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Learning in encounter: Crossroads, connections, collaborations

I was a third grader in the mid-1960s. As had always been the case, we were spending the summer vacation atmy grandparents’ village.My grandmother’s house, our family house, and my school. These three made upmy entire world. Yet it was my grandmother’s house that was themost distinctive among all three because there were fewer rules to obey andmore fun. But somehow that summer, there was something weird going on in the house. My grandmother was actingweird.Not being her true self—thewoman Iwas used to seeing in her own calm and peaceful manner—she was rushing around all day. She was not the only person acting weird. The way my aunt acted added the final touches to that bizarre atmosphere in the house. She did not cry, nor did she smile. She was not playing games with us like she always used to. It did not takemy grandfather too long to clear the air. My aunt was to get married in a few days. To put it more correctly, my grandfather decided to marry her off to his old friend’s son. My grandfather justified his decision by telling us how wealthy that family was and that my aunt would lead a comfortable life with that man. At the same time, we learned that he had ordered a “hope chest” for my aunt that was soon to be delivered to my grandparents’ house. Onemorning when I woke up, the hope chest was standing right in themiddle of the living room. It was huge. Its lidwaswide open andmy auntwas trying to lay a colorful flowered cover in it. She turned her head to my mother, who was standing right next to hear and asked, “Do you think he is someone with a good sense of humor?” “I hope so” was my mother’s reply. In just a few days, the chest was packed with tons of stuff. It was tied to the door at the very first hours of the day whenmy aunt was to leave the house for her marriage. My aunt was ready in her wedding dress at the door to be picked up by a woman who was said to be the elder sister of the groom. The two left the house arm in arm and we followed them. At that moment, a hand grabbed my arm. It was my grandmother’s and she passed me a torch and turned it on. “Hold this tight and walk in front of your aunt sweetheart,” she told me. On a