On a rainy afternoon in the Malayalam month of Karkitakam, a month famous for its monsoon downpours, I headed to the kitchen to get my chai. I loved sitting in the veranda and watching the rain. The tangible coolness against your skin during a downpour was a welcome relief from the monsoon humidity. She was pouring the chai into little teacups when I walked into the kitchen. She has been coming to my house in India regularly from the time that I can remember. She has a warm, toothy grin that lights up her face. Her skin is wrinkled from old age, and darkened by harsh Indian summers. Her feet are blistered from walking barefoot wherever she goes. But I’ve always felt that there is something special about her; something warm and genuine about each of her actions.
She had come to see me during my recent visit to India. People in India rarely visit someone empty handed, and sure enough, she had brought a sweet gift for me. She presented me with a huge jar of her home-made coconut oil. She had scoured the woods near her house to pick the best Ayurvedic herbs for making hair grow healthy and strong. Then she had spent the entire morning heating fresh coconut oil with herbs and spices until it was boiled to perfection. Afterwards, she had traveled on 3 buses with her bad arthritic knees just come and see me. I had asked her to stay the night at my house; it was the least I could do.
We took our cups of chai to the porch and sat on the dry steps. The room right behind us was filled with children from the local school who came for my Aunt’s English tutoring lessons. We could hear them talking to eachother, practicing English before their class. Their chatter added to the pitter patter of the falling rain. She pulled the frayed end of her sari around her shoulders, turned to me, and said, “This is how it all began”. Seeing the puzzled look on my face she started to explain, and out poured a wonderful story.
When she was 15, she had failed the 10th grade public examination in India. She begged and pleaded with her family to allow her to repeat the year and attempt the exam again. Her family would not relent, and they took her out of high school. She spent her youth taking care of her family. Waking up at 4 A.M. every day, she had to fetch water from the well for the entire household, prepare breakfast, send her nieces and nephews off to school, prepare lunch, wash the clothes, clean the house, make dinner, and do the dishes. She also had to tend to the livestock, and occasionally help out at the paddy feilds. During this time she had to travel on the bus to a nearby town to purchase groceries for the month. It was on one such trip that she overheard two little girls talking to each other in English. When she turned around to look at them, she saw their parents’ faces full of pride and joy, beaming at the children. It was then and there that she decided that when she had a daughter she would send her to an English-Medium School, and have her educated to the best of her ability. This was a promise she made to herself, and she was determined to keep it regardless of the sacrifices she would have to make.
At the age of 17 she was married off to a young farmer. The first time they were able to talk to each other, she informed him of her promise. She spoke to him with great trepidation, for she was not sure how he would react. Afterall, she had seen him for the first time on her wedding day. If he didn’t approve of it, she knew that she couldn’t make it on her own. She would need his full support. To her great relief, he agreed, and together they started working towards making their small dream come true. Her husband worked hard on his land and saved all of his profit. They built a small hut for themselves. During festivals like Onam and Deepavali, they settled for new dhotis instead of buying new sets of clothes. They rarely went to the local cinema theater or to the town for outings, instead they made to do with a small radio. Eventually they had two children, a girl and a boy. They used their hard earned money to send both of them to a good school. They were overjoyed when their children started reading, writing, and speaking in English. They watched their children advance through school, get into good colleges, and earn professional degrees. Their dream had come true.
She looked at me with misty eyes. The rain had subsided, and the setting sun was peeping through the leaves of the coconut tree in our yard. I was in awe of her courage and determination. It was because of people like her that Kerala could boast of its high literacy rates, and upward trend in educating girls.
At this point the children had finished their class and they filtered onto the porch behind my Aunt. My Aunt came over and asked us what we were talking about for so long. That is when she turned to my Aunt, and with her warm smile, said, “I was telling her about how I raised you”.
Polyploidy Berry 