Today, I start my Masters course work. My son insisted I take one more pen and my daughter placed three well sharpened pencils in my hand yesterday as the three of us organised our bags and binders yesterday. After a day of doing nothing and a dinner for four, I went to sleep with memories of my first school days at Shishuvihar coming back to me, also Mary Immaculate in Goa when I was still the only child when I started grade 1. I did not speak a word of English in my grade 1 class and sat through the whole day peeking to see if my rain coat was still where Amma had hung it, salmon orange with large yellow daisies, Oh I loved it so. Sister Angela spoke to me in Konkani the first week and then miraculously forgot how to do it, so I had to learn how to speak English.
So much has happened since then: utaar chadhaav of fortunes and the twists and turns of life. Today perhaps 41 years after I first started school of any kind, I am off again. This time to complete my Masters as a step towards my PhD: I am now a dreamer where I was then a runner. I still want my Amma, just as I did then. Except then, I could run out of the school building with my teacher and EA in hot pursuit as they cut me off on the way home (did I even know how to get there?). Today there is nowhere to run to, I can find her in my heart and I am still getting used to that. And I yearn to hear her voice.
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