Instead of going to school, they had to work in the house and in the fields. Education was a man's business in their home villages. Now the grandmothers of Phangane in India are practicing reading, writing and arithmetic – and are discovering a whole new level of self-confidence.
A unique school
At two o'clock sharp, when the midday sun no longer burns so mercilessly on this arid stretch of land in western India, the oldest women of Phangane come together. Wrapped in pink saris, they gather in the garden behind the penultimate house in their village in a thatched bamboo shed and crouch cross-legged on the floor.
The prayer leader in the first row addresses her words to Saraswati, the Hindu goddess of learning and knowledge. She can no longer hear well, but her voice is still piercing. After she has said the first line, the others join in.
This is how the day begins in the "Aajibaichi Shala", which means "house of the beloved grandmothers" in Marathi. The name is written in elaborately curved letters on the wall of this unique school.
The minimum age for school enrollment is 60
27 women learn reading, writing and arithmetic here. Many of them don't know their real age, but think they look 65. In any case, they are very much in agreement that none of them is less than 60 years old: 60 is the minimum age required to start school.
Phangane is located around 100 kilometers north of Mumbai in the state of Maharashtra. Mumbai's smog even reaches here. A gray sky hangs over the landscape, the few trees have shed their leaves. The only boon of the drought: there are no mosquitos.
The life of the 70 families of Phangane is arduous. The sun baked the earth rock hard for months. They can only grow rice, beans, peanuts and lentils in the monsoon season, around four months a year. Most of the time, they rely on the government's emergency rations, which distribute wheat, sugar and oil to millions of needy families across the country every month.
The old learn from the young
Mandalas, pictures made of color pigments, decorate the floor in front of the front doors, which are always open. A stroll through the village offers unusual insights: at noon, when the children are back from primary school, the old women sit on the floor with their grandchildren. Together they bend over exercise books. What is special: the old learn from and with the young.
Even the single Gangubhai Baduji Kedar doesn't have to study alone. The neighbors' children like to stop by her. "At first the children smiled at us," says the 65-year-old. "Now they are proud that we old women go to school." Her first name Gangubhai means "beautiful". Rings of copper spirals adorn her toes. Her face is marked with laugh lines and deep furrows. Her cracked heels show that her feet have covered hundreds of kilometers.
"My father threatened to chop off my feet if I go back to school"
"Even as children, we girls had to work in the fields," says Gangubhai. Her story is typical of many women in India: "Our father said he did not have enough money to send all the children to school. So only my two brothers left while my three sisters and I stayed at home and had to work. " But the girls were not only denied education for lack of money. Female descendants are still considered inferior in some families in India, and most parents want boys.
"Once I followed my brother to school. I just sat down in the classroom with so many schoolchildren that didn't stand out," says Gangubhai. "When I got home, my father yelled at me. He threatened that he would chop off my feet if I dare to go to school again." The threat worked. From then on, Gangubhai concentrated entirely on housework and field work. Like her sisters and many other Phangane women, she was married off as a teenager.
She did not enter a school until March 8, 2016, International Women's Day, on which the "Grandma School" of Phangane was inaugurated with a marching band and celebratory dinner. Behind the unique facility is a wealthy building contractor from Mumbai who has already donated over 30 elementary schools in the region. Its mission is to bring education to the villages.
And because the men of Phangane had attended school for at least a few years, the women agreed:
Now it's our turn!
Everyone was immediately enthusiastic about the idea, they wanted to catch up on what they had missed in their youth. But they also had to ensure that their work was redistributed, as their duties included carrying water in buckets from the river to the village and collecting firewood in the surrounding forests. The building contractor also helped, and with water pumps and a reforestation project, the quality of life in Phangane has improved and the women also have the time they need to study under the bamboo roof for two hours a day.
The project is based on the idea that it only takes a few people to effect change. This idea is deeply anchored in Indian cultural history. At the end of the 19th century, Swami Vivekananda, a Hindu monk, already formulated: "Give me 100 young believers and I will make India a great nation." Vivekananda equated belief with belief in one's own abilities. In the 21st century, not only young men, but also the old women of Phangane can pass this self-confidence on – and become a role model for the parents and children in the village: When they see how much the grandmothers love to learn, it can motivate everyone.
The school uniform is a taboo
It's time to put on the school uniform. The gold-embroidered pink-colored saris are a deliberate breaking of taboos, because widows like Gangubhai, whose husband died 20 years ago, traditionally wear white clothes – white is the color of mourning.
Once in class, Gangubhai sits in the back row, where she can whisper and joke better with her friends. The women fetch slates from their red satchels. The children who have accompanied their grandmas and greatomas intone in chorus: "A, B, C …", the old ones repeat.
Gangubhai's seat neighbor also came with her granddaughter. The girl patiently watches as her grandmother draws letter by letter on her board. When she pauses because she cannot write a word, the granddaughter takes over without further ado. The old woman happily reaches for the blackboard, answers and proudly shows the teacher her dictation.
The school has turned the hierarchies upside down
Shital Prakash More is not even half as old as her students, just 29 years. And she only has a simple education, comparable to a secondary school diploma. But Shital teaches the senior women as skillfully as if she had done nothing else in her life. She says that a quarter of all women in Maharashtra state are still unable to read or write. The rate is much lower for men, as around 90 percent have attended school.
Until a year ago Shital Prakash More was a housewife and stayed at home as the mother of two sons. But when the idea of founding a school for senior women in Phangane was born, she was enthusiastic about the idea of being able to pass on her knowledge.
Her mother-in-law is one of her students. "At first it was strange teaching women who are much older and more experienced," she says. "But they immediately accepted me as their teacher." Traditionally, the elderly are in charge of the village, but the school has turned the hierarchy upside down. It doesn't bother anyone. "My students are eager to learn, I never have to scold them," says Shital. She teaches calmly and slowly. Soon she wants to go back to school herself to catch up on a higher degree.
For the students, it is not about certificates or degrees
"Going to school at our age gives us back dignity," says Gangubhai. As an illiterate woman, she was often ashamed that she could only leave a thumbprint when her signature was needed. Now all of the students can spell their names themselves. Also the 90-year-old Sitabhai Bandu Dehsmuk, village elder, who is supported by her grandchildren.
One of the students recently died. "But not as illiterate," says Gangubhai. "I will probably never make a book myself," she says. "But I'll take a few written words with me into the next world."