Every student in the class looked up at me, waiting for my answer. The room was quiet, unusually quiet for this group of boisterous 12-year-olds, who rarely sat still on their creaky wooden benches and whose attention often flitted about like the sparrows that came to the open windows.

But today was exam day, and exams are serious business in Nepal. A student's grade can mean the difference between continuing in school or returning to labor in the terraced rice fields that surround the Himalayan mountain village.

Ram Gopal, who had asked the question, was still standing, waiting for permission to resume his seat after addressing the teacher, as was the custom. I told him to sit, adding that I thought his question was a good one, trying to buy a few moments to compose my thoughts. His request was so simple on the surface: "Sir, do you want your answer or our answer on number three?"

I glanced down at the exam: "Briefly explain the cause of thunder and lightning."

I realized Ram's question came from something that had taken place in class a few weeks earlier. We were studying a science unit on weather, concentrating on thunder and lightning. The text gave a rather complicated explanation that involved atmospheric temperature gradients, rising air masses, ionic exchanges, positive and negative electronic discharges, and the speed of light versus the speed of sound. Pretty heavy stuff for these young boys and girls who live far from roads and electricity!

I had tried to make the lesson more interesting and understandable by explaining it in simpler words, using demonstrations of static electricity with combs and small bits of paper, and taking the class outside to observe thunderhead clouds forming in the afternoon sky.