Mary Aunty and the MBA Batch

Mary Aunty And The MBA Batch

It was the first day of the new MBA batch.

The campus was alive with fresh faces, nervous smiles, and quiet excitement.
Students gathered in small groups, some talking eagerly, others standing alone, unsure of where to begin.

The college stood gently amid the green highlands of Kottayam.
Tall rubber trees surrounded the buildings.
Mist drifted slowly between the hills in the early morning.
The air smelled of wet earth, coffee flowers, and rain.
Run by a Christian management, the institution was known for its discipline, simplicity, and open heart.

During the orientation program, the coordinator gave the students a small task.
“Talk to someone you don’t know,” he said.
“Make a new friend today.”

A young student named Akhil Varghese stood up and looked around the hall.

Just then, a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

He turned around and saw a woman in her early sixties.
Her hair was neatly tied back.
She wore a simple cotton saree.
Her eyes were bright, and her smile was warm.

She said softly,
“Hello, my son. My name is Marykutty Thomas. May I hug you?”

Akhil laughed, surprised but happy.
“Of course, aunty,” he said.

She hugged him tightly, like a mother who had known him for years.

Akhil asked playfully,
“Aunty, why are you in an MBA college at such a young and innocent age?”

She laughed loudly.
“I came here to find a rich husband,” she said.
“Then I’ll get married again and have a couple of kids!”

Both of them laughed, and the ice broke instantly.

After a moment, Akhil asked gently,
“But seriously, aunty… what made you come back to college now?”

Marykutty smiled and began her story.

“My husband worked for the Government of India,” she said.
“We lived many years in the North East, Assam, Nagaland, and Arunachal.
After his retirement, we wanted peace.
So we came back to Kerala and settled in these hills of Kottayam.”

She paused and looked out through the window at the trees.

“I spent my life raising children, managing transfers, and building a home wherever we went.
I was happy.
But deep inside, I always carried one small dream – a college education.”

She looked at Akhil and said softly,
“Now my children are settled. My husband is relaxed.
So I told myself – if not now, when?”

From that day on, Akhil and Marykutty became close friends.

After class, they often walked together to the small campus canteen.
They shared tea, banana fritters, and sometimes chocolate milkshakes.
They talked about marketing, life, people, and mistakes.
Marykutty shared stories from the North East.
Akhil shared dreams about his future.

For one full year, they walked out of class together every day.
And yes – both of them did very well in their studies.

Soon, Marykutty became a campus favourite.
Students called her Mary aunty.
Faculty respected her discipline.
She dressed neatly, smiled easily, and listened deeply.

At the end of the course, the management invited her to speak at the convocation.

She walked to the stage holding a few papers.
As she began, the papers slipped from her hand and fell on the floor.

She looked at the microphone and said, smiling,
“I’m sorry… I’m a little nervous.
I gave up tea for my classmates, and now this stage fright is killing me.
So let me speak from my heart.”

The audience laughed.

She cleared her throat and said:

“We don’t grow old because of age.
We grow old because we stop playing, dreaming, and learning.”

She raised one finger.

“First,” she said,
“Laugh every day. Life is too short to be serious all the time.”

“Second,”
“Always have a dream. When dreams die, people only exist – they don’t live.”

“Third,”
“Anyone can grow older. That needs no talent.
But growing up – that is a choice.”

She paused.

“I am in my sixties.
If I sleep for a year, I will still grow older.
But will I grow wiser, braver, kinder?
That depends on my choices.”

“Fourth,” she said softly,
“Live without regrets.
In old age, people don’t regret what they did.
They regret what they never tried.”

At the end, she sang a few lines of an old song she loved.
The hall fell silent.
Many eyes were wet.

Marykutty completed her MBA with distinction.
She returned to her small home in the hills – happier, lighter, fulfilled.

And even today, in that college among the green high ranges of Kottayam,
students still talk about her.

Because she taught them one simple truth:

Growing old is natural.
Growing up is a decision.

Some lessons are not taught from textbooks or slides.
They walk into our lives quietly, smile at us,
and leave behind a courage we did not know we had