I never knew Gijubhai as a grandfather. He passed away in 1939 at the early age of 54 years when my mother (his third child and second daughter) was only 18 years old.
But Gijubhai has been an intrinsic part of almost every phase of my life.
As children our introduction to him was through his stories and which we heard from (Gijubhai’s daughter-in-law) our mami Vimuben Badheka, who carried forward his legacy throughout her life, in her work in the Dakshinamurti Balmandir in Bhavnagar. We also heard his stories told to us by some of the teachers who had worked with Gijubhai when we spent our holidays in Bhavnagar, and these inspired us cousins to put up plays based on those stories.
While we did not live in Bhavnagar, this was where we went for our vacations, and where we met up with our cousins--Gijubhai’s other grandchildren, under the strict eye of our nani Jadiba (Gijubhai’s wife). Although we did not have the good fortune of being students of Dakshinamurti, we enjoyed every corner of the lovely Balmandir building and its environs all summer when we had it to ourselves - to run along the cool corridors, to play in the courtyard and climb the trees, even to put up our plays on the stage in the hall!
The same building that characterised the cover of Gijubhai’s seminal work Divaswapna, and which stands on its little hill even today.
Evenings and nights sleeping on the terrace of his house under the open sky, we never tired of hearing his balvartas. We grew up with the rhymes and rhythms of the Beekan Sasli (scared hare) and the Anandi Kagdo (cheeky crow). The characters in the stories became familiar friends, and the verses tripped easily off our tongues. Within the family, we shared a sense of being part of a special club when someone referred to a particular character or a verse, even in a different context. Over dinner of bajra roti and baingan bharta an uncle would refer to the tasty brinjals that Dala Tarwadi helped himself to. We would refer to a cheerful person as Anandi Kagdo, and talk about miserly tailors, quick-witted barbers, and the children who wanted one more chhmmmvadu, comfortable that old and young knew what we meant.
Perhaps my own fondness for colloquial Gujarati comes from this early exposure. As also my love for rhyme and rhythm, which I enjoy even to this day. A lot of my own writing for children in English is in verse. While Gijubhai’s balvartas are better known, less known is the fact that he penned numerous jodaknas or rhymes on common subjects and things children saw and experienced in daily life—from crows and donkeys, to khichdi and kadhi! He used these to teach language, spelling and grammar.
During my childhood, school days, and almost until my graduation, I associated Gijubhai mainly with these stories and summer vacations in Bhavnagar.
For some years, growing up outside of Gujarat, I was not as deeply engaged with other aspects of Gijubhai, at a conscious level. We had heard a little about his life - that he had gone to Africa as a young man, that he had returned to India to start practice as a District Pleader, and that he found his ultimate passion and avocation in the field of education. But at the time it was still mainly as a storyteller that we knew Gijubhai.
It was only after I completed college that I started making my own connections with the path of his life and work.
Like Gijubhai, who studied law and started to practise it, my professional career also had a different start. I graduated in, and subsequently taught Political Science for a few years, before a combination of circumstances (and serendipity) brought my own career path round from higher education to school education.
But before that happened I too happened to go to Kenya as a newly-married young woman. It is then that I remember thinking that it was a curious coincidence that almost 75 years earlier Gijubhai had gone to East Africa, as a young man, to work with a white solicitor and lawyer Mr Stevens. Whenever Gijubhai used to ask him what he should do in any situation, Stevens would tell him “Use your brain!”
This became his guiding principle through not only his own life, but also in his approach to teaching and learning (and one that I try to emulate too!).
While in Africa, Gijubhai used all his free time to travel, see the new country and learn about the people. He noted his impressions about his stay in Africa in the early 1900s, which were published later.
Africa Remembered, Voyage to Africa
Despite the temptations of staying on and earning well, the pull of the homeland was too strong, and Gijubhai returned to India after two years. Coincidentally, it was the same for myself and my husband. After two years in Kenya, during which time we travelled and explored the incredible landscapes and wildlife, went on safaris and camping, and made new friends, we also decided to return, with a desire to live and work in our own country.
My return to India also marked my return to Gujarat. And the start of a new phase of my life as a young parent, as well as my initiation in the field of school education—both of which happened simultaneously.
As with all first-time parents we too faced the same gamut of emotions - joy, pride, frustration, anger, and often a feeling of being lost - what to do and how to do? That is when I discovered that these were timeless emotions and dilemmas that Gijubhai had attempted to capture half a century earlier. He had noted, recorded, and pondered over his observations of children and parents in a series of pieces which were published as Ma Baap Thavu Aghru Chhe (It is not Easy Being Parents) and Aa TeShee Mathafod (It is Not Easy Being Children) in 1935.
Reading these, I no longer felt as lost. The books became my ‘Go To’ reference - they reassured me that what I was experiencing was not unique, and that by-and-large my responses were what my grandfather would have approved of!
Another 30 years have passed since then, and there is a new generation of parents with the same dilemmas - and Gijubhai's truths on parenting remain as timeless as ever. As he wrote:
If You Really Want To
If you would like to do just one thing for children…What could you do?
Do not hit children.
If you wanted to do two things. What to do?
Do not scold children. Do not insult them.
If you would like to do three things. What could you do?
Do not scare children. Do not bribe them to do something. Do not overindulge them.
If you would like to do four things for children? What would these be?
Do not preach to children. Do not blow hot and cold. Do not keep finding fault. Do not exercise authority all the time.
If you are keen to do five things. What will you do?
Do not do whatever the child demands. Teach it to do it for itself.
Let the child do what it desires to do. Do not take a child’s work lightly. Do not interfere in a child’s work. Do not take away a child’s work.
Just as Gijubhai’s concern with education was triggered by the birth of his son Narendra in 1913, my own professional engagement with children’s education began with the birth of my son Aditya, when I also started a new career as an environmental educator. My work involved the development of a lot of teaching-learning material for teachers as well as for children. And this led me to explore and discover Gijubhai’s simple but profound writings for teachers.
I found that the educational system described by him, and one that he dreamed of changing, was not all that much different from the contemporary one, and his thoughts on addressing the issues were as relevant even in the present context.
His style and approach in addressing teachers was non-threatening and participatory. His writing for educators, while based on academic theories and strong pedagogic principles, was presented in simple language, and supported by real-life examples and systematic practical guidelines. He was always a fellow teacher, well aware of the issues and challenges, but he was also a guide and mentor who showed how these could be addressed. Above all his writing gave confidence and inspired the reader to take a few steps ahead in a new direction.
As a person with a passion for education but no formal training in pedagogy or experience in classroom teaching, I embarked upon a ‘self-learning’ programme starting with reading some of the important works on education and child development. As was the case with Gijubhai, this was alongside with my ongoing official tasks of developing teaching-learning material and teacher training.
It was during my own initiation into the challenges of the educational system and the attempts to do something to address these, that I really discovered Divaswapna.
It was almost incredible how every sentence resonated with me. And humbling to discover that while I was reading about theories like the Whole School Approach; and experiments in using non-textbook approaches for multisensory development in foreign journals and books, these ideas had been expounded, and experimented successfully with by Gijubhai, almost half a century earlier. Where NCERT was promoting the New Education Policy, Divaswapna was already a blueprint for this vision of holistic education. And, coming full circle, as one of the textbook authors for the NCERT I could include many of Gijubhai’s ideas, and even stories, in the books for primary children. A small tribute to a visionary, continuing his quest for the best education for the children of our country.
One of the basic tenets of environmental education is learning-by-doing. Many theories on this have been developed in the West and much has been written about it—and these were our guidelines in the early 1980s when Environmental Education (EE), or what is called EVS today, was just being introduced into Indian curricula. I worked extensively on developing teaching-learning material for teachers and children based on the concept of experiential learning.
While I initially read and learnt from the popular American programmes at the time like Hands-on-Nature, Project Wild and Project Learning Tree, I was humbled when I read something that Gijubhai wrote in 1934.
We can describe the beauty of birds to a child, or we can show them some birds. We can tell tales about the wealth of minerals hidden in the depths of the earth, or we could dig some soil together and explore its mysteries. We can lie on the bed and talk about the stars or we can go up on the terrace and look at them. We can talk to the child about masters and servants, factory owners and workers, or we can take it to see and meet all these people. Will this not help a child to develop better?
As my passion for education grew, so also did my love for, and engagement with, nature. Much of my writing for teachers revolved around different aspects of environment. My challenge was to compile the necessary scientific information and present it in as ‘reader-friendly’ a way as possible, without losing the accuracy of facts and without being prosaic or preachy.
Once again I turned to Gijubhai for inspiration. Gijubhai constantly noted his observations of environment around him—from the changing seasons, to life in the villages, to travel and excursions, and even little changes and occurrences in his own house and garden. Letters to Sushila. He wrote about common indigenous trees of Saurashtra blending the botanical information and observations of related birds and insects with local lore. A booklet titled The Magic of the Seasons compiles his regular notes on the changing seasons and birds, insects, fruits and vegetables in the form of letters to children. Simple, but with so much information presented in such a palatable form! It is one of these letters that became a lesson in the NCERT class 4 textbook in 2007. As relevant and as inspiring for children 70 years after these were first written.
I too learned to look around and observe, and tried to express my discoveries and wonder through poems and jottings. When writing for children I experimented with different forms and formats for presenting and sharing information. Once again it was humbling, that whenever I got really excited about a “Eureka” moment in terms of how to present something, I discovered that Gijubhai had already “been there, done that”.
In the last few years, I have also had the time and space to be able to savour and observe little things and the daily changes in my own garden and surroundings. I am enjoying both “looking and really seeing” and finding out more about what I note from different sources, and sharing these through a digital journal of sorts. While the discipline of having to write on a regular basis is good, the simple joy of exploring and discovering is far greater.
Around the same time, I also started translating Gijubhai’s stories into English. Both in his stories and rhymes Gijubhai drew upon the rich oral traditions of folk stories of the region and perhaps, for the first time put them in a written form.
It was a challenge to not only retain the rhyme and rhythm of the verses but also to capture the nuances of colloquial Saurashtra dialects. As one who loves playing with words, this was both work and play. I also started my own writing for children. Like Gijubhai perhaps, a lot of this was inspired by the experiences and observations of my own children as they were growing. I found that I quite naturally enjoyed working in rhyme and verse.
It is at this time that I found Vartaa nu Shastra. I was amazed. Gijubhai was not only a teller of stories, he wrote in depth about the art and the craft of storytelling. The book written in 1923, describes his own study of what makes a story—from the international to the oral folk tale traditions. Gijubhai completed this book in just one month, and it was published in 1925.
This lesser-known book is as seminal to the literature of storytelling, as Divaswapna is to pedagogy.
Here are the stories. Tell these to your children. They will listen with ardour and joy, over and over again. Remember, tell these stories beautifully; tell them as stories should be told - tell them with involvement. Read them out if you like. Choose a story that will suit your children's age and interest.
But please, never do one thing. Never make the children memorise these stories, never make them recite the stories by rote. Do not teach them these stories for the exams.
You will discover that stories are a magic wand. If you want to build a bond of love with your children, start with stories. Stories are a wonderful start to spark your children's imagination.
Don't tell stories as if you were a great scholar. Don't tell the stories to bestow knowledge. Don't tell the stories as an objective narrator. Immerse yourself in the stories and take your children with you into the total experience.
Now that I look back, I think that as children, we probably never sat down and “read” the printed stories ourselves. The stories were all around us, being told by Vimumami, being dramatically enacted by Nanubhai, and also by the gang of us cousins for the captive audience of uncles and aunts!
I am afraid that I may never be as good a storyteller as them; but I do enjoy the process of face-to-face storytelling (something that I have come to fairly recently), and hope that I can share Gijubhai’s stories with a new generation of children who are growing up in a digital age.
As with many people of his generation letter writing was an intrinsic part of Gijubhai’s daily routine. He would write to his old students and colleagues. When away he would write to his children describing where he was and what he was doing.
In 1936 when Sushila, his eldest daughter went to Shantiniketan to study art and dance, Gijubhai used to write to her every Wednesday. The letters described in loving detail everything that was happening at home. As he said “to make Sushila feel as if she were at home, despite being away from home.” The letters are full of wonderful details—about the card games that her siblings (including my mother) were playing and their quarrels; what they ate for dinner, the squirrel making a nest in the roof; the flowers that were blooming in the garden, the spotting of snakes; news of neighbours and relatives. Simple but evoking a vivid picture of home.
These letters were published in 1938 under the title Sushila ne Patro (Letters to Sushila). Gijubhai dedicated the book to all the daughters who were studying away from home.
In 1939, the year he passed away, he used to write to my mother (Divya or Babu) when he was in Rajkot. In one letter, written in English, he writes:
My dear Babuben. It is 5:45 in the morning and I am writing this letter to you. After a good rest during the night, to work in the morning is wise. …All is calm. Because of the quiet you can easily apply yourself to your work and you can put in two hours of work in one hour. …Your preliminary is drawing nearer. Work steadily but surely. No mere cramming. No anxiety or hurry worry. Read with understanding then everything will be ok.
When one is young, one sees one’s parents and relatives as being ‘always grown-up’, never really stopping to think that they too were children once. Discovering these letters fairly recently, long after my mother and aunts are no longer with us, gave me a peep into the some of their growing up years.
I have saved with care the many letters my parents wrote to me over the years. Perhaps someday, my children and grandchildren will read these, and find out more about their mother!
Between 1920 when the Dakshinamurti Balmandir was set up, and 1939 when he passed away, Gijubjai wrote prolifically in the area of children’s literature and education. Although he is best known as the author of Divaswapna which first published in Gujarati in 1939, and is counted among the world’s classics in pedagogy, he is the author of over 200 books of which 20 were addressed to teachers and parents. A lot of these are in Gujarati, and remain restricted to a smaller audience. Over the years I have been translating some of his writing into English in an endeavour to share these with a wider audience.
Gijubhai has left behind such a rich legacy. One that is a fount of inspiration for every educator and storyteller even today, more than a century after him. I continue to explore and discover new facets of his writing, and never fail to be astounded by the scale and depth of his thinking and writing. And I find that there is always something that I can use in my own work and life.
I am reminded of the tribute that Girish Karnad paid to his mentor A K Ramanujan. He said that “Raman was an akshayapatra to me”.
For me Gijubhai’s writings are like this akshaypatra which never gets empty however much I help myself to its contents.
This website is my humble tribute to Gijubhai, and an attempt to open the akshayapatra for many other people.
Mamata Pandya
Mamata Pandya has worked for many years as an environmental educator. She has developed a wide range of teaching-learning materials for teachers as well as for children. She has also written extensively for children. She is now an independent Educator, Editor, Writer, Translator, Blogger and Storyteller.
Mamata Pandya
mamata.pandya [at] gmail.com
Mamata Pandya, Arvind Gupta
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