I remained terrified of swimming, and only decades later, gifted myself swimming lessons for a birthday
Illustration/Uday Mohite
I got such a warm response to my previous column on school May holidays in Dharwar (later Dharwad), that I decided to share another dose of D-nostalgia and childhood memories. While non-stop fun was the main priority all through summer in Dharwar, Amma always encouraged us to learn new skills in a fun way—charcoal drawing, painting, Karnataka leather puppetry making, swimming, etc. Akku, my elder sister, was quick to learn swimming, but I was terrified, I had never seen such a big pool before. All the other tinies splashed about, but I sat petrified on the edge, a Dalda tin tied to my waist for flotation. After many fruitless visits to the pool, someone pushed me into the water. Bas, I remained terrified of swimming, and only decades later, gifted myself swimming lessons for a birthday.
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That was unusual, and Amma—Indu Shedde—especially, was remarkably patient with us. She reminds me of the time Akku was admitted to St Teresa’s Convent High School, Santa Cruz. The nuns were covered from head to toe in a long black dress, and Amma says Akku was terrified they may have been witches or some such. Worse, the nun who ran the kindergarten class, locked all the new kids in the class on the first day. A tsunami of wails went up, and the nun handed Akku to Amma, saying she couldn’t control her, and they returned home. Papa had told Amma, whatever happens, don’t force Akku to go to school. As Amma remembers it, for three and a half months from June till mid-September, she took Akku daily to school, dressed her, combed her hair, made her dabba. They would go till the school gate, then Akku would refuse to go in, and Amma would bring her home, and take her again the next day. I’m astounded and deeply moved by Ammas’ extraordinary patience and generosity towards Akku. Even if it was for a month or a week. Hard to imagine today’s mums being that patient and loving.
So they admitted Akku in St Anthony High School, where they were very welcoming, and found it challenging to get re-admission to St Teresa’s a year later. Amma wanted the best for her girls. She found out that her geography teacher from Dharwar, Prof CD Deshpande, had become a big shot in the education department and was in Bombay. By the time she located his address, it was 11 pm. But he remembered her—and the next day a peon came home with a note from St Teresa’s, saying Akku had been granted admission. Dharwar to the rescue! I am moved by how much women generally do for their families behind the scenes, that changes our destinies altogether, but in India, mothers’ contributions are usually unaccounted for, unacknowledged, unpaid and forgotten.
Amma has always been feisty. Working women were new in Dharwar when Amma was growing up. After her ‘Matric’ exams, Amma, 17, and her sister Kanna Pachchi, got jobs at the ration office in the 1940s. The office had no typewriter, and as they had good handwriting, they wrote out new ration cards, with family members’ names, addresses, etc. “People would stare from the windows to see who were these girls working with the men. ‘Have their parents no shame? Can’t they afford to get their daughters married, that they are making their girls work?’ they would comment,” Amma says, laughing. After her BA, Amma did a Diploma in Library Science from Madras, then got a job as Assistant Librarian in Karnataka University, Dharwar. Her letterhead proudly says: Indu Shedde, BA, DLS. Such an inspiration, our Amma! I think Akku and I take after her.
Still, Dharwar ke pani mein kuch toh hoga. (There’s something in the water of Dharwar).
Meenakshi Shedde is India and South Asia Delegate to the Berlin International Film Festival, National Award-winning critic, curator to festivals worldwide and journalist. Reach her at [email protected]
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