LEARNING IS OLD HAT AT INDIAN ‘SCHOOL FOR GRANNIES’
Nestled in the remote village of Phangane in Maharashtra state, Aajibaichi Shala is a unique institution, perhaps the only one of its kind in the world. For this is a “school for grannies”, where women aged 60 to 94 come to learn reading, writing, arithmetic and other skills.
Set up under a grove of trees inside a colourful hut festooned with streamers and flowers, the school opens for two hours a day, from 2 to 4pm. As soon as the clock strikes 1.30pm, 30 grannies (called aajis in the local Marathi language) start trooping in, neatly attired in uniforms of bright pink saris, satchels slung on their shoulders.
Afternoon is best for the women because some work as daily wage earners at local farms and construction sites in the mornings. School begins with an assembly and a prayer to Saraswati, the Hindu goddess of knowledge, followed by four classes of 30 minutes each.
The students squat on dhurries (cotton rugs) on the mud floor, surrounded by slates, chalks and books provided by the school. They learn nursery rhymes, mathematical tables, the Marathi alphabet and painting. Homework and tests are set, and gardening is taught to help increase awareness of local biodiversity. Each granny is required to plant saplings and nurture them into plants.
“The school’s primary goal is to educate elderly women who were robbed of this opportunity because of poverty or regressive societal attitudes towards them,” says Yogendra Bangar, 47, an activist who teaches at the village’s primary school. “We wanted to bring some happiness into their lives and make our village 100% literate.”
Launched on March 8, 2016, International Women’s Day, the school is funded by the Motiram Dalal Charitable Trust. It wasn’t all smooth sailing, though. Organising funds for the school, furniture, blackboards, school bags, uniforms, stationery and books took time. And the elderly women’s often frail health, as well as their slow pace of learning, tested the teachers’ patience.
“While some grannies suffer from hearing problems, others have weak eyesight or knee issues. But it’s heartening to see that they brush aside these obstacles to come to school. They have basic literacy, and can even sign their names now,” says Bangar who has directed several development projects in Phangane, including building toilets for every household and introducing clean drinking water.
Bangar says he was inspired to launch the school by the inability of elderly women to read scripture at a religious community function five years ago. “The aajis were keen to participate but couldn’t because they were illiterate. So some village elders suggested it would be nice if the women could at least be given some basic education,” he says.
The women have no ambitions to go to college or work in offices, he says. “But they do want to be able to read and write, and sign their names, like everyone else in their families.”
India enacted a landmark Right to Education Act in 2009, giving children from disadvantaged backgrounds the right to free and compulsory education up to the age of 14. Prime Minister Narendra Modi has also made education of girls a priority, launching a campaign in 2015 called Beti bachao, beti padhao (Save the girl, educate the girl).
However, despite such initiatives, the National Family Health Survey for 2019-21 points to a literacy rate among women aged 15 to 49 of only 71.5%, compared with 87.4% for similarly aged males. Government-backed adult education programmes have been trying to address adult illiteracy since the 1970s, but the rural elderly — and especially women — have not been able to benefit optimally from such schemes.
Realising the rare opportunity they have, the aajis in Phangane are clearly trying to make the most of it — the school’s dropout rate is zero. Hansa Bai, a 94-year-old vegetable vendor, proudly says she hasn’t missed a single day of school despite her failing vision and arthritis.
“I think I’ll be attending school until the day I die. I’m poor and have no money in my bank. But I don’t worry because education is my true wealth,” she says, her voice choking with emotion.
Laxmi Gore, 84, says the school has managed to do what she thought was unthinkable. “My family was so poor we could barely manage two meals a day. Besides, village girls weren’t expected to study. We did home chores and took care of our siblings,” she said.
“Joining this school gave me a new life. I can now write my own name and even simple sentences. As I collect scrap for a living, I pick up newspaper cuttings that I stumble across in my work and try to read them too.”
For some grannies, their most prized possession is the black and red satchel they pack each morning. “I used to help my grandson pack a similar school bag two years ago. I hated being illiterate and secretly longed to attend school myself. Now my dream has been fulfilled,” says Kanta Bai, 78, a farmer.
The two pandemic years, when the school was closed on government orders, were a big challenge. Fearing that the grannies would forget what they had learned, Bangar and teacher Sheetal More bought a mobile blackboard to visit the grannies’ huts periodically to help them review their lessons.
When school finally reopened in April this year, fresh funds had to be found for uniforms, furniture and blackboards. Every villager pitched in by donating money or time. On April 18, when the school welcomed back the beaming aajis, the entire village turned up to give them a standing ovation.