Exposure = Implementation?

Exposure = Implementation?

On our way back from an educational exposure visit, I asked one of my colleagues how was the exposure? He smiled and said, “It was great… now the question is, how much will we be able to implement it?”

Exposure=Implementation.

Somehow, this equation has been subtly imposed—and now, most people seem to have internalised it. But do we ever pause to ask why this question is even asked? Where does it come from? Does it really hold any relevance in education? In general, such a question is often asked by those who view education through an economic lens—where, like money, the worth of an investment is judged by its returns. So, if resources are spent on giving teachers and principals exposure, the “return” must be measured in terms of implementation.
This is a reductionist approach, and of course, it doesn’t work in education.

Sometimes, this question is also used to undermine the validity of such visits. If teachers and principals are away from school, how is it helping children?
This perspective assumes that their constant presence with students is of prime importance—irrespective of their own learning, well-being, or capacity building.

Seeing Implementation through a Broader Lens

In classrooms, it’s impossible for teachers not to pass on what they know—both the good and the bad. A facilitator in a workshop may hide limitations for a while, but a teacher cannot. A sustained engagement with children reveals everything—their understanding, their exposure, their curiosity, their world. Think about it: you watch a movie, and you find yourself citing examples from it in your next class—whether you teach maths or social science. You read a book, and soon enough, it finds its way into your classroom conversations.

I often say, an immersive exposure for a teacher is like colour on one’s hand—whatever they touch, the colour passes on.

A teacher who has seen Bhimbetka will have a different spark in her eyes when she speaks about prehistoric cave paintings. A teacher who has witnessed Kathakali at Kerala Kalamandalam will not ask, “Kathakali Kerala ka hai ya Tamil Nadu ka?”
This kind of confusion stays only when learning is limited to textbooks. First-hand exposure builds conviction—and that conviction creates magic in classrooms. The spark in the eyes, the confidence in words, the curiosity in tone—these are what an educational exposure brings to a teacher or a principal.

Implementation, then, is natural.
It’s beyond the teacher’s capacity to hide what they’ve experienced deeply.

In this context, asking “How much have you implemented?” becomes nothing more than a tool—to taunt, to monitor, to question the sanctity of such learning experiences.
In contrast, well-travelled, well-exposed teachers and principals are the real assets of an education system. It may seem like a heavy investment, yet what it builds—clarity, conviction, and spark—are not returns to be counted, but transformations to be witnessed. When a teacher or principal speaks with conviction and spark, we may never know how that moment helps a child dream—or how deeply it shapes their journey.

Long ago, I read a memoir, Meri Masko Yatra—and it still echoes in my mind.
Now imagine a teacher narrating such experiences live to their students—how beautifully that could expand their imagination, how gently it could plant the seed of wonder.

So, returning to the equation—Exposure is Implementation.
We don’t need to measure how much has been implemented; learning seeps in, silently reshaping how teachers see, speak, and relate to the world. Education is not a factory of outcomes—it is a field where experiences take root and bloom in unexpected ways. A teacher touched by art, culture, and ideas carries a fragrance that inevitably fills their classroom. This fragrance cannot be quantified, only felt. Implementation belongs to the language of governance; transformation belongs to the language of education. And that—quietly, deeply—is the true return.