Who needs school?

My paternal Grandmum - the same one that downed the glass of Gin (incident featured in this post) has barely had a formal education. She was taken out of school and married off when she was 14. She continued to live with her parents, helping in the home, until my Grandad had completed his Engineering degree and had found a job in Madras.

In addition to raising a family when my grandparents could barely make ends meet, taking care of fussy in-laws and helping a couple of her younger siblings, she taught herself English, Malayalam, some functional Hindi and Telugu. She reads voraciously and occasionally, writes. Her mother was still alive until last month. One of the ways my Grandmum dealt with her grief was to write about her mother.

Last week, she handed me a sheet of paper with what she called "An article on her mother" and asked me to type it out for her and get her some printouts so she could share it with her family. I was happy to oblige. When I read the piece, I could not help sharing it. Here it is..

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mother was not well. I took her to the doctor, gave her medicines and took it for granted that she would recover. She vanished. I wanted badly to find her. I began searching for her all over the house. Called out loudly – “Amma! Where are you?” There was no response.

I went outside and gazed at the tops of the trees to see if she was hidden between the green leaves. There was a cool breeze blowing, and I thought she might have gone outside to enjoy it. She was not there either. I stretched my arms out, and felt her presence. I lifted my head up to the blue sky, so high above – way beyond my reach. I felt tired and sad. I sat down, dejected. Suddenly, I heard someone whispering in my ear. The words were so clear!

“My dear child, why are you looking for me in places I don’t exist? I am inside you, in your heart. Can’t you feel it? Do not grieve for me because I am not dead. I am within you. I am the soft wind that blows, the sunlight that falls on the garden. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of birds in flight. I am the stars that twinkle softly in the night sky. I want to leave the echoes of my presence down the ways of happy times filled with laughter, on bright, sunny days. I want the tears of those who mourn me to dry before they are shed. I want only to leave happy memories when my life is done.”

I turned around, and there was Amma’s photo on the centre table.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It makes me wonder. If she had had the opportunity to go to school, and learn as much as she wanted to, how would her life have been?