WHAT MY VILLAGE TAUGHT ME THE BOOKS COULDN'T

 

What My Village Taught Me That Books Couldn’t

A Childhood Journey from Kharaun Village, Almora, Kumaon, Uttarakhand

There are lessons we learn from books, classrooms and teachers. They give us knowledge, information and an understanding of the world. But there are some lessons that cannot be found in any textbook. They are learned through experience, hardship, nature, family, friendship, culture and everyday life.

For me, many of those lessons came from my village Kharaun, situated in Patti Malla Syunra, Block Takula, Tahsil and District Almora, Kumaon, Uttarakhand.

My village is about 26 kilometres from the district headquarters of Almora and approximately 130 kilometres from Haldwani Railway Station. Today, distances can be covered much more easily, but during my childhood, the journey of life in the hills was measured not only in kilometres but also in hard work, patience and determination.

Looking back, I realise that Kharaun was my first school. Its fields were my playground, its forests were my companions, its streams were my swimming teachers, its festivals were my cultural classroom, and its people taught me cooperation, responsibility and self-reliance.

Childhood in the Fields

My childhood was closely connected with the agricultural fields and the natural surroundings of the village.

There were fields where we played, but these were not playgrounds in the modern sense. They were agricultural fields, and agriculture always came first.

Some fields were left unused for several months after cultivation so that the land could recover and be ready for a good crop in the next season. We children understood this cycle without anyone giving us a formal lesson about soil conservation.

Our main entertainment included watching and playing football.

Sometimes, when a football was kicked and it fell into one of the fields, we had to run down the slopes to retrieve it. We would collect the ball and hand it over to our senior brothers. In the evening, when we became older, we ourselves became members of the team.

The same spirit developed through volleyball. At first, we watched the senior boys playing. Gradually, we learned the game and became part of the team.

The village taught me that participation comes before leadership. First we watched, then we learned, and finally we became responsible members of the team.

The River Was My Swimming Teacher

Another unforgettable part of my childhood was the small river or rivulet near the village.

After returning from school in the morning, we would sometimes go towards the water to bathe or swim. I learned swimming at about six years of age, not in a swimming pool and not under the guidance of a professional instructor.

I learned it through self-effort, observation and encouragement from seniors and children of my own age.

There was a certain fear in the beginning. Water teaches you to respect nature. But gradually, confidence developed.

Sometimes we also watched grown-up villagers catching fish using their own traditional methods and carefully planned techniques.

These experiences taught me something important: knowledge does not always come from a classroom. Observation is also a teacher.

The river taught me courage. It taught me balance. It taught me that fear can gradually disappear when we face it patiently.

Walking to School Through the Forest

Education itself was a challenge in those days.

Initially, there was no primary school in our village. We had to walk about four kilometres to reach the school in another village.

The journey took us through forests and difficult hill paths. We usually went with senior boys.

Sometimes the older students were late for school. When they realised that we could not keep pace with them, they would leave us on the way with our small group of three or four children of the same age.

We had to continue the journey ourselves.

Sometimes, carrying our heavy wooden slates, we reached school only around the time of the interval.

Today, such a journey may sound difficult for a young child. At that time, however, it was simply part of our daily life.

We did not have school buses, cars or convenient roads.

We had our feet, our friends and our determination.

When the Primary School Finally Came to Our Village

After about a year, something wonderful happened.

A primary school was opened in our own village.

The same class was shifted to the new village school, and suddenly the long daily journey became shorter.

For us children, it was more than just the opening of a school. It was the arrival of a new opportunity.

Looking back today, I understand how important education was for our village. A school did not merely provide lessons from books. It opened the door to a wider world.

It also taught us that change is possible when communities value education.

A Village Without Roads or Electricity

My childhood belonged to a very different Uttarakhand.

During the 1960s and 1970s, our village had neither proper roads nor electricity.

There were no modern conveniences that children take for granted today.

Even drinking water required time and patience.

We depended on a natural flowing water source, locally known as a dhara. People would wait for their turn, often with several vessels. The water had to be collected and carried home.

Eventually, family members managed the responsibility of bringing water to the house.

This daily experience taught us the value of something that many people today receive simply by turning on a tap:

Water is precious.

It also taught us patience, cooperation and respect for natural resources.

Responsibility Began at a Young Age

Village life also meant responsibility towards animals and agriculture.

Early in the morning, cattle had to be taken out for grazing, often towards the forest or riverbank.

In the evening, someone had to go and bring them home safely.

There was an unwritten rule that we should not allow our animals to damage somebody else's crops.

This may seem like a small matter, but it was an important lesson in community living.

Freedom comes with responsibility.

We had to look after our own animals while respecting the livelihood of our neighbours.

No textbook was required to teach us this principle. Village life itself taught it every day.

Education Continued Despite the Distance

When we progressed beyond primary education, the journey became difficult again.

The Junior High School was about three kilometres away.

Later, attending senior secondary school meant walking approximately seven kilometres each way.

Every day, we walked to school and returned home in the evening.

For Classes 9 to 12, this became part of our routine.

There were no buses waiting outside our homes. There were no cars to take us to school. There was simply the road—or rather, the hill path—and our determination to continue studying.

Those daily walks taught me that education demands effort.

They also taught me not to complain about every difficulty.

When a goal is important, distance becomes something to overcome rather than an excuse to stop.

Harvest Time Meant Helping the Family

Education did not mean that family responsibilities disappeared.

When crops ripened, everyone had to contribute.

We helped our family by bringing harvested crops home from distant terrace fields.

The fields were often far from the house, and carrying agricultural produce on the hill slopes required physical effort.

Children learned naturally that family life was based on cooperation.

There was no concept of saying, “This is not my work.”

The work belonged to the family, and therefore everyone helped according to their ability.

That experience taught me the value of dignity of labour.

The Holi Festival: A Celebration of Community and Expression

Among the most colourful memories of my childhood is the celebration of Holi in our village.

Holi was not merely a festival of one day. In our childhood, the celebrations could continue for about a week, bringing people together in a spirit of joy, music and fellowship.

It was a special time because many people who had migrated elsewhere for employment—whom we referred to as Prakash or migrants who were away from home—would return on leave. Their arrival made the village lively. Families reunited, old friends met, and the whole community seemed to become one large gathering.

Holi Songs and Traditional Culture

Holi had a strong musical and cultural character.

The songs traditionally included themes associated with Lord Krishna and Radha, as well as Ram and Sita, Shiva and Parvati. In later periods, the repertoire also included romantic lyrics, humorous compositions and satire presented in a musical form.

These songs were not simply entertainment. They gave people an opportunity to express themselves.

People sang openly, danced together and enjoyed the company of the entire group.

Children watched the elders and gradually learned the songs and traditions. Young people participated with enthusiasm, while older members of the community provided the experience and cultural continuity.

For many of us children, Holi provided an early platform for music, singing, dancing and personality development.

You learned to stand before others.

You learned to sing.

You learned to participate without hesitation.

You learned to appreciate another person's performance.

And, perhaps most importantly, you learned that joy becomes greater when it is shared.

Holi Taught Us to Express Ourselves

Looking back, I feel that these gatherings gave children and young people an opportunity that modern life does not always provide in the same way.

There was no stage with sophisticated lighting or sound equipment.

The village itself was the stage.

The group was the audience.

The songs were the medium.

And participation was the reward.

A shy child could gradually gain confidence. A young person could discover an interest in music or performance. An elder could pass traditional songs and stories to the next generation.

In this way, Holi was also an informal school of culture and personality development.

Shramdan and the Spirit of Selfless Service

Another great lesson my village gave me was the value of Shramdan—voluntary contribution of physical labour for the benefit of the community.

During my childhood, community work was a normal part of village life.

There were marriages, festivals, parties, religious ceremonies and other social functions. Managing these events required a great deal of physical work.

There were generally no hired labourers to perform every task.

Instead, families contributed their labour freely.

People worked for days, sometimes for weeks, to prepare for a function.

One family would help another. Neighbours would come forward. Young people worked alongside elders. Men, women and children contributed according to their abilities.

The aim was not payment.

The aim was to ensure that the community function was completed successfully.

Service Without Expecting Payment

This was one of the most powerful lessons of village society.

When a marriage took place, people did not ask, “How much will I be paid?”

When a neighbour needed help, people did not first calculate the cost.

When a social or religious function required work, people simply participated.

The reward was the satisfaction of having helped someone and having contributed to the success of the community.

This taught us cooperative duty, responsibility and selfless service.

It also developed our personalities.

A person who had never managed a large responsibility could learn by participating in a village function.

One person might organise food.

Another might arrange water.

Someone else might help with guests.

Others would prepare the place, carry materials, cook, clean and manage numerous small tasks.

Everyone had a role.

Every Family Had a Responsibility

In those days, village society functioned through cooperation.

Every task was undertaken by individuals and groups freely and sincerely.

People knew that tomorrow they might need the same support from others.

Therefore, helping a neighbour was not considered a burden. It was part of community life.

This system created a strong sense of belonging.

We were poor in material resources, but many people were rich in feelings.

People cared about their neighbours.

They helped those who were in difficulty.

The poor were not simply ignored.

Social occasions brought people together, and there was a strong feeling that everyone belonged to the same community.

Poor in Money, Rich in Feelings

When I remember that period—the late 1950s and the decades that followed—I remember a society with very limited material resources.

There were no modern roads, electricity was absent, educational facilities were limited, and money was scarce.

Yet people had time for one another.

They shared labour.

They shared happiness.

They helped during difficult times.

They respected their neighbours.

They participated in one another's ceremonies.

In simple words, people may have had less money, but they often had more time for human relationships.

I do not want to suggest that the old village life was perfect. It had its own hardships and limitations. But the spirit of cooperation and mutual help remains one of the most valuable memories of my childhood.

A Changing Village and a Changing Society

The village I remember from my childhood does not exist in exactly the same form today.

The changes have been enormous.

The expansion of education, employment opportunities, business, roads, communication, income and modern lifestyles has transformed village society.

Better road connectivity has made travel easier.

Education has opened opportunities far beyond the village.

Jobs and business have changed aspirations.

Money has become an increasingly important part of everyday life.

Migration has also changed the demographic and social structure of many hill villages.

People now travel to towns and cities for education, employment and business. Many families have members living far away, sometimes in other states or even abroad.

These developments have brought many benefits.

But they have also changed the pattern of community life.

From Collective Life to More Individual Lives

Earlier, many activities were organised collectively.

Today, many tasks can be completed simply by hiring someone and paying for the service.

This is convenient and often necessary in modern life.

But something has also changed in our relationships.

The old pattern of self-help and voluntary labour has reduced in many places.

The society that once depended heavily on cooperation has increasingly become more money-centred and individual-centred.

Migration has accelerated this change.

People may still love their native villages deeply, but their daily lives are often centred around towns, cities, jobs and businesses.

This is not necessarily a story of simply “good old days versus bad modern days.” Every generation faces different circumstances.

Rather, it is a reminder that while progress changes our lifestyle, we should not forget the human values that made community life meaningful.

What the Village Taught Me That Books Could Not

When I think about my childhood today, I realise that my village taught me many things that books alone could never have taught me.

1. Self-Reliance

We learned to do things ourselves because there was often nobody else to do them for us.

2. Patience

Waiting at the dhara, walking long distances and waiting for crops to mature taught us patience.

3. Teamwork

Football, volleyball, agriculture, Holi celebrations and community functions all taught us to work together.

4. Respect for Nature

Forests, rivers, fields, cattle and mountains were not simply scenery. They were part of our lives.

5. Courage

Swimming, walking through forests and travelling long distances to school gradually developed confidence.

6. Dignity of Labour

Carrying crops, collecting water, grazing cattle and helping in community functions taught us that no honest work is small.

7. Selfless Service

Shramdan taught us to contribute without immediately asking what we would receive in return.

8. Cultural Expression

Holi taught us that music, singing, dancing, humour and traditional songs can bring generations together.

9. Community Responsibility

We learned that a village becomes stronger when people care about their neighbours.

10. Human Relationships

Perhaps the greatest lesson was that people need people.

A community is not built only with houses and roads. It is built with trust, cooperation, affection and mutual help.

Books Gave Me Knowledge; My Village Gave Me Experience

I am grateful for what books have taught me. Education expanded my understanding of the world and helped me move forward in life.

But my village gave me something equally valuable: experience.

Books can tell us about courage, but the mountain path teaches us to practise it.

Books can explain teamwork, but a football or volleyball team makes us experience it.

Books can discuss nature, but a river, forest and agricultural field make us live with nature.

Books can describe hard work, but carrying crops home from a distant terrace field makes us understand it physically and emotionally.

Books can tell us about community service, but Shramdan makes us experience the satisfaction of helping others.

Books can describe culture, but singing Holi songs together makes culture a living experience.

My Village Was My First University

Today, when I look back at my childhood in Kharaun, I do not see only a remote hill village with limited facilities.

I see my first university.

Its classrooms had no modern furniture.

Its laboratories were the forests, fields and rivers.

Its teachers were parents, elders, senior brothers, farmers and ordinary villagers.

Its cultural lessons were learned through Holi songs and village gatherings.

Its practical lessons were learned through agriculture, cattle, water collection, walking and community work.

Its lessons were not always written on paper.

They were written in our daily experiences.

The village taught me that life is not always comfortable, but difficulties can make us stronger. It taught me that education is important, but practical experience gives education meaning.

Lessons for the New Generation

The world has changed enormously since my childhood.

Today's children have access to technology, better roads, electricity, schools, universities and information from around the world.

These are valuable achievements and should be welcomed.

But I believe that some of the old lessons are still relevant.

Young people can learn from village life the importance of:

• Self-reliance
• Patience
• Hard work
• Respect for nature
• Teamwork
• Family responsibility
• Community cooperation
• Physical activity
• Respect for elders
• Dignity of labour
• Selfless service
• Cultural traditions
• Helping neighbours
• Careful use of natural resources

Modern life can provide comfort, but character is still built through experience.

Looking Back With Gratitude

Whenever I remember Kharaun, I remember the fields, forests, flowing water, long walks to school, football and volleyball games, cattle, harvest, Holi songs, village gatherings and the people who shared our simple life.

I remember a time when people were materially poor but often rich in feelings of cooperation and affection.

At that time, we did not realise that these ordinary experiences were teaching us extraordinary lessons.

We were simply living our childhood.

Only later did I understand what those experiences had given me.

My village taught me to walk before I learned to run.
It taught me to work before I learned to succeed.
It taught me to cooperate before I understood leadership.
It taught me to serve before I understood the meaning of selfless service.
It taught me to express myself through songs and gatherings.
It taught me to respect nature before I knew the word “environment.”
And it taught me to value education because reaching school itself was an achievement.

Perhaps that is why I believe that education does not begin and end with books.

Sometimes, the greatest lessons are waiting outside the classroom—in a village, on a mountain path, beside a river, in a field, during a festival, while helping a neighbour or within a family.

Conclusion: My Village Was My First Teacher

Kharaun was not simply the place where I spent my childhood. It was the place that shaped me.

The village gave me experiences that no textbook could fully describe. It taught me self-reliance, discipline, courage, cooperation, respect for nature, cultural expression, selfless service and the dignity of hard work.

The village of my childhood has changed. Roads, education, employment, migration, money, technology and modern lifestyles have transformed the way people live.

But I hope that the spirit of cooperation, love for neighbours, respect for elders, willingness to serve and concern for the less fortunate will never disappear completely.

As I look back today, I realise that my village was my first teacher and my childhood was my first classroom.

And perhaps the most valuable lesson it taught me was this:

Life itself is a great teacher, if we are willing to observe, participate and learn.

That is what my village taught me that books couldn't.