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  My grandmother, Krishtakka, never went to school so she could not read. Every Wednesday, the magazine would come and I would read the next episode of this story to her. During that time she would forget all her work and listen with the greatest concentration. Later, she could repeat the entire text by heart. My grandmother too never went to Kashi, and she identified herself with the novel’s protagonist. So more than anybody else she was the one most interested in knowing what happened next in the story and used to insist that I read the serial out to her.

  After hearing what happened next in Kashi Yatre, she would join her friends at the temple courtyard, where we children would also gather to play hide-and-seek. She would discuss the latest episode with her friends. At that time, I never understood why there was so much debate about the story.

  Once I went for a wedding with my cousins to the neighbouring village. In those days, a wedding was a great event. We children enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. We would eat and play endlessly, savouring the freedom because all the elders were busy. I went for a couple of days but ended up staying there for a week.

  When I came back to my village, I saw my grandmother in tears. I was surprised, for I had never seen her cry even in the most difficult situations.

  What had happened? I was worried.

  ‘Avva, is everything all right? Are you OK?’

  I used to call her ‘Avva’, which means ‘mother’ in the Kannada spoken in north Karnataka.

  She nodded but did not reply. I did not understand and forgot about it. In the night, after dinner, we were sleeping on the open terrace of the house. It was a summer night and there was a full moon. Avva came and sat next to me. Her affectionate hands touched my forehead. I realized she wanted to speak. I asked her, ‘What is the matter?’

  ‘When I was a young girl I lost my mother. There was nobody to look after and guide me. My father was a busy man and got married again. In those days people did not consider education essential for girls, so I never went to school. I got married very young and had children. I became very busy. Later I had grandchildren and always felt so much happiness in cooking and feeding all of you. At times I used to regret not going to school, so I made sure that my children and grandchildren studied well …’

  I could not understand why my sixty-two-year-old grandmother was telling me, a twelve-year-old, the story of her life in the middle of the night. But I knew I loved her immensely and there had to be some reason why she was talking to me. I looked at her face. It was unhappy and her eyes were filled with tears. She was a good-looking lady who was usually always smiling. Even today I cannot forget the worried expression on her face. I leant forward and held her hand.

  ‘Avva, don’t cry. What is the matter? Can I help you in any way?’

  ‘Yes, I need your help. You know when you were away, Karmaveera came as usual. I opened the magazine. I saw the picture that accompanies the story of Kashi Yatre and I could not understand anything that was written. Many times I rubbed my hands over the pages wishing they could understand what was written. But I knew it was not possible.

  ‘If only I was educated enough. I waited eagerly for you to return. I felt you would come early and read for me. I even thought of going to the village and asking you to read for me. I could have asked somebody in this village but I was too embarrassed to do so. I felt so dependent and helpless. We are well off, but what use is money when I cannot be independent?’

  I did not know what to answer. Avva continued.

  ‘I have decided I want to learn the Kannada alphabet from tomorrow. I will work very hard. I will keep Saraswati Puja day during Dasara as the deadline. That day I should be able to read a novel on my own. I want to be independent.’

  I saw the determination on her face. Yet I laughed at her.

  ‘Avva, at this age of sixty-two you want to learn the alphabet? All your hair is grey, your hands are wrinkled, you wear spectacles and you work so much in the kitchen …’ Childishly I made fun of the old lady. But she just smiled.

  ‘For a good cause if you are determined, you can overcome any obstacle. I will work harder than anybody, but I will do it. For learning there is no age bar.’

  The next day onwards I started my tuition. Avva was a wonderful student. The amount of homework she did was amazing. She would read, repeat, write and recite. I was her only teacher and she was my first student. Little did I know then that one day I would become a teacher in computer science and teach hundreds of students.

  The Dasara festival came as usual. Secretly I bought Kashi Yatre which had been published as a novel by that time. My grandmother called me to the puja place and made me sit down on a stool. She gave me the gift of a dress material. Then she did something unusual. She bent down and touched my feet. I was surprised and taken aback. Elders never touch the feet of youngsters. We have always touched the feet of God, elders and teachers. We consider that as a mark of respect. It is a great tradition but today the reverse had happened. It was not correct.

  She said, ‘I am touching the feet of a teacher, not my granddaughter; a teacher who taught me so well, with so much affection that I can read any novel confidently after such a short period. Now I am independent. It is my duty to respect a teacher. Is it not written in our scriptures that a teacher should be respected, irrespective of gender and age?’

  I did return namaskara to her by touching her feet and gave my gift to my first student. She opened it and read immediately the title Kashi Yatre by Triveni and the publisher’s name. I knew then that my student had passed with flying colours.

  12

  Rahman’s Avva

  Rahman was a young and soft-spoken employee who worked in a BPO. He was also an active volunteer in our Foundation. He would not talk without reason and would never boast about his achievements.

  Rahman was a perfectionist. So any assignment given to him was done exceedingly well. He worked for the Foundation on the weekends and was very kind to the children in the orphanage. He spent his own money and always brought sweets for the children. I really liked him.

  Since we worked closely together, he learnt that I am from north Karnataka, from Dharwad district. My language has that area’s accent and my love for Dharwad food is very well known. One day, Rahman came and asked me, ‘Madam, if you are free this Sunday, will you come to my house? My mother and sister are visiting me. Incidentally, my mother is also from Dharwad district. My family has read your columns in Kannada and your books too. When I told them that I am working with you, they expressed their earnest desire to meet you. Is it possible for you to have lunch with us?’

  ‘Will you assure me that I’ll get a good Dharwad meal?’ I joked.

  ‘I assure you, madam. My mother is a great cook.’

  ‘Come on, Rahman. Every boy gives this compliment to his mother, however bad she may be at cooking. It is the mother’s love that makes the food great.’

  ‘No, she really is an amazing cook. Even my wife says so.’

  ‘Then she must be really great because no daughter-in-law praises her mother-in-law’s cooking without merit.’ I smiled. ‘By the way, which village in Dharwad district do they come from?’

  He told me the name of a village near Ranebennur that I had never heard of. I happily agreed to visit them for lunch.

  That Sunday, I took some flowers along. Rahman’s newly constructed apartment was on Bannerghatta Road near the zoo. When I entered his home, I met his wife, Salma. She was a smart and good-looking girl. She worked as a teacher in the kindergarten nearby.

  Then, he called out to his avva. A mother is usually referred to as ‘avva’ in north Karnataka. An old lady with grey hair came out of the kitchen. Rahman introduced her, ‘This is my mother.’ I was a bit surprised—she was not quite what I had expected. She was wearing a huge bindi the size of a 25-paisa coin and an Ilkal sari with lots of green bangles on both arms. She kept the sari pallu on her head. She had a contented smile on her face and with folded hands she said, ‘Namaste.’