When Learning was not Programmed

Growing up, I lived in a house with a big garden, with many trees and plants. Guava, papaya, tulsi, rubber, a flowing hedge of lantana with its colourful flowers and tiny, green pea like fruits, which I collected greedily. They weren't edible (which might have realised after biting into one), so I used it as an ingredient in my pretend play kitchen, sometimes used whole, sometime crushed on a miniature sil batta (grinding stone).

The sil batta was part of my Kuliya chukiya, an annual Diwali gift that mostly my Nani or mummy bought for kids. It was a set of toys made from mud, resembling kitchen utensils, baked and painted in bright pink, yellow, blue, green and sold widely in Patna during Diwali. It was a prized possession consisting of 8-10 unique pieces and I used it cautiously as it would break if dropped. In these gorgeous vessels, I stirred in the leaves, seeds and fruits, creating dishes and serving adults and friends alike. Thankfully, everyone was wise enough to not consume my culinary marvels but engaged in universal role play. Adults did not have to pretend to be busy on their (non-existing) mobile phones and mostly spoke to and engaged with children. There were some boring adults who asked the same question everytime you meet them, like how old I was or which school I went to, but there were interesting ones too with their repository of adventure stories and zero-resource games.

I also had a wooden dollhouse about 2 feet high, a beautifully constructed duplex which I inherited from my sister. With a main door on hinges and tiny carved windows, it was built with immense thought and expertise. There was a ladder like staircase at the back of the dollhouse that led to an open terrace which had a semi-open enclosure (for residents to hide during rains or to store household items).

When cousins got together, our portable kitchen with kuliya chukiya was used outside the dollhouse while our dolls dressed up, posed and acted inside the sprawling hall and bedrooms of their lavish mansion. Since there were no individual toys, we learnt to share and cooperate, keeping things in good condition to hand down to younger cousins some day. We also learnt how to co-exist with different temperaments. Fights were resolved without adult intervention.

The sticky white latex of rubber plant, resembling fevicol, taught me to not break its stem. The unexpected crunch of a snail's shell under my foot while uninhibitedly running made me stop and empathise with it. The unbearable stink of a crushed bug on my fingers made me feel remorseful. Black flying bugs sticking to my yellow outfit in summer taught me the importance of seasons and colours. Butterflies, bees, ants and spiders were allies, not to be sprayed with poisonous gases from metal containers. Fallen leaves were collected and kept inside yellowing pages of treasured books for posterity.

Today, we intentionally create strategically designed learning opportunities for children through hobby classes and extra curricular coaching. As a child, I learnt when I was free.