Bridging Learning Gaps, Building Confidence

Malik Mushtaq

“Learning gaps in mathematics do not occur overnight; they accumulate silently. Weakness in number sense undermines operations, poor understanding of fractions destabilizes ratios, and inadequate early exposure makes higher-level mathematics intimidating.”

Mathematics is often described as the language of logic, but during my seven-year journey as a Resource Person of Mathematics from 2015 to 2022, I discovered that it is equally a language of emotion. Every classroom I entered was alive with a spectrum of feelings—fear, curiosity, frustration, silence, hope, and the quiet anticipation of understanding. These emotions are often invisible to the untrained eye, yet they shape how students approach not only mathematics, but learning itself.

Over the years, I moved across zones, schools, training centres, and institutions such as SIE, SCERT, and DIETs, interacting with teachers, officers, and thousands of students. What I witnessed was more than a mere gap between the syllabus and learning outcomes. The real challenge lay in the disconnect between how mathematics was being taught and how learners actually engaged with it. This reflection is not presented as the final word of an expert, but as the lived experience of a practitioner—shaped by classrooms, interactions, and continuous reflection.

When I was first assigned the role of Resource Person, I believed my work would center around content, training modules, and academic support. Soon, however, I realized that the role demanded far more: a willingness to understand the ground reality of learning. Supporting mathematics teaching was not just about helping teachers deliver the syllabus; it was about supporting teachers, students, and systems simultaneously. It required patience, empathy, and sometimes the courage to confront uncomfortable truths about learning gaps that are often hidden behind promotion, examination results, or the completion of syllabi.

Visiting different zones brought another lesson into sharp focus: a uniform curriculum meets non-uniform realities. Some schools had limited infrastructure but highly dedicated teachers, while others enjoyed better facilities but faced students with weak foundational skills. In remote areas, language barriers frequently hindered comprehension, while in urban and semi-urban schools, the pressure of exams and syllabus completion often eclipsed conceptual understanding. Across all zones, however, one concern remained universal: students were progressing through grades without mastering the basics. I frequently encountered eighth graders struggling with division, seventh graders unsure about fractions, and sixth graders intimidated by word problems. These were not isolated cases but markers of cumulative gaps that had silently grown over years. National studies like the ASER (Annual Status of Education Report) repeatedly warn that many students in upper primary and secondary levels struggle with arithmetic tasks expected of much younger children, and my classroom observations bore this out repeatedly.

One crucial realization was that learning gaps in mathematics do not occur overnight; they accumulate silently. Mathematics is inherently hierarchical. Weakness in number sense undermines operations, poor understanding of fractions destabilizes ratios and percentages, and inadequate early exposure to algebraic thinking makes higher-level mathematics intimidating. In many classrooms, students could replicate memorized procedures but faltered when contexts shifted even slightly. Their learning, fragile and procedural, left them anxious and disengaged. While NCERT emphasizes conceptual understanding and reasoning as core goals, classroom realities often reduce mathematics to mechanical steps, shortcuts, and rote exercises, leaving students confused and fearful.

Teacher trainings became one of the most illuminating aspects of my work. These sessions revealed both challenges and potential. Teachers openly expressed the difficulties they faced: teaching mathematics without specialization, managing mixed-ability classrooms, completing the syllabus within limited time, and addressing students with severe learning gaps. What struck me most was the sincerity and concern of these teachers. They cared deeply, but many felt helpless in the face of systemic pressures and learning deficits. Recognizing this, I shifted my approach from delivering idealized methods to listening and understanding. By encouraging discussions, demonstrating simple and adaptable strategies, and emphasizing why concepts worked—not merely how to solve problems—we transformed these sessions into collaborative spaces. Teachers began sharing their own successes, failures, and innovations, creating a sense of collective ownership that strengthened professional development. Continuous, context-specific reflection, supported by research, proved far more effective than generic, one-off training.

Classroom visits offered the most candid insights into the state of mathematics education. I often observed students sitting silently, reluctant to participate, while teachers solved problems on the board for students to copy. Interaction was minimal, and the fear of making mistakes was palpable. In such environments, mathematics becomes a performance rather than a process, a series of tasks to be completed rather than ideas to be understood. Yet when I engaged students informally—posing simple questions, connecting problems to real-life situations, or facilitating group discussions—their intuitive understanding often surprised me. Many students knew far more than they initially demonstrated; the problem was rarely intelligence itself but rather fear and pedagogy.

Interacting with students was perhaps the most emotional part of my journey. Many described mathematics as “too difficult,” “not for me,” “only for toppers,” or even “a subject of punishment.” These beliefs are dangerous because they shape a student’s identity long before genuine understanding has a chance to develop. Some students carried the stigma of early failure so deeply that they had given up entirely. By reframing the conversation—emphasizing that they were not inherently weak but had simply not been taught at their level—students began to regain confidence. Even small successes led to visible changes: improved posture, increased participation, and gradual dissolution of fear. Psychological research underscores the importance of self-efficacy and emotional safety in learning mathematics; without these, even the best academic strategies fail.

My interventions were deliberately simple and context-sensitive. For students, this meant revisiting foundational concepts without embarrassment, connecting mathematics to daily life through money, distance, and sharing examples, and emphasizing explanation over speed. For teachers, it involved demonstration lessons, diagnostic assessment techniques, remedial planning tailored to student levels, and encouraging peer collaboration. At the school level, it meant providing constructive feedback to principals, advocating for remedial time, and ensuring that monitoring focused on learning rather than mere syllabus completion. Schools that embraced these approaches saw significant improvements in student confidence, classroom participation, and overall engagement.

This journey would not have been possible without the collaborative support of countless individuals. I am deeply grateful to the teachers who trusted suggestions and experimented, school heads who encouraged innovation, officers who valued field-based feedback, and departments that provided academic platforms. Where leadership was supportive rather than punitive, academic improvement followed naturally. This aligns with broader governance research, which emphasizes trust-based monitoring over inspection-driven control.

For students, my message is simple: master the basics patiently, ask questions without fear, practice regularly but meaningfully, connect mathematics to real-life scenarios, and believe that improvement is always possible. Mathematics does not demand brilliance; it rewards persistence. For teachers and officers, the guidance is to align teaching with learning levels rather than rigid calendars, let diagnostic assessments guide instruction, provide continuous subject-specific support to mathematics teachers, prioritize emotional safety in classrooms, and ensure that policy decisions are informed by classroom realities. Systemic change begins when the voices of classrooms are heard.

Reflecting on my years as a Resource Person, I recognize that I entered classrooms as a teacher and emerged as a learner. I learned that empathy is as critical as expertise, that listening improves teaching, that small, consistent changes can create lasting impact, and that hope is the strongest educational resource. Mathematics became more than a subject; it became a lens through which to understand children, teachers, and educational systems as a whole.

Learning gaps in mathematics are not signs of failure; they are signals for support. When addressed with patience, research-informed strategies, and human understanding, these gaps can be bridged. My journey reinforced one belief above all: every child can learn mathematics when teaching is grounded in understanding, dignity, and purpose. The task is challenging, but the potential is immense. If teachers, officers, institutions, and communities collaborate effectively, mathematics can become not a barrier, but a bridge—connecting students to confidence, reasoning, and the boundless opportunities that come with genuine learning.