dwindling enrolments. For Shrey, the question was not just about keeping schools open, but about ensuring that the children who remained received an education that spoke to their lives. “Dehradun may be known as the school capital of India, but most of its institutions are elite and far beyond the reach of local students,” says Shrey. “Schooling in India is often standardised and rote-based. We have built a pedagogy that is transdisciplinary, child-led, and rooted in the children’s own surroundings.” For children here who walk almost 5 km to schools in the plains, it is also a breath of fresh air, a gateway to learn from the hills and skies around them.
Even the subjects at Suraah reflect its alternative approach to learning. Instead of conventional divisions like maths, science, or language, the school’s curriculum is organised into different methodologies — khoj (scientific inquiry), mauj (joyful learning), jagat gyaan (contextual understanding), and swaygyaan (self-knowledge). “For instance, a child might learn fractions in class as part of mathematics, but we also encourage them to find fractions in nature — in mandalas they create, plants, or the hills around them,” explains Shrey. A visit to the rice fields becomes a lesson not just in farming, but in the journeys of food that students eat.
The morning news read in assembly is hyper-local, often collected by the children themselves. “Instead of reading about floods or earthquakes in faraway places, students learn about local landslides, a recurring phenomenon here. Some even report cattle thefts. It helps them understand the world immediately around them,” says Shrey. With seven teachers and 70 students, Suraah is quietly reshaping what education means to its community. Most of the students come from local Jansaur Bawar tribal families, and the fees are just Rs 300 a month. “Parents of our students are farmers, labourers, and daily-wage workers,” Shrey says.
Parents were first skeptical of this unfamiliar approach to learning. “The hardest part was earning the parents’ confidence,” Shrey says. “In big cities, parents pay high fees for alternative education. But here, they wanted more homework, more memorisation. Convincing them that learning could look different required clear communication.” Shrey and Jyoti personally visited families to explain their approach, and parents were encouraged to join the classes.
As the school’s vision slowly takes root, the students are finding purpose in the world around them. Devyanshi, a third grader, is learning that the waste from midday meals can be used as manure for the school farm. Aditi, in grade five, is testing what’s really in her food, reading labels, checking for adulteration. For the children here, Suraah is proving that learning can begin right where life does.
