by JAYRAM DAYA, GUEST AUTHOR

Those who are lazy and lethargic become slaves, while those who work hard create opportunities.

This code of moral upliftment was impressed upon me by my grandmother. I understood that dedicated work is the instrument to combat poverty, and thus my anticipated future seemed attainable. Stories shape history for people of all ages, leaving a lasting legacy that inspires future generations. I became a determined follower of this code, resolved to make a positive change.

A country’s story is told by legends. Granny was born in India, and so her thoughts were shaped into a coherent entity that represented Sanatan Dharma. I was taught that we did not have a religion, but had Sanatan Dharma, which promotes peaceful coexistence of all life on Earth.

My father worked as a greengrocer, and I was always asked to assist him in the store. During the summer, many of the tomatoes rotted and were discarded. I started collecting rotten tomatoes and bringing them home. Granny would remove the rot and collect all the tiny seeds. When they dried, she would carefully store them in a bottle. My first lesson was to begin planting seeds in the spring. Schoolwork was neglected, and my mind was absorbed in nature’s greatest experiment. Many seeds would already sprout by the middle of spring. My mother did not care much for them, but my father, an experienced businessman, suggested that we sell the seedlings at the greengrocer’s on a wet day.

I ventured out on the weekend to collect discarded milk cartons. They were cut up and the seedlings were transferred to them for easy merchandising. With good rains on the way, I walked to the shop after school and sold all my seedlings. Anyone could now make money from nothing by using their imagination, I thought. I was convinced from that day onward that having nothing is not an obstacle in life.

But this achievement also resulted in an unfortunate outcome. The money owed to me was never paid. The owner of the local food store took a portion of my money, claiming that the tomatoes were his and had not been paid for. Also, since I sold my seedlings on his property, he wanted a cut for his business. I was completely devastated.

Granny encouraged me to remember the lesson I had learned and the fact that money was not the ultimate goal. ‘Money is not everything in an achievement’, she wisely said.

The end of school year was quickly approaching, my fourth year of school turning out to be a disaster. My parents and brothers constantly hurled abuses at me. They mocked me for trying to make money and for failing, and labelled me ‘the family fool’. As retribution, I was made to spend the holidays working in the greengrocer’s store, so that the rest of the family could go and enjoy the holidays. As a result, failure left a traumatizing impression on my young mind.

During those holidays, my affluent girlfriend had little interest in learning more about me. Failure separated me from those I cared about. In the southern hemisphere, December is mid-summer. On Christmas eve, the store was packed, and I was tasked with standing outside and selling fresh, ripe peaches. I was at the shop with my father in the early morning, before sunrise. The stock was packed in bags and carried in for retail customers.

Customers began to walk in, and in no time I was surrounded by them. ‘Fresh sweet peaches! The cheapest in town! One shilling a bag!’, I kept repeating. Soon we were completely sold out. I kept collecting money until my pockets were over-stuffed. It was as if, while selling those lovely peaches, I was assaulted by money, money, and more money. Although I was too young to understand its full significance, the second lesson in making money was given to me through such buying and selling.

I was thrilled at the thought of selling the whole supply. My mother woke me up the following morning – reminding me of my granny’s childhood days of sleep, labour, and work. But I went back to sleep without opening my eyes. I can confidently say today that I never took a single penny for myself; in other words, I did not steal even a penny of the business’s money. With so much gruelling work and full-throated shouting, my young body could not cope, and I fell ill with a high fever.

Granny sat beside me, telling me more stories about her work and the resilience of the mind, body and soul within us. When my father arrived that night, Granny told him about my overwork and neglect. My father understood what had occurred. My workload was reduced, thanks to Granny’s urging. Father finally recognized my untapped potential.

My parents were illiterate, impoverished, misguided – and burdened by countless day-to-day issues. Much later, I became aware of a significant family disadvantage, and the fact that no family member’s aspirations can ever be fulfilled. Alongside my desire to be someone, money began to play an influential role in my life.

Education was very critical in our community and in our country because, until then, formal education had only been available to white-skinned invaders and Europeans. Many children were studying abroad and learning more about their culture. Our community elders advised my father, an uneducated man, to send my brother and me abroad, together with others who were also going.

Despite experiencing academic setbacks, I found myself enrolled in the same grade at Hansraj Morarji Public School in Bombay, a boarding school. I could not wait to get out of the house. Only on the day of my departure did I face the heart-breaking prospect of leaving behind my friends, family and parents. ‘How will my father pay for my education?’, I wondered many times during the long journey to Bombay.

While escaping life at home, I was eager to venture out and seek new experiences in the big wide world. The journey consisted of thirty days at sea. My adolescent mind resolved to work hard during this long journey. But I also started missing my parents. I was thinking about my mother’s affectionate nickname for me, Jacko. I also remembered my father’s words: ‘Son, reading stimulates the mind, and writing inspires one to become an author’.

On the ship’s deck, sitting on a vacant bench, I made up my mind to read. I had brought one large book with me, which I started to read, inspired by my father’s words. I read the book twice, but without understanding or comprehending a single word. ‘What’s the matter with me?’, my inner consciousness alerted me. ‘No wonder people call me dumb!’

Suddenly, an insight flashed through my mind: ‘Bingo! I have found my problem! If I cannot understand what I read, how will I ever write well?’

As time passed, I observed the sunrise, the rolling waves, and the shifting phases of the moon. I felt the strong, refreshing winds. The thought of money was put aside, and I began to evaluate myself as I reached for the stars.

A bleak memory of my schooling in South Africa haunted me – the memory of a consistent zero in History. Nevertheless, I now had another mentor, Leonardo da Vinci, in life’s renowned history class. I considered the ways in which he was regarded as a genius: Italian Renaissance polymath, painter, sculptor, architect, musician, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, geologist, cartographer, botanist and author. My childhood fantasies took me far into an imagined world where everything came together perfectly. In that world, becoming like Leonardo was easy, and I could forget the stigma of a consistent zero in History.

Every child’s dream is to live in a utopia, and I was a daydreamer. The only thing that came to mind was Leonardo’s famous painting Mona Lisa. For the first time, I realized that this ‘life history’ lesson was for students like me. Understanding the past can inspire us to be like the celebrated people we admire. I followed my inspiration, and aspired to be a painter and an engineer for fame rather than for fortune. I had developed an interest in history and was eager to learn more about it. Money faded from my view, and fame became more important to me. I aspired to be like Leonardo.

Growing children often experience confusion as a result of unbalanced family life. A fresh start would provide me with a second chance, I thought. That was the only opportunity I anticipated.

The following thought brings the story of my inspirational experience to a close:

Childhood is not a race to see how quickly a child can read, write and count. It is a small window of time to learn and develop at the pace that is right for each child. Earlier is not better. – Magda Gerber.

[Concluded]

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