Yesterday was Vijaya Dashami and therefore
Vidyarambham, or initiation into knowledge. I am penning just a few thoughts on
Vidyarambham, now that it’s the season for this de rigeur ritual. In Kerala it’s a big and ceremonious thing. I remember
my Vidyarambham thusly. My elder sister was put in charge of my education and
she was told by my mother to teach me to write. I started with Malayalam
letters, writing on rice grains spread out on the floor of our house in Kerala.
Every time my sister would ask me to write, my left finger would shoot out. She
would say, “not left, right hand finger, this one.” But then, being left handed,
my left hand finger would shoot out. She would shout again, and then, very unlike
the disciplinarian she was (still is), she would give up. She found me
incorrigible and would scold me and beat me. I remember crying when the stick
would descend on me. In Kerala left-handed people are considered inauspicious and my mother and sisters - being superstitious - assumed I would not come to any good in life.
But then I discovered language through
reading of the New Testament gifted to me in Sunday School. I loved the songs taught
in the said School. I would have it written in a small notebook and would sing
them when no one was watching. This habit continues even today. Thus a small
spark was lit; which became an obsession later in life. At age eight, I learnt
English from Joseph-saar, who, it was said, was my father’s classmate in the
English-medium school in Kozhencherry. (My father had a privileged upbringing
thanks to the affluence of my grandfather.) He was a teacher I admired. He made
English very simple and learning it a pleasure. Soon I had all the lessons
under my command and I got good marks, too. That’s when my father noticed my
proficiency in English and brought me to Bombay to continue my education. That’s
how I came to Bombay for the first time, at around age nine.
And then, as they say, life intervened.
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