Moment: Saturday, July 17th at 4:23 PM
"Guess what your daughter is bringing you from India? A TILE."
Teachers Day was less than a week ago in India and today is Grandparents Day, so it felt like a good week to share a post in honor of my grandfather, Raja Rao Konatham, who was an English teacher in his native village of Panguluru. This is the village where my dad and his siblings all grew up, and if anyone has a “back in my day” story that will make you feel eternally grateful for light switches and running water, it’s them.
My grandpa, who we call “Thatha” in Telugu, now lives in the nearby city of Ongole with my uncle’s family. He took me on a tour of his village when I was in India this past summer, and I had the opportunity to walk with him down memory lane, both physically and metaphorically speaking. Thatha is one of seven siblings, which means a lot of aunts and uncles and cousins, so my uncle drew out a family tree and referenced it at each home so I could see where each of them fit into the larger tree of our family.
We stopped at Thatha’s younger brother’s house, and I got to (try to) learn how to make vadas – they are supposed to be shaped like donuts, but even after my fifth attempt, my best one turned out looking like an amputated starfish. We then headed to the home where my dad grew up, and I was hoping to take back some relics of my dad’s childhood, but there were none to be found. Instead of leaving completely empty-handed, I decided to take back…a tile. This is now a running joke in my whole family, but I would just like to say that I did my best lol.
After our day trip in Panguluru, my Thatha excused himself to go to his room and came back with a big smile on his face and a thin handmade notebook in his hand. “Ammayi,” as he affectionately calls all his granddaughters, “do you remember this?” He handed me this notebook, which he had stitched together with needle and thread, using a glossy cardstock mailer as the cover. This skill of bookbinding was one that he passed on to me when I was a child, and it was my start in all things DIY.
Thatha had come to visit us in the United States in 2005, and he made this notebook to record all of the memories we made. I looked at the cover and saw my six-year-old face looking back at me – it was a name badge that my church printed out for us in Sunday School every week with our name, photo, and classroom on it. I flipped to the table of contents and saw that there were entries dedicated to my family members, currency, stops on our cross-country road trip, churches, cars, and even a page of jokes by yours truly.
As I read through page after page, we reminisced over those few months that my Thatha got to spend in the US with us. Growing up, I only got to see my grandparents once every few years in India, so it was always special to have them visit us. It was truly touching to see that my Thatha treasured that time as much as I did and chose to document it to look back on even 17 years later. At 88 years old, he won’t be able to ever travel back to the US, but I’m glad we were able to look back fondly on some of those moments when he was in America.
As we looked through Thatha’s America journal, I realized that my love for penmanship, writing, and journaling was instilled in me by my Thatha, and I couldn’t wait to show him how I use those skills that he taught me. I ran upstairs, grabbed my bullet journal, and handed it to him to look through – the look of joy as he turned page after page for the next half-hour was incomparable. There aren’t many things that I get to connect with my Thatha about, since we come from two very different cultures and generations, but it was sweet to know that we share this hobby that is so meaningful to both of us.
My Thatha is known as the storyteller of our family, which is very on-brand for an English teacher. He knows every detail of our family history and takes every opportunity to share these stories of our ancestry with us, so we never forget where we came from and how far we have come. Fortunately for us, he has also been really good about documenting these stories as well, and I hope to keep this tradition going so that these stories will be told for generations to come.
My Thatha was an English teacher and my Nanamma (paternal grandmother) was the headmistress of the school in their village, and they made education accessible to everyone in their community. They opened their home to provide tutoring for students and encouraged children to pursue higher education to elevate their social status and career trajectories. In that small village that we walked through, they raised four children to become one doctor and three engineers whose families are now on three different continents. Studying to become a medical doctor in the United States as the granddaughter of a village English teacher with a high school education brings new meaning to the saying, “You are your ancestors’ wildest dreams.”
