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Barrier

(First published in hākārā, a bilingual online magazine for creative expression, on 22/12/2024)

https://hakara.in/barrier-original-telugu-story-beena-devi-english-translation-jyoti-kiran-pisipati

Original Telugu Story: Beena Devi
English Translation: Jyoti Kiran Pisipati

Nobody saw Chalapati Rao so angry and restless before. He was generally known to sport a perpetual smile on his face. At times his smile was like that of an innocent child; at other times condescending and overbearing…but a smile nevertheless. He was also known for his humility among his peers, patience with employees and modesty in public. He was not someone who worried about an impending cyclone or an election outcome. Income tax officials or even Lord Indra himself could never arouse any dread in him. When he drove through the city in his car, even animals moved out of the way respectfully. Sparrows which fluttered about the cobwebs sat still and listened to his conversation when he presided over a panchayat meeting. And he seldom worried about his life.

But today Chalapati Rao was a picture of restlessness; a worry that bordered on irritation and anger.

*

Chalapati Rao came from humble beginnings. His father, Simhachalam sold lime soda outside cinema theatres. Like all other vendors there, when the show was in progress, Simhachalam would sit on the threshold of the hall and watch movies every day. He was fascinated that the poor potters, farmers, cooks, daily wagers on the silver screen worked very hard and made their children rich, educated and successful! He wondered how poor fathers in the movies made their sons collectors and police officers. It seemed like a very good idea to Simhachalam. He was convinced that he could make reel life into reality. So, he worked hard, dreaming that one day he would make his son an accomplished man. He didn’t want Chalapati to become a street vendor.

But Chalapati’s plans were far from his father’s dreams. School was not his favourite place. He completed Std 5 with difficulty and much to Simhachalam’s disappointment, decided to quit school forever. He followed his father’s footsteps and started selling lime soda. Not that he liked selling lime soda; he simply didn’t know what else to do. After a few years, life took a turn and Simhachalam left for the heavenly abode and Chalapati found no other livelihood but to continue selling soda for a few more years. But he was not satisfied with the money he earned. So to make ends meet, he worked as a daily wager in a factory. During his free time, he also sold lottery tickets.

Life taught him bitter lessons. He decided that money ruled the world; that education neither fetched a decent livelihood nor status and fame in  society. That education gave you employment, but if you had money, you could ‘buy’ whatever job you wanted for yourself. With such quick conclusions, he erased the guilt of not completing his basic education.

Since then, there was no looking back. A daily wager may not become a collector, but he could definitely become a trade union leader. And he became exactly that. With his newly acquired position, he managed to build a house, bought a few trucks for his business, became the ward member and climbed the ladder quickly. He married his childhood friend Venkata Lakshmi, and as years rolled by, he became the President of his panchayat. Now he was addressed and revered by people as  ‘Nobleman Chalapati’.

If his life could be compared to a game of snakes and ladders, he was fortunate to have just climbed the ladders but never been devoured by a snake. Such was the success that he tasted all his adult life…and so he thought there was no looking back.

Fate had other plans though. Years rolled by but Chalapati Rao and his wife did not conceive a child. They prayed, implored and pleaded with all the Gods that they could think of, but to no avail. They poured milk in every snake nest that they came across, walked up the seven hills to appease Lord Balaji of Tirupati, went on a pilgrimage to Mantrālayam and Mangalagiri, offered a pearl nose-pin to Goddess Sita in Bhadrachalam, presented a diamond armlet to Goddess Lakshmi in Visākhapatnam. But neither the Gods nor the Goddesses bestowed them with a child.

When they were on the verge of losing hope, their wishes were finally fulfilled by a wandering mendicant. This ascetic was highly revered for his spirituality and divine gifts; he had a radiance about him that was at once reassuring and calming. He was known to have mastered many world languages and believed to have cured untreatable illnesses with holy ash.

Now it was a custom of the town that any passing mendicant, a movie celebrity or a politician, should stay in Chalapati Rao’s house. The wife and husband thought it was their good fortune that this holy man should visit their house at such a sombre phase of their life. They invited the mendicant to their abode with wholehearted reverence. Venkata Lakshmi served the holy man with utmost devotion – a service that surpassed that of Subhadra’s towards Lord Krishna. If Subhadra pleaded for Lord Krishna’s hand in marriage, Venkata Lakhsmi implored this holy man for a son.

And the virtuous saint could not deny her request.

Two months after the holy man left their house and the town, Venkata Lakshmi became pregnant and soon delivered a son.

They named him Chiranjeevi Vara Prasad – an eternal divine gift.

Chalapati Rao’s happiness knew no bounds.

Vara Prasad grew up in that house with the best possible affection and luxury. His bath soaps and toiletries were imported from France; toys came from America. Anticipating his many future needs, Chalapati Rao ordered a luxury car for his son to go to school in; the best tennis racket came from England; the stroller for his evening walks was imported from Switzerland. Chalapati Rao appointed an Anglo-Indian nanny to expose his son to English right from his childhood.

Such was the care and comfort with which Chalapati Rao nurtured his beloved child.

                                                                       

*

Chalapati Rao paced up and down the drawing room. His wife Venkata Lakshmi stood there, watching him; the household staff forgot their duties and stood motionless. Nobody in the house had witnessed Vara Prasad cry this past year and half of his life. It was a miracle that when he was born, he did not wail like the other babies. When the doctor slapped his bottom to make him cry, the staff was taken aback that instead of his first cry, Vara Prasad smiled. This story was immortalised by the doctors and nurses who birthed him that day.

But what made him cry now!

The parents were beside themselves trying to pacify the wailing child. Attempts at offering him his favourite food were futile. His wails became louder by the minute.

“I have money, fame and an army of attendants ready to help! Yet, I am not able to help my child stop crying! What is this misfortune!”

Since his birth Vara Prasad has never been left on the ground. He was always made to play on the softest mattresses or the warmest laps of the parents and the household staff. But never on the cold, hard and inhospitable floor.

But today was not like every day. Despite Venkata Lakshmi’s efforts, Vara Prasad refused to stay in the clasp of his mother. He was adamant on climbing down to the floor. His mother looked helplessly towards her husband.

“Leave him down!” Chalapati Rao growled.

Freedom!

As his feet touched the ground for the first time in his life, Vara Prasad’s eager legs moved fast. His inept, immature feet made his walk unstable and wobbly. But there was a purpose and assertiveness in his walk; a sense of worth and freedom.

The entire household walked behind him with bated breath as he toddled towards the main door.

And then he stopped at the main entrance and gazed at something in the garden outside.

The household was dumbstruck at the spectacle in front of them. Chalapati Rao stood there furious. Paidamma, the domestic help, looked on helplessly.

Next to the gate, under the tree, oblivious to the attention that she had attracted from the onlookers, was a little girl bent over her toy, immersed in her world. A foot and a half tall, naked to the bone, covered in dirt, the girl was playing with a ragged doll as dirty as she was. Her face was smeared with drool and sweat and she kissed her doll fondly again and again.

She was Paidamma’s baby girl. Every day, Paidamma left her daughter to play under the shade of the tree, and picked her up again after she finished the household chores.

Incidentally, today was not like every day. 

To Chalapati Rao’s utter dismay, Vara Prasad resumed walking towards her with renewed enthusiasm. Horrified and embarrassed at the scene in front of him, he turned and walked quickly up the stairs, into his room.

His wife and staff stood there rooted, unsure whether they were expected to stay on or get back to their work.

Venkata Lakshmi broke the silence finally.

“Paidamma, take your girl home.” she ordered.

Before Paidamma responded to her mistresses’ orders, Vara Prasad continued walking towards the girl. As if she was expecting this, the girl turned and ambled towards him too, carrying her precious doll with her. The mothers just stood there motionless, watching their children advance towards each other.

The girl stopped in front of Vara Prasad, and with sparkling eyes and an unadulterated smile, gazed for a few seconds into his face.

After what seemed like ages, Vara Prasad stopped crying. His face broke into a radiant smile. An expression of pure joy, untainted and carefree.

She lent him her ragged doll and picking up his hand, she led him to her corner under the tree to continue her play time.

An original Telugu-English translation of the short story “Sarihaddu” first published in “Swati” monthly magazine on 1/5/1981 by BeenaDevi

Beena Devi:

Bhagavathula Tripura Sundaramma (1935) and Bhagavatula Narasingarao (1924) started writing together under the pen name BeenaDevi in the year 1965. Recipients of the prestigious Telugu Sahitya Akademi Award in 1972, their poignant introspection of the lives of the marginalised, their unpretentious writing style, focus on unethical practices in the society, family dynamics, gender roles and social barriers, made their narratives realistic.  In 2011, MaNaSu Foundation, Bangalore, published BeenaDevi’s collection of short stories and essays under the title BeenaDevi Samagra Rachanalu.

Love has the power to dismantle patriarchy, exclusivity, structural inequality and oppression. ‘Barrier’ demonstrates this truth through the world of children. Their love knows no boundaries, cares for no hurdle. It thrives on unadulterated friendship.

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Life in Death

(A short story, first published in Kitaab on 4th February 2023)

https://kitaab.org/2023/02/04/short-story-life-in-death-by-jyoti-kiran-pisipati/

He bent over her face to dab a little more foundation. His fingers glided over her eyebrows, moving nimbly past her eyes down her left temple, adjusting the shade to the hue of her skin. He applied the powder over it, brushing away the extra dust. The formaldehyde has done its work, giving ‘life’ to her sallow face. A little bit of lip colour, and she is ready for the viewing in the afternoon. He stopped for a moment to assess his handiwork and contented, he let out a long sigh. Dressing the body requires patience and a lot of respect for the person in front of him. The body is not soulless but one which is in eternal sleep, ready to awaken in the nether world.

Anthony finally stood up and stretched his legs after two hours of solitary work. Whatever the accident has caused to her face could hardly be seen now. The skin on the side of her face turned dark almost instantly after the mishap. Cleo will be heartbroken to see her like this. He has to conceal the skin as well as he can.

Francisca Gracias E Branganza, her name read on the obituary that he put in O Heraldo that morning.

Anthony thought of his own mother; she would have been 90 if she was alive today. She died of TB when he was too young to remember her. Belonging to a banjāran community in Karnataka, Anthony’s fore-fathers were nomads, constantly on the move looking for greener pastures for their cattle. They adopted Roman Catholic Church when a father visited their village three generations back. He gave them a place to live, provided education and most importantly, gave them the dignity of life. The story was narrated to the children by the elders in the family and Anthony felt proud of his lineage. His family was hardworking and well-respected in their community. He dreamed of having his name in this world too one day and he came to Goa when he was just 10 years old, armed with ambition and big dreams. He helped a kashaukar Clemento Dias with digging graves and making coffins, learnt the art of embalming and as he grew older, even drove the hearse van. Treat the cadaver with respect and dignity, Clemento taught him. The day you stop feeling that, look for another job. Anthony’s perspective about life changed after this. Everyone dies one day – rich, poor, Brahmin, Christian, women, men, children, farmer, potter, executive, a minister – everyone. Life is just too precious to fight over petty things. And death is an equaliser. That’s his simple philosophy.

He looked at Francisca, once a beautiful belle of the village of Aldona, now a helpless body, a victim of fate. Anthony did not know her well but he knew the emotions of people. Francisca looked as dignified as she was when she was breathing. Anthony made sure she did. Cleo will be happy with his presentation for the family viewing.

Cleo came from Muscat last year to see his mother. He lost his job during the pandemic and struggled for a year before he found an opening in a biscuit factory. The pay was not much but enough for his basic needs and to send home to his mother. Francisca expected her son to take care of her during her last days. Though at 90 she was energetic and cooked for herself, she needed a companion. But she knew that Cleo needed his job in Muscat to pay off family debts that he could not manage staying in Goa. Guilty but helpless, Cleo convinced his mother to shift to an old-age home in Mapusa. Mrs Patricia Lola Barreto moved there too recently and you will have someone to talk to. You will probably make more friends of your age there. See, maybe you will not miss me after all. So saying, Cleo pushed away any traces of guilt and went back to Muscat. At least he would not feel worried that his mother was alone in that huge ancestral house in Aldona.

                                                                        ***

Francisca was not very fond of Patricia. She talked too much and asked too many questions about Cleo. Is he seeing someone in Muscat? Hasn’t he turned 40 this year? Doesn’t he want to get married and have children of his own? Money is not everything, family is important too. Francisca did not have answers to such probing questions. Even if she had, she was not keen on sharing them with this old hag! Why doesn’t she leave her alone and think about her daughter who has been eating off her mother’s property? She could have studied further and fetched herself a job rather than running behind young boys in the locality. The gall she has flirting with Pedro who is married and has children of his own! But Francisca was a quiet woman and ageing has turned in her favour, leaving her auditory senses to her discretion.

After her rosary every day Francisca walked in the garden. She missed her house in Aldona and the rose bush she prided over. Braganza House was an eyesore to her friends who did not have gardens like hers. What did Kashilkar say to her husband one day? If ever you want to sell your property, first let me know. Like they are ever going to leave the place and go anywhere else! This is Cleo’s property. No Kashilkar, Mashelkar, Gonsalves or Pereira is going to stay here. She missed Cleo, her son, but she also knew that it was not his fault that he was taken to foreign shores.

Francisca walked around the garden that day for some time, keeping to the concrete path among the trees. The warmth of the mid-morning sun made her sleepy. A brief nap before the lunch gong is what she required. She hobbled back into her dorm across the corridor, past Fiona’s bed. The maid who cleaned the dorm must have left the bucket of phenyl water in her path. Before she realised its presence, she tumbled the bucket over, slipped in the water and hit her temple against the corner of Fiona’s bed.

And she blacked out.

                                                                        ***

Anthony worked through the night to finish the coffin. Teakwood coffins are custom-made as very few could afford them. Cleo insisted on a teakwood coffin for the funeral. Reparation for his absence during his mother’s last days? Here, take this and get the best make-up kit that money can buy. Don’t skimp on money. The funeral has to be grand. Cleo was beside himself when he heard the reason for his mother’s death. A freak accident! If I were there next to her, she wouldn’t have met with such a fateful end. Death is in nobody’s hands, Uncle Joe consoled him today morning. You were a good son, taking the burden of the family debt. Think about getting married now and settling down. At least you will have companionship. You can name your daughter or son after your mother.

                                                                        ***

Anthony heaved a sigh of relief when Govind came on time. Anthony wanted help to take the coffin to Braganza House and then to the church for the funeral mass followed by burial. There was no time to waste. They carefully lifted the body to place her in the decorated coffin. She was a petite lady, so light to carry. Govind was a quick learner like Anthony was when he was a young lad. His lean muscular body is fit to lift heavy coffins and help with digging graves. When Govind came to him for work, Anthony didn’t keep anything secret. Seeing a lifeless cadaver is not everybody’s cup of tea. Govind was taken aback when he saw a body for the first time. But he soon learnt the skills of the trade and gelled seamlessly into the routine. Anthony was proud of his tutelage.

The hearse van was cleaned and readied for the funeral. Anthony asked Govind to drive the van while he quickly washed and dressed in formals for the funeral service. Formalities should be meticulously followed. Another lesson taught by Clemento.

The evening unfolded mechanically. Anthony stood next to the coffin, making sure that the funeral proceedings went by seamlessly. Cleo was happy that the mass was well-attended – after all, the family lived there for several generations. Appropriate words were spoken of his beloved mother, tears were shed, experiences shared, Cleo’s absence was debated, and Francisca’s fateful death was analysed one last time. And finally the burial.

As the last fistful of soil sealed the traces of Francisca Gracias E Branganza on this earth, Anthony ensured that he nestled Francisca in the womb of mother earth – her last resting place before she embarked on her eternal journey.

At sunset, the hearse van briefly stopped at Joseph Café, and then headed home.

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Skeletons in the Closet – Exploring Literary ‘Secrets’ in Select Indian Literature

(First published in Kitaab on 4th October 2022)

https://kitaab.org/2022/10/04/bookmarked-musings-skeletons-in-the-closet-by-jyoti-kiran-pisipati/

Every human story has an undisclosed, mysterious layer stashed away in its folds; its presence is central to the existence of humanity. Sometimes secrets are buried so deep that to fish them out needs a shrewd inner eye. Myriad reasons and complexities are associated with the act of secrecy – a writer’s nom de plume, a fake identity of a soldier or a witness in a high-profile case, a spouse in an extra-marital affair, family secrets, and religious/caste biases; there is no dearth for the diverse needs of maintaining confidentiality. Secrecy is as complex as the human mind. It is devoid of any spatial limitations. There are public and community-shared secrets; private and family-kept secrets.

While secrecy-as-privacy is generally appreciated and approved, secrecy-as-conspiracy is condemned and even feared.

A secret is defined as a piece of information that is known by only a small number of people, and is deliberately not told to others’. If the word ‘deliberate’ is used in the definition, does that mean it is conspiratorial?

Intra-textual and inter-textual devices like parodies, allusions, metaphors, personification, symbols and motifs, and idiomatic expressions are all covert forms employed by writers in their texts. A good reader enjoys unravelling these literary ‘secrets’, delving into the labyrinths and passages of the narrative, intentionally or unintentionally conceived by the writer and the joy of reading is in excavating these mines and interpreting the subtext.

In parallel, textual ‘secrets’ are vital to the organic sustenance of a narrative. They are often woven around family secrets, deep-rooted political ideologies and conspiracies, communities, personal lives, sex and sexuality, and personal loss and identity to name some. They run through the story threading the plot along with them, sometimes uncovering the underlying enigma or burying it deeper. But many a writer uses the multi-dimensionality of secrecy in different literal and metaphorical ways.  

POLITICS AND ‘GOOD GOVERNANCE’

Undisclosed names of political figures and geographical locations in Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance add an interesting and mysterious layer to his narrative. Set in the 1970s in the ‘City by the Sea’, the novel spans the social and political landscape of India from post-partition times, through the regime of one of the most popular political panjandrums of the 1970s, ‘the Prime Minister’ till her assassination. Mistry’s obsession with the Emergency of 1977 is too popular to ignore and he uses it as a template to highlight the effect of the political circuses on the common man. Conspiracies, government strategies, and manipulative plots in the name of good governance and public works weave around the lives of Mistry’s characters in A Fine Balance and Such a Long Journey, placing him amongst the increasing number of controversial writers of contemporary Indian fiction.

COMMUNITY SECRETS

Once a lazy and uninspiring young lad, Sampath Chawla, the protagonist of Kiran Desai’s Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard, becomes a seer overnight for casually reading through the letters which arrived from all over the world to the Shahkot post office. During his brief stint as a clerk in the post office, Sampath, out of pure boredom, one day opens the letters from places with strange names – ‘Bombalapetty, Pudukkottai…Koovappally, Piploo…’,  ‘envelopes filled with promise’  written by the townspeople to their family and friends across the globe. He reads about “family feuds, and love affairs, of marriages being arranged, babies being born, of people dying and ghosts returning” (34). The letters open up exotic lands with interesting people – ‘people who took bath only once a week and women who wore short dresses even when they are old” (34). Little does he expect that one day this benign act he is guilty of can prove to be a huge turning point in his life. Vexed with the monotony, one day, Sampath impulsively leaves the town and eventually makes the guava orchard, located on the threshold of the town, his home. Initially surprised and amused by this act, the townspeople flock around him waiting to see his next step But there sits Sampath all day, among the thick leaves and branches of the biggest guava tree in the orchard, and out pop the secrets of the people one by one. He asks Mr Singhji if his ‘jewellery still safely buried beneath the tulsi plant’, Mrs Chopra’s lump in her throat, the secret oil of the bald man in the crowd. The gullible residents of Shahkot are shocked to find out that he is in possession of all their secrets and soon Sampath is elevated to the position of a seer. Sampath’s lacklustre and mundane life transforms as he uses the personal yet harmless secrets of the people to his advantage. The detective on the other hand is also on a conspiratorial self-inflicted assignment as he discreetly follows Sampath and his family, trying to prove the real reason for Sampath’s stardom. He hides behind the bushes all day and makes a note of any secret ingredient Sampath’s mother Khushi may be adding to his meal, but his efforts turn futile. In Kiran Desai’s first novel, she orchestrates the curves and contours, the colours and shades of secrecy in her plot, embedding them strategically for the desired effect.

COMING OUT OF THE CLOSET

The invisibility of LGBTQA+ in mainstream literature is slowly changing, challenging the dynamics of heteronormativity. Conversations around gender politics now include LGBTQA+ and literature of and by queer writers is bringing in the visibility of the community. Hugely regarded as an ‘urban phenomenon’, works like Mohanaswamy by Kannada writer Vasudhendra have brought into light the fact that love has no geographical and societal limitations. In the words of Maya Angelou, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Personal identity and self-love are stronger than the challenges that come with divulging personal information. Mohanaswamy narrates the story of the protagonist with the same name, who asserts his sexuality in a gender-biased society. Deeply autobiographical, Vasudhendra, then an acclaimed Kannada writer, confesses that his coming out of the closet experience was relieving and challenging at the same time. The story initiates the dialectics of gay sexuality and social conflicts with stark revelations of the sexual tensions of the leading characters. Apprehensive about the public response to his sexuality, he published his initial works under the pseudonym Shanmukha. S. But his books were received with positive reactions and he observes “No matter what, Mohanaswamy unburdened me and gave me the wings. I would never trade that feeling with anything else,” (Hindusthan Times, July 1, 2017).

SHARED SECRETS AND ENSHROUDED ,PAST

A secret from the past entwines the lives of Jairaj and Ratna, renowned Bharatnatyam dancers and the lead characters in Mahesh Dattani’s play Dance Like a Man. Defying his father Amritlal’s s wishes, Jairaj chooses to become a dancer and along with his wife Ratna, pursues a passionate career. Several instances foreshadow the revelation of the secret from Ratna and Jairaj’s younger days. For instance, the relationship of the couple, though one that has seen the test of time, does not look fulfilling and happy. Their conversations are punctuated with their effort to keep their past a secret, which their daughter Lata is completely unaware of. Central to their relationship as husband and wife is their shared secret that has been buried under layers of guilt and ambition. When Lata’s career is on the threshold of taking off, their dormant displeasure erupts spilling out the tragedy that they both experience forty years back. Dance Like a Man is a play that exposes gender stereotypes and deep-rooted prejudices and weaknesses that can sometimes cripple relationships. Along with the shared secret of Jairaj and Ratna, the plot thickens when the reader is witness to the conversation between Ratna and Amritlal, when he asks her to stop Jairaj from dancing and ‘to help me make him an adult. Help me to help him grow up’ (51). Under the shadow of her misogynistic father-in-law, Ratna contrives and conspires a new path for her husband in which he would eventually be faded out of his career, thus staging and carving a successful career for herself.

 Shukumar and Shobha from Jhumpa Lahiri’s short story A Temporary Matter are civil to each other, with conversations restricted to work and managing the home. Ghosts of the past estrange the couple creating a chasm in their relationship. Their predicament of living life together ever since they experienced a tragedy together a few years back, finally seeps out, bringing their relationship to an abrupt halt. Their suppressed emotions make way when a chance power outage on four consecutive nights forces the husband and wife to have dinner together in the darkness. As they prepare to spend an hour every night in darkness, they decide to each tell the other one incident from their life that they have never spoken about to anybody. ‘Something happened when the house was dark’ and the ‘exchange of confessions – the little ways they’d hurt or disappointed each other’ momentarily brings them together and on the fourth night, they make passionate love. It seems for a few days as if the temporal void that they each settled into these past few years has brought them closer through these confessions. But the make-believe façade of their detached lives gives way and their marriage falls apart, as their last divulgence to each other brings about a finality to their marriage.

SECRETS – BOON AND BANE

Home is the most unassuming of places where secrets thrive. Restriction of personal freedom, fear of a family member, cultural prejudices, gender inequalities, skeletons in the closet, egos, and jealousies make domestic and familial spaces a cauldron of some very well-kept secrets. Clandestine relationships, surreptitious meetings, a teenager’s covert activities from prying eyes, family culinary recipes kept away from the public, squirrelling away small amounts of cash from the household expenses – all make compelling plots for great narratives.

Durga’s life turns around with one small personal victory that she wins against her oppressive husband in the short story ‘Electoral Empowerment’by Konkani writer Damodar Mauzo. Durga is the submissive wife of Ratnu and is dominated and bullied by her husband. “Do just as I tell you” is what is expected of her.

Despite being an educated girl, from the day she is married, Durga becomes an unpaid worker for Ratnu, going through the domestic drudgery of cleaning the house, cooking, and feeding the husband and his friends on time. She is ordered by Ratnu not to cook any of her favourite food which could even remotely remind her of her mother’s house.  Finally, Durga resigns herself to her fate and meekly decides not to oppose Ratnu’s orders anymore.

Until the day she has an opportunity for a small but sweet vengeance.

It was election time. Ratnu campaigns for Vassu, his cousin and was sure that the latter would win the elections. Despite the careful instructions of Ratnu,  on the day of the election, Durga chooses to do the unthinkable. She stamps every symbol except Vassu’s and “…smiling triumphantly, Durga turned homewards.” Durga’s triumph transcends the limitations set by a patriarchal society. Rather than submitting to the expectations of Ratnu, she uses that one power she has – the privacy of the ballot box.

PUBLIC SCRUTINY OF A PRIVATE LIFE

The most dangerous of all forms of secrecy, though, is the one that leaves behind a mutilated soul. When the roving, unpardoning public eye is curious to know a piece of sensitive personal information and it cannot be easily procured, it resorts to all forms of cruelty finally snatching it and leaving behind a wounded visceral soul.

Vijay Tendulkar’s play Silence! The Court is in Session centres around a group of amateur actors who come to the village to perform a play. A few hours before the show, some of the members, to pass the time, devise a mock trial and make Leela Benare, a young, unmarried female actor in the group, stand in the witness box. As the trial progresses, the intention of the male members of the group comes to light. They prod Miss Benare about her illicit affair with Professor Damle, her pregnancy and pleading with three men in her life to marry her to give legitimacy to the unborn child. What starts as a mock court proceeding, turns into scrutiny, a humiliating inquest into the personal life of Miss Benare. Neither is she given a chance to plead not guilty nor are the men, who could provide truthful testimony, are present at the trial, making Benare completely lonely and helpless. Judge Kashikar, in the absence of any witnesses to defend Benare, pronounces the verdict as guilty and orders for the abortion of the foetus as it is an illegitimate child of an adulteress. 

The word ‘Silence’’ in the title does not seem to attribute to the trial session in progress; rather it seems to impose on Leela Benare, whose identity and voice are permanently quietened. Though in the end, she forces herself to narrate her story, she is hardly heard and acknowledged by her colleagues as their ulterior motive of exposing her personal life has already been achieved. The play highlights the prejudicial treatment given to a woman when she is found in possession of a secret in her life.

Secrets are necessary ‘evils’ of our life; the stepsisters who we live with but seldom acknowledge and love. But love them or not, they are an integral part of every human story. Narratives provide a fertile landscape to experiment and explore these dark, mysterious crevices.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Calinescu, Matei. “Secrecy in Fiction: Textual and Intertextual Secrets in Hawthorne and Updike.” Poetics Today, vol. 15, no. 3, 1994, pp. 443–65. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/1773318. Accessed 28 Jun. 2022.

Dattani Mahesh. Dance Like a Man. Penguin Books India, 2006.

Desai Kiran.  Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard. Faber and Faber Ltd, 1998.

Kermode, Frank. “Secrets and Narrative Sequence.” Critical Inquiry, vol. 7, no. 1, 1980, pp. 83–101. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/1343177. Accessed 28 Jun. 2022.

Lahiri, Jhumpa.  Interpreter of Maladies. E-book ed., Fourth Estate/HarperCollinsPublishers, 2000.

Mauzo, Damodar. Teresa’s Man and Other Stories from Goa. (trans.) Xavier Cota. New Delhi: Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd, 2014.

Vasudhendra. Mohanaswamy. (trans.) Rashmi Terdal. Harper Perennial, 2016.

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The Great Indian Barrier

Did you ever look into the space between your screen and reality? It’s hollow, dark and deep. Pay close attention and you will be surprised to hear a myriad voices from within. Listen to the chatter, in case you have not heard them loud and clear.

“I don’t hear anything the teacher is saying Mamma,” cries 11 year-old Anushka.

“Switch on and switch off the phone. The phone will be faster then.” Teacher to Shruti, a law student from a far flung Goan village.

“Ma’am, can you use your earphones? We can’t hear your voice properly”, students to the English teacher.

“Miss, I cannot put on the camera. My screen freezes every time I do,” Aditi to her class teacher Urvi.

“My eyes water when I look at the screen for a long time Naanna! What do I do?” Swati asks her father, helplessly.

“Can you adjust your camera a little, Gomti? I can only see your ceiling fan,” me to a student during online supervision.

“Sorry Miss, I couldn’t present my seminar in the class yesterday. Our family has been under quarantine and my grandmother passed away yesterday. Please excuse me miss,” Sarita on a brief call with her teacher.

June 2020. It was time for schools to reopen. But it was nothing like the earlier years. The world was coming out of its first shock and reality of the pandemic. While countries reeled under its weight, there was a section of the population which suffered the effect, quietly. School children across India suddenly found themselves without teachers, without lessons, without books and even without friends.

With no respite from the situation, the mechanism of imparting education had to change as face-to-face teaching was impossible and unsafe. There was an immediate urgency to move away from traditional classroom setup and adopt untested and unfamiliar methods of teaching.  Thanks to India’s telecom revolution, the foundation for an immediate shift to online teaching was already laid. Existing resources and online platforms were gauged for usability and convenience. Some educational portals customised their applications for user-friendly teaching and learning facilities. There was a paradigm shift in the way education was perceived, dispensed and executed.

And classes started with baby steps everywhere.

However, along with the many existing social barriers and inequalities that the country is ridden with, there came about another barrier – the great digital divide. While classrooms globally have shrunk to a laptop, for millions of children across the length and breadth of India, it has further dwindled to a 6” screen.

Neera copying classwork from her phone

The greater the economic divide the higher and tougher the digital barrier and smaller the screen.

Online learning opened up multiple barriers for stakeholders who are on either side of the screen – difficult dialogues, misconstrued conversations, uncomfortable silences, lapse in judgement on one hand; battered phones, technical glitches, monotonous routines, inactive lifestyle on the other. 

So when Neera, a Std 3 student, studying in a government school in Taleigaon, Goa, lost her interest in studies and spent a larger part of her day playing with her neighbourhood friends, she was innocently pointing to the system that has failed to keep up its expectations. A bright and smart girl in school, after the online classes began, she gradually lost her interest in her school work. Attending classes on a phone, initially exciting, soon became a hurdle. Her parents, though they could not afford the extra financial burden, joined her for tuition to help her with her studies, but the monotony bored her and she fell into a lazy routine. “She never used to miss school even when she was ill.  Now in this one year, I see so much change in her. She is always seen with her phone, watching videos with the neighbour’s children or playing with them. I cannot control her,” laments her mother Nisha, who works in 3-4 houses in that area as a cook and domestic help.

The story is the same in many homes across the country.

  • Anushka finishing the day’s writing work

Susheela Bhati, a 35 year old mother of a daughter and a son, complains about the difficulties of online learning. With both she and her husband out of the house almost the entire day, her children are left alone to fend for themselves. “I work as cook and my husband is a coffin maker and undertaker. My daughter who is 11 years old at least manages some lessons on her own but my 6 year old son, who is still learning to read and write, needs constant check. I am not much educated myself and after the day’s work, I have to sit with him and struggle with his daily studies.”  Susheela worries that work sent on Whatsapp is difficult to copy and from the screen to the book, there are several mistakes that Anushka and Aryan make. While some schools ask parents to bring the completed books for corrections from time to time, many schools avoid doing this for fear of spread of the virus. So mistakes are repeated and carried to their exam papers as parents are not enough educated to help their children with academics.

Non-verbal communication is a very important aspect of effective learning. With no peripheral judgement because of the limitations of a mobile screen, several cue points are lost in the virtual communication. Primary and secondary education depends a lot of these non-verbal cues in absorbing and assimilating the lessons and several children find it difficult to grasp these subtle inferences. They are lost in the virtual black hole. School Counsellors have observed that children are losing hand-eye contact, longer attention span and verbal and non-verbal cues. With more phone accessibility, they are getting used to passive learning by watching videos and going through social media.

  • Aryan is happy to pose for a picture…a pleasant change from his routine

Most of these children are first generation learners and distance education is leaving them demotivated and worried as their care-givers cannot help them with school work. For many, the problem is also absence of an authoritative adult at home to monitor the child as parents are daily wage workers or cannot do without double income. Children are hence left in the care of grandparents or in the absence of any, find themselves alone all day. 

35 year old Gauri, a Nepali migrant settled in Goa for the last many years, works as a cook. She and her husband who works as a security guard in a 5-Star hotel in Dona Paula, are away from the house practically the entire day. When schools announced online mode of teaching in 2020, she had to borrow money from her employer to buy a new phone. “I could not give him mine because I needed my phone to keep in touch with him when I go for work. My husband is out for work the entire day and I am scared to leave my son alone at home,” Gauri said. “But he is not motivated to study as there is no one at home to monitor him. He is more interested in watching videos on the phone than school work,” she added.

Nisha Pariyar mirrors the same woes as Gauri. “My 8 year old daughter didn’t even know what Instagram and Facebook were before the Covid times. She didn’t have a phone back then. But we were forced to give a phone to her for her classes but I see her on Instagram all the time which she learnt to use from an older kid in the neighbourhood.”

Bharat Amonkar, a Multitasking staff in a city college, shares his phone with his son after going back from work. His son’s school sends pre-made videos of lessons and some written work, sent on his Whatsapp by the teachers. His son watches the videos and completes the day’s work in the evening. Bharat couldn’t afford one more phone in the house and so far has been managing with just one smart phone. For those with two or more children at home, there is a constant tussle for screen space.

For joint families living in one or two rooms, home environment is not conducive for effective learning. Lack of space is a recurring complaint from many children and young adults. Mental health issues are on the rise as domestic spaces are ridden with emotional conversations, family fights, and in many cases, domestic abuse. Children, in the pre-covid times coped with these situations better as they were away in school for most of the day. Added to that is the trauma experienced by Covid 19 positive families. Children losing grandparents, parents or a family member often leave them with trauma and hopelessness. These trickle down to their studies and classes and, with an already challenging learning process, their psychological burdens are hampering their academic pursuits.

However, there are many more who are trying to make the most of the situation. Network issues and domestic difficulties take these young learners to their backyards, town suburbs, friends’ and relatives’ houses, open fields for better connectivity and in the case of some of my students, to the steps of the Central Library in Panjim for free wifi.

It is highly insensitive to leave children and the youth to bear the consequences of this existing method of education, while the nation is focussed on bringing a crippling economy back to normal.

Life on the other side of the screen is equally challenging. The shift to online mode has not been easy for thousands of educators across India.  With little or no technical and digital awareness and absence of infrastructure, there was deep digital void in the stage 1 of the online teaching. In several cases, teachers were left to their own fate to buy a laptop with their own money and pay for high-speed internet connection besides struggling to learn the alien methods of teaching online. But the biggest barrier in all this is the lack of cognizance of what is happening on the other side of the screen. Besides being educators, teachers are also responsible for discipline of the child, effective learning during the class, honesty during exams and overall behaviour and development of the child. With negligible control on the child, teachers find themselves flustered, frustrated, and helpless even in cases when they are sure of the child’s indiscipline. Thus virtual classrooms in some cases have become breeding grounds for dishonesty, lies, unruliness, encouraging sometimes rude behaviour as teachers are not physically present.

 “Education is at present concerned with outward efficiency, and it utterly disregards, or deliberately perverts, the inward nature of man; it develops only one part of him and leaves the rest to drag along as best it can.”

(Jiddu Krishna Murthi’s ‘Education and the Significance of Life’)

The words of this Indian philosopher and educationist resonate with the present situation and a solution to move forward is imperative. While dwindling economy is a huge concern in a country like India, a stress on education and concerns of a child are equally important. Since the biggest fear for parents and school authorities is the possible spread of virus and related health issues, solutions to placate their fears should be drawn out. As crucial as vaccination drives, are the infrastructural necessities in every school and college of the country. Decision –making of education governance ought to be given to parents, school authorities and it will certainly bring about productive and healthy dialogue about ‘how’, not ‘when’ to open schools. For starters, many schools have severe stress on basic needs like well-ventilated classrooms, clean toilets, ample place for child’s comfortable movement and good sports facilities. Diverting focus to these needs can, to a large extent, prevent health and hygiene issues. Ample supply of water in schools, maintenance of hygienic surroundings and ensuring availability of round-the-clock support staff will certainly ensure cleaner environment for a child’s health. In-house medical practitioner along with trained nurse can be appointed to monitor the child’s health. Even after the completion of an entire academic year, many educational facilities, including many urban schools and colleges, are yet to pay attention to health and hygiene factor. Basic necessities seem to be the least concern even as some states across the country are slowly opening educational institutions. E-resources are a huge asset to any educational institution but real education is in the classroom where interpersonal communication, intellectual enquiry, boosting self-esteem, confidence are infused. Without these, a child’s holistic growth and maturity cannot be achieved. Schools and colleges can be opened in a phased manner while assessing the situation carefully. This should be a priority and the only way forward. Otherwise, we will soon see a generation of children like Neera, Anushka, Aryan, Aditi, Sarita and millions more across the country with developmental needs and psychological issues.

“We are ready to work harder for our children, but we want the schools to reopen. We fear that whatever they have learnt so far, they are going to forget during these times of staying home,” Susheela says, as she and many others like her, look forward to a better tomorrow.

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Tree of Hope – Sowing Seeds for a Greener Future

Sometimes we need a leader to guide us, inspire us and direct us to the truth…A good leader prepares the way for many more to take charge.

In 2017, a group of youngsters, led by Rudresh Uttam Mhamal, a man with a mission, started the “Tree of Hope Challenge”, an initiative to plant trees along the Mandrem beach belt. With the help of his friends and NSS Volunteers, Rudresh Mhamal planted fruit and flower saplings donated by the Goa Forest Department along the beach line. His project received a huge response and within a few months, around 700 saplings were planted along the Mandrem belt.

A seaside village bustling with tourists and infested with shacks, Mandrem, over the years, faced the brunt of over-commercialisation and environment degradation. Rudresh Uttam Mhamal, a young resident of Mandrem, North Goa, was deeply affected by the rapid environment changes in his peaceful village. He plunged into action immediately and formed a group of eco-warriors to help him with his plan. He roped in NSS volunteers from Vidya Prabodhini College, Parvari, Goa, where he works as Assistant Professor in Commerce and took to social media to inspire many more volunteers. What started as a small tree-plantation initiative soon encouraged these youngsters to spread environment awareness among their peers.

With the enormous success of his ‘Tree of Hope Challenge’ in 2017, Rudresh Mhamal started an afforestation program on the barren and windswept side of a hill in Mandrem. The hill, which faces the Arabian Sea, is exposed to the ravages of the sun, making the area dry and arid. Empowered with support from the Mandrem Panchayat, Rudresh, set out on his gargantuan task on 5th June, 2017 on the World Environment Day.  Several saplings were planted on the hill, in addition to a banyan sapling planted on the top of the hill and named as ‘Tree of Hope’ from which the initiative got its name. The efforts of Rudresh and his student volunteers soon motivated their friends and family to contribute their time and effort every evening and every Sunday morning. The most difficult task, though, was to carry water up the steep and rugged hill every day.  But the group worked relentlessly through the dry months of the year, fertilising, fencing and watering each plant and also protecting them from cattle and miscreants. The result today is a thriving green cover, still being managed by ‘Tree of Hope’ volunteers.

Kalpavruksh 2019

Rudresh Mhamal’s determination to spread environment awareness soon adopted a creative shape. In 2019 he organised a day-long eco-festival, ‘Kalpavruksh 2019’ which included several curated activities and competitions to infuse eco-awareness. Photography, drawing and short-film competitions saw the participation of several youngsters from across Goa. The short-film competition was based on ‘Tree of Hope’ theme which was one of the highlights of the festival. The participation of the public gave a much needed impetus to the eco-campaign and since then there was no looking back.

Young artists participating in Kalpavruksh 2019

The United Nations Organisation (UNO) identifies climate change as the most critical global issue that needs immediate attention. At a time like this, sustainable, community-led projects like the ‘Tree of Hope’ are of significant value. Rudresh dreams of starting similar drives in other parts of Goa. Vasant Narulkar, a committed student volunteer and a B.Com graduate from Vidya Prabodhini College,  who has worked with Rudresh Mhamal right from the inception of the initiative says, “I started supporting the ‘Tree of Hope Challenge’ as part of college NSS activity. While working with Rudresh Sir, my friends and I have realised the enormity of environment degradation and its impact on the world today. The efforts and the hard work of Sir has motivated all of us to contribute for the ‘Tree of Hope’ initiative even during Sundays. I have graduated two years back but I will always be a part of this program.”

Three years since, the task is still as enormous, but the dream has become a movement. These eco-warriors regularly organise cleanliness drives, plant watering drives (Shivabhishek), World Environment Day drives that involve public participation, thus highlighting the fact that the eco-awareness and environment protection is the only way to save the planet for our future generations.

Looking towards a brighter future – Kalpavruksh team at the Tree of Hope

Unperturbed with the challenges ahead, Rudresh Mhamal conducts himself with aplomb and composure. This humble and hardworking man has proved that if there is will to do something, there is always a way to execute it. He has immense faith in the younger generation as the harbingers of a safer and greener world.

“Trees don’t need us…we need trees. It is very important to surround ourselves with lots of them,” he says, as he gets busy making a fence for a young tree.

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Heal the World, Make It a Better Place

My sister and I were 6 and 8 when my father, a doctor, was invited to work in Iraq. Since we were still very young, my parents decided to take us with them leaving behind my two elder brothers with my grandparents. That was in 1979.

My father was first posted in Al Sahein, a small village in the wetlands of Southern Iraq. Al Sahein stood on the marshes between the two great rivers Tigris and Euphrates. The ‘Marsh Arabs’ or Ma’dan as they were called, built their houses using reeds of grass which grew abundantly in the area. My father’s hospital and the living quarters which were probably the only concrete buildings in the village, were both built on water like all the other houses in the village. People used boats to navigate around and their lives depended on the marshes for food and shelter. The local population showed immense respect for doctors who worked in the village hospital. They went out of their way to help us settle down and adjust to the new life. Though the region was under-developed, with the support and affection of the local people, we lived there comfortably for around six months before my father was posted to another place. Over the years the marshes were systematically drained and people were forced to move to other places during the political regime of Saddam Hussein. Efforts are now underway to restore this unique heritage site and make it a tourism destination. The Ma’dans are gradually coming back after many years, picking up the remnants of their lost life and creating a new livelihood for themselves.

My father was later posted in various other small towns like Qalat Salah, Samāwah and of course the city of Baghdad but everywhere we went, we made local friends with whom we had very good association till we left the country in 1984. Qalat Salah and Samāwah didn’t have English schools and my parents taught us at home from books brought from India. The people of the country fascinated us as children and as my parents were quite adaptable to new environment and cultures, we were very receptive to the local experiences. Neither the heat, nor the strange neighbourhoods deterred us from having fun. We had many local friends with whom we spoke in broken Arabic punctuated with our highly creative use of non-verbal communication. It worked most of the times but an occasional   lapse in our communication would bring out a volley of interesting swear words from both sides that would bring all interaction to a sudden halt only to rekindle our friendship again after a few days.

Iraq pic
With my sis in Baghdad, circa 1983

We were particularly fascinated with their local breads khubz (a tandoori flat bread) and samoon (a long loaf of bread), which were their staple. My sister and I often helped our land lady of our Samāwa home, make khubz in her traditional mud oven called tannour. It was enchanting to watch her skilfully knead the dough and pat them into huge flat rounds and stick them inside the hot oven. We would often hover around their kitchen to catch a glimpse of the family (the parents with their 10 children) as they sat around a huge plate of their favourite breads and delicious curries, chatting and generally having a great family time. We were sometimes treated to a couple of freshly baked samoon or warm khubz that we immediately devoured with a dollop of butter on them.

The Iraqis we met or befriended during those few years were very kind and generous. Several times when we travelled by local taxis and buses, the drivers would refuse to take money from my father as he would speak to them in bits and pieces of Arabic that he picked up as a doctor. Throughout the journey they would talk about life in Iraq and my father would share information about India and its traditions and culture.  Friends from my father’s hospital also regularly visited us and my mother would serve them some of our Indian delicacies that they would literally lick off the plates. Many of them loved Mohamed Rafi, the legendary Indian playback singer of Hindi movies. They would request my father to share with them some of the audio tapes of his famous songs or would copy them on to new tapes using a tape recorder. Though they were fascinated and curious with our way of life and dressing, they were seldom disrespectful. My parents had many Indian friends and over the weekends (Friday was their day off) we would meet them for lunches and dinners. But the memories of our Iraqi friends, our playmates, our silly, stunted bilingual conversations with them, the bitter-sweet taste of raw dates, the beautiful sound of Arabic is what we cherish the most.

Our experiences staying in Iraq for two years shaped our world view immensely. The friendships and associations that we made back then left an indelible mark on our mind; we learned that people everywhere were the same; they loved and hated the same things, had the same family values, and went through the exact same rigors of life within their political, geographical and social limitations. We had seen the consequences of war and how it had changed lives forever. Curfews, night patrols, emergency sirens in the middle of the night, bullet shells everywhere and many more such experiences are so vividly etched on my mind. We had seen the effect of war on families around us – bodies of soldier sons returning home from war, young boys forced into training camps and from there to the battle fields; poverty, fear and unpredictable future in front of them. These experiences of human suffering and death and decay is imprinted in our psyche and taught us young that life is precious, that we are among some of the few fortunate souls who have been given the gift of healthy and happy living and that everyone is entitled to a healthy and prosperous life. We often wonder now what has become of the kids we played with. All that we can do is to say a prayer and hope that their families have survived the destruction.

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Mom and Dad in Qalat Salah, circa 1983

The eight-year long war fought between Iran and Iraq left both sides depleted of its culture, heritage and people. By 1984, all those foreigners who were invited by the Iraqi Government, were sent back and the country steeped into an economic and political rut. Hundreds and thousands of people died and many were left with a future that was bleak. Iraq is a standing testimony to what greed and arrogance can do to one’s world. The region, earlier known as Mesopotamia, was the cradle of civilisation and culturally very fertile. History documents this region as the land where the first writing system has been invented, the land where Mathematics, Astronomy, Medicine originated and was known as ‘Cradle of Civilisation’. Today Iraq’s political situation has changed hands but the horrors still continue. There are several such nations across the globe whose political and social situation is no less horrific. We are losing the world and its people, the rich heritage and their oral histories to our egos, arrogance, greed for economic wealth, political power and communal hatred.

The pandemic we are witnessing now has put a lot of things in perspective. It has definitely proved that there are more important things in this world than our petty squabbles.  Now is a great time to understand and teach our children the value of life. You can only fall in love with people when you read and understand different cultures, their histories, understand their pain, share their laughter.

Sometimes a simple weapon is enough to win the greatest war.

 

 

 

 

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Ants Among Elephants – A Memoir of an Untouchable Family

The lessons of discrimination and caste prejudices were as carefully taught to us as they would, the life lessons, to a child. Growing up in a very orthodox and conservative Brahmin family in Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, we were introduced to caste discrimination and status at a very young age. The instructions were so important to follow that when I think back, I don’t particularly remember being taught any other life skill or talent by the elders in the family as seriously as they have instilled in us the importance of being a Brahmin. It is ingrained into our psyche that it is only after several menial births that one would be born a Brahmin. We are told that we should be really thankful that we are born into one this time as it is very noble and sacred to be born a Brahmin.

So when the first time I went (without taking my grandparents’ permission) to a ‘non-brahmin’ friend’s house in my 8th std for her birthday lunch, I was shocked to know that their food smelled and tasted so good. And her parents were such warm people and more importantly, nothing happened to me when I sat on their couch or shared a meal with them. It dawned on me and my sister that maybe what we are being told was not true. This was the beginning of so many more revelations about caste discrimination that my family strictly followed.

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The memories painfully came alive when I started reading the memoir of Sujata Gidla ‘Ants Among Elephants’. Sujata Gidla’s memoir is one of its kind. It is not only a personal narrative, it is also a record of the long history of class conflicts, discrimination and untouchability that is rampant in India and specifically in the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh. She takes us through the last few years of India’s freedom struggle followed by attainment of Independence, Christian missionary work in Andhra Pradesh, Reorganisation of States under the helm of Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, the Nizam rule, the rise of Communism in Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, the birth of Peoples War Group, the trends in Telugu Literature, and many more political, social and literary currents in the Telugu land. After a decade-long labour, research, interviews with family, friends, fellow untouchables, she finally came out with the book in 2017.

Now living in New York and working as a conductor on the New York City Subway, Sujata traces the painful history of her family starting with her great grandfather, who belonged to a nomadic clan devoid of any caste affiliation. So when they were forced to give up their nomadic life and settle in a village, they were naturally shun to the bottom of the hierarchy, that of an untouchable. Sujata is very candid in attributing her education and employment opportunities, and her arrival in United States of American in the 1990s, to the Christian missionaries. The converts were educated in missionary schools established all over Andhra. It was her grandfather Prasanna Rao Kambham, who first converted into Christianity which subsequently opened doors for the successive generations in the family like herself to reap the benefits of the opportunities.

People’s History: Indian history is silent on the condition of economically deprived, marginalised sections of the society and especially Dalits. History text books glorify the stories of a few leaders and their political power and administration, ignoring hundreds of others who have been marginalised. In the contemporary times, there has been a shift in the reading of history, and ‘History from Below’ or ‘People’s History’ is being emphasised to understand the impact of socio-economic and political changes of a country. Mass movements, political conflicts, peasant movements etc. are all being read and understood from the grassroots level. The hegemonic groups, power politics of a few power-hungry politicians etc are being questioned. Personal narratives thus bring out the saga of a common man, his trials and tribulations. At a time when personal histories are gaining importance, ‘Ants among Elephants’ brings about a paradigm shift in the way Indian history and politics is understood. Though many social scientists, economists, historians have documented the historical and political dynamics of India, they have failed to document the lived history of the Dalits.

Through the story of her maternal uncle K G Satya Murthy, Sujata recounts the history of the untouchables. The memoir is a biography of his life from a shy boy to a spirited youth participating in the Indian freedom struggle, an ambitious youth leader to co-founder of the People’s War Group in the 1970s. Her account is a historiography of the age that was indifferent to the voices of the marginalised, an age which was preoccupied and was busy building a new India, and an age where more than half the country woke up to the see that they don’t have a share of the upper caste ‘Nationalism’. So Sujata writes her own history documenting names of various untouchable castes, their traditional occupations, voluntary conversions of many Dalits into Christianity, the double marginalisation of the converted Dalits in the Hindu dominated society, festive and family gatherings with their customs, rituals and cuisine, recording the life of the community she belongs to.

Sujata’s mother Manjula is an active witness to her brother Satyam’s life and ideology. She grew up in the shadow of her brother imbibing the lessons of self-esteem, importance of education which she passed down to her own children. Her story runs parallel to that of Satyam’s in the memoir, adding a woman’s perspective through her struggles as a girl growing up with very powerful brothers, Satyam and Carey. Her role in the family was that of any other girl in the Indian society, grappling with the male-centred customs and expectations of the society.

Candid and forthright, the memoir is one of the most powerful stories of modern India.

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Age of Frenzy – Reconstruction of a Historical Catastrophe

“The ones who erected the cross and the ones who sought to destroy it were guided by high moral and principles. Each man believed that what he was doing was for his religion, for his God. Perhaps both sides were right. Or maybe, both were wrong. This mighty confusion had been created by that demon that goes by the name of religion. It draws people from God, and breeds injustice and cruelty as a result of that power. God, Himself, was the author of this confusion, perhaps.”

                                                                                                            (107, Age of Frenzy)

These lines are the essence of the novel ‘Age of Frenzy’ or ‘Yug Sanvar’ (2007) in Konkani written by the Goan author Mahabaleshwar Sail. The author, in his narrative, reconstructs the details of Goa Inquisition (1560-1820), the people of those times, prevailing customs and practices, their fears and veneration to their respective Gods and the inherent faults of a Hindu caste system.  Goa Inquisition is a period which is seldom discussed by Goans. Mahabaleshwar Sail is one of the few writers who has brought Portuguese Goa into his novel and reconstructed the age that has witnessed violence, cruelty and abject misery. Vidya Pai, who has translated the novel into English has done a commendable job is carrying the ethos of the saga across cultural and literary barriers.

 

Mahabaleshwar Sail
Mahabaleshwar Sail (pic courtesy: Wikipedia)

 

A small state which has witnessed colonial rule for over 450 years, Goa has experienced a religious and cultural transmutation that has today given a unique flavour to its language and its people. While the advent of the Portuguese to Goa in 1510 was initially for the purpose of trade, the opportunity to establish their religion in the new land soon led to religious conversions of the natives. As the Portuguese gained their foothold in Goa, a proposal was made to establish Inquisition, to deal with the newly converted Hindus, Muslims, Bene Israelis and New Christians who didn’t identify themselves with the new religion. The voracious religious zeal of the crusaders triggered a reign of terror that saw seizure of lands, confinement of the heathens in prisons, torture and death at the stake. Goa Inquisition has left an indelible mark on the religious, cultural, social and linguistic fabric of the Goans and its effect is visible even today. Historians like A. K. Priolkar, Felipe Nery Xavier etc. have documented the events after years of study. Their research has created a framework for Goan writers like Mahabaleshwar Sail to recreate and reminisce the times that are today distant and almost obsolete.

The author takes a stern stance identifying the inadequacies and inconsistencies of both the faiths. He blames the Hindu caste system for encouraging the colonists to look down up on the local faiths as being superstitious and blind. Age of Frenzy is a story steeped in controversial history and the author had done immense research on the subject to do justice to the gargantuan task that he had ahead of him.

bookage of frenzy

The novel opens in 1510 in a fictitious village Adolshi when the Portuguese first put their foot in Goa. The reader is taken through the Goan landscape, the people and their traditions, religious customs and the caste hierarchy that is strictly followed in those times. As the novel opens, we see a young man, eighteen to twenty years of age, enter the village, tired and hungry and searching for his aunt. He identifies himself as Ganaba, Lakhu Naik’s son from Divade village. He breaks down and sobs in front of the villagers and tells them that he is driven out of his village for helping the white soldiers with directions to wherever they wanted to go and accepting bread and soaked fruit they have offered him in return. He wails that his own parents have expelled him from home and the village, blaming him that since he has eaten meat and bread that the ‘white devils’ have offered him, he has become impure and now belonged to the other faith. They threw stones at him and drove him out of the village. He has been to several villages but no one has taken him.  But unfortunately the people of Adolshi prove to be just the same and they too drive him out of their village. With no home to go to, Ganaba commits suicide by drowning in the village tank. The incident perturbs the villagers, not for ill-treating a young man into committing suicide but for letting him ‘pollute’ the water by drowning himself. They worry that during the next temple festival, the Lord cannot be given a sacred bath in the village tank. The novel brings out several incidents like these where the callousness and insensitivity of the natives is highlighted especially at a time when the land is occupied by a foreigner and there was an imminent threat to their lives. A Hindu caste hierarchy which already had divisions, further divided because of the blind customs and superstitions related to food habits and occupation. No one is exempted from this discrimination and families and friends were heartlessly and callously expelled from the community. This fact didn’t go unnoticed by the oppressor and they exploited it to their advantage.

“You are the ones who drive people to our faith. If someone eats something we offer, you disown him. He is cast out of his home, he can no longer practise your religion so he comes to us.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                (12, Age of Frenzy)

Thus Sukhdo Nayak became Salvodor Dias, Molu Nayak was renamed Manuel Dias and his wife Gopika now was called Isabel, Ramkushta Nayak was now Pedro Dias and his wife Parvati was named Fatima(89). If there were orphans in the community, they were converted immediately and given new names too. The new converts were given four cruzados, lands and protection under the Portuguese empire.  During the conversions in the colonial Goa, the newly converted upper caste Hindus retained their Bammon and Chaddors status, introducing caste system into Christianity.

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As the novel progresses, the conflict of cultures, customs and religions increase with the natives resisting the oppressors. Soon, inquisition was established and several converts and non-converts were either imprisoned, or burnt at stake. Gripped with fear, anger, helplessness, and borne with an unpredictable future, the natives were forced to either succumb to the colonist or uproot themselves to escape to a new land carrying their few belongings and their village idols.

The fertility and abundance of natural resources in the Konkan coast, has, since the ancient times, established a harmonious man – nature relationship. The communidade (in Portuguese) or gaonkari system of village administration which makes each village an independent unit with its own area of land, makes a Goan feel an inseparable relationship with his village and the village deity. Even today, a Goan anywhere in the world has a deep sense of belongingness to his own village. Hence, when the conversions and later Inquisition was established, the lives of the natives were thrown off balance and their loyalty to their land and Gods was shaken.

The novel has multiple number of characters and each of the stories entwining these characters are, in the larger picture, individual stories. The author, himself born in agrarian family, describes the folk lore, agricultural practices and the psyche of the people whose lives depended on land that they inherited from their ancestors. Of the multitude of characters that he created, the best portraiture probably was that of Padre Simao Peres, a priest who arrived in Goa on the orders of the Pope. He was disliked by the Viceroy and the clerics who were appointed by the King of Portugal, who were impatient and hasty in carrying on their religious orders and convert as many people as possible. His character is a foil to the cruel promoters of Inquisition whose barbaric acts towards the natives pains Padre Simao Peres. Though he was sent to Goa for religious conversions, his approach was that of piety and he believed in converting the natives through love. He is an epitome of empathy and kindness and is symbolic of Jesus Christ. He carries the true Christian spirit and tries to spread the words of Jesus Christ and thus gains the confidence of the villagers rather than brutally forcing them to adopt the foreign faith. Unfortunately, as Peres embarks on a religious mission, the viceroy gets him arrested for going against inquisition and imposes a rigorous imprisonment.  Just as Jesus was crucified, Simao Peres was finally burned at stake.

Sail takes a firm stance as he narrates the harrowing tale of Inquisition. In several interviews and discussions, he was very emphatic in his opinions about God and religion.

“I believe that there are two sides to any conflict, and no one side can be totally right. I believe in God but not in any organised religion; by confining God within the framework of organised religion we breed intolerance of other faiths. So, my God, who is present in the whole universe, does not need temples or rituals or priests.”

The tenets of every religion advocate love, empathy, honesty, humility and trust. But inquisition is a glaring example of what greed and fanaticism can do to humanity. Sail’s narrative subtly seems to draw our attention to the contemporary religious politics of the world. Today we have crossed several scientific and intellectual boundaries but it is a sad irony that we have not been able to overcome our mindless adulation for our religion. As Karl Marx quotes,

“Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.”

 

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Preserving the Traditional Art of Making Clay Idols

Mandrem, to a lot of tourists and unfortunately to the younger generation of Goans, is synonymous with sun, sand, beaches and shacks. Located in the Pernem taluka, between the two popular tourist places of Morjim and Arambol, Mandrem is an idyllic coastal village, when ‘Googled’, will only throw up names of shacks and restaurants that the tourists flock to Goa for. But on a Sunday morning, I have a different purpose to visit this beautiful village…to meet a man whose family has been making idols of Lord Ganesha for the last 60 years.

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Every year, in the month of May, Praveen Murari Mhamal and his family switch gears to a different routine. During the months leading to Ganesh Chaturthi, Sanjay, along with his family and with the help of a few local workers, chalks out his plan for the season. The routine demands 15 hours of labour every day which includes procuring the right amount and quality of clay, deciding the theme and style of each individual idol, making individual body parts using moulds, carving out the required shapes and surface texture, giving the idols ample time to dry before finally  applying the first coat of paint.

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Faith and devotion has many forms (Pic Courtesy: Rudresh Mhamal)

Started by Praveen’s father, Murari Ganesh Mhamal in early 1950s, ‘Susheela Arts’ has been catering to the demand of idols during the season since then. Every year idol-makers across the state start their work by the beginning of June with the advent of the first rains. The work comes with a time limit as the festival is celebrated in the months of August/September depending on the Hindu calendar. The states of Goa and Maharashtra celebrate Ganesh Chaturthi festival with pomp and in Goa alone, around 500 artisans across the state make and sell the idols. Praveen laments that procuring clay has become difficult now. Sometimes idols are also made with lagddo (clay) mixed with papier mache and a binding glue. In the earlier times clay used to be taken from agricultural land and farmers in the villages would request the artisans to take clay from their land. It was a sustainable practice, encouraging rotation and tilling of the earth, making it richer and more fertile. Today, it has become difficult to get clay because of growing commercial activities in the area or building of residential complexes and whatever is left is polluted with construction debris. Clay from Mandrem is by far the best in Goa and is in great demand as it has the right consistency and texture to make idols. Black clay, which is available easily in other parts (Warkhand v illage in Pedne Taluka) is too fine to use and leaves fine lines and cracks when it starts drying. But the red clay which is used in Mandrem has natural mixture of fine gravel, which is perfect to work as it dries faster and thus can be painted sooner too. Earlier, natural colours were used which were prepared at home using colours with resin used from local trees especially cashew. Now-a-days, distemper is used to paint the idols as natural colours are difficult to procure.

In the recent times, in spite of the ban on the use of Plaster of Paris (PoP), many idol makers are still using the same. PoP idols are lighter than the clay variety as they are cheaper and easier to make. Says Praveen, “PoP idols can be made with one single mould. They dry faster and hence can be painted also faster. But the clay idols are made using different moulds for different parts. Each of these have to be made separately and then put together as one single idol, which is time consuming.” Despite the laborious work, there are still artisans like Praveen who believe in promoting and preserving this skill.

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Every year, Praveen makes around 250 idols and takes almost 2 ½ to 3 months to complete the work. Each idol is given exclusive attention and detailing is done with absolute care. After each part is carefully given shape with the mould, the artist uses two brushes – hard and soft – to give the surface texture and smoothness. Traditionally the bristles of the hard brush were made using the thick hairs from the neck of a wild boar and the wooden handle from soft wood of a pine tree. Praveen uses the same methods that he learnt from his father and makes the brushes with his own hands. Though a time-consuming affair, Praveen’s passion and dedication towards his work prompts him to continue with the conventional methods. There are very few artisans who use traditional methods to make idols in Goa because of lack of any financial benefit and long hours of labour.

It is a custom in Goa to procure idols from the same artisan who the family has been buying from for many generations. Hence whatever the price or dakshina (offering or gift) that the family has been giving the artisan for generations, has not increased over the years. Many continue to offer the same paltry amount and artisans don’t get any financial gain. Many times, a ‘dakshina’ of betel leaves, betel nuts and coconut is offered to the artisan in exchange for the idol, as is the family tradition. Hence some idol makers are either moving to other towns during the season so they can sell the idols for a higher price, or are closing their business.

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Praveen at work (Pic courtesy: My friend Rudresh Mhamal

“For me each idol is unique and special. I don’t neglect or overlook any detail. I try to create a perfect idol of Lord Ganesha to depict the Lord himself sitting in front of me because, for the family who buys from us, it is the idol they are going to worship,” says Praveen with a smile.

The subsidy that is announced by the Goa government, is not sufficient at all and doesn’t cover the expenses. Also the subsidy comes very late every year and the artisans don’t get any advantage from it. This state of affairs is encouraging import of idols from other states which are commercially done using environmentally hazardous materials. But unfortunately, neither the government nor the general public worry about water pollution when the idols are immersed. It is a sad sight a few days later, idols washed ashore totally intact and in a state of neglect.

Along with Ganesha idols, Praveen also makes idols for temple festivals.  Praveen and his brother Sanjay Mhamal make thematic backdrops for stage performances during festivals like Mahashivratri, Diwali and Durga Puja and other occasions on order. He takes us for a tour around his workshop and shows us the painted backdrops that he has made for a school event in Mandrem recently. “Such work has come down drastically and we don’t earn much with this occupation anymore. So we cater to other stage requirements like complete sound system, stage decoration, furniture etc for events.” Praveen Mhamal supplies costumes for the historical and religious plays staged in schools, temples and other events.

Praveen is happy that he is able to preserve his family occupation as well as the traditional art that he has inherited from his father. His children who are still too young to decide their career, help him with kneading the clay or painting the idols during the busier months.

Traditional occupations the world over are slowly getting obliterated, some because of the changing lifestyle but many because of lack of resources and sufficient support and aid from society and government. While lifestyle changes are normal and natural to a certain extent, those which encourage sustainable growth development should be preserved for the posterity.

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Lady Chatterley’s Lover – Love, Lust and Beyond

There was a discussion recently on a Facebook chat about the top 10 books that we liked. I made my list quickly but then one of the books happened to be “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” by D H Lawrence. This initiated a conversation about my reasons for picking a controversial and supposedly erotic novel of the yesteryears.

An early 20th century sensation, this book drew a lot of attention for its sexually explicit subject matter and supposed endorsement/validation of illegitimate relationships. The book was published in 1928 in Italy and 1929 in France and Australia. The uncensored text had not come out in England till 1960 when it won the obscenity trial for its profanity and sexually explicit scenes.

Living in the 21st century, censoring or censuring of anything sexually controversial is thought and viewed differently. Today ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ has not lost its previous notoriety. I read the book a few years back and the first thing that impressed me was certainly not sex and obscenity; in fact I was aroused by its progressive thoughts and bold plot especially since the setting is a conservative and capitalist generation of England and the world.

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The story is about Constance (Connie) Reid, a young intellectual born into an upper-middle class family who, along with her sister Hilda, is exposed to intellectual and cultural ideas of the age. At 23 she gets married to Clifford Chatterley, a descendant of an aristocratic family. After their marriage and honeymoon, he is sent to the war and gets paralyzed hip down during the war.  The couple soon move to Wragby, a mining country where the Chatterley family house is situated and start a new life. Soon Constance or Lady Chatterley as she is called now, finds herself empty with a huge house, grim and unwelcoming house staff and the old and desolate mansion. Clifford becomes a popular writer and with a constant stream of intellectual men who visit Wragby Hall, Connie tries to find her bearings. Her attempts in getting involved in their ‘enlightening’ conversations fail as she finds their discussions shallow and boring. Her loneliness deepens as she finds herself devoid of any physical or emotional attachment with her husband owing to his passionless attitude and paralyzed condition. Amidst her desolate life, one day she meets the gamekeeper of Clifford’s estate, Oliver Mellors to whom Constance slowly gets drawn. Initially a little hesitant and conscious of their social status, they soon start an intense sexual affair which eventually unites them emotionally. Oliver is previously married to Bertha with who he gets separated and chooses to live away from any contact with people. As the book progresses, Connie gets pregnant and she leaves with her sister to spend her time away from Wragby. Oliver is taken off his job and he starts working on a farm. The novel ends with Connie confronting Clifford and confessing to him about her pregnancy and Oliver waiting for his divorce from his ex-wife and with a hope of getting married to Connie one day.

The opening lines of the book sum up the author’s perspective of the age.

‘Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work : there is now no smooth road into the future : but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.’

It is rather disappointing that we fail to notice and understand the optimism with which he begins the book. Ninety years down the line, the book still carries with it the impression it created in those times with the mere mention of the title.  That is perhaps because of the stir the subject matter created in those times. But one needs to look beyond the obvious and realize that the book has come a long way from just sex and illicit relationships. The author’s use of raunchy vocabulary and language in certain scenes, along with the fact that the story is woven around an illicit affair of an upper class intellectual with a working class gamekeeper set in a capitalist English society, had been a major reason for controversy. The book highlights a very glaring class disparity between Connie and Mellors but as the novel progresses, we see Constance’s evolving personality and self-realization that for a relationship to thrive, the involvement of mind alone is not enough but it is the unification of both mind and body that makes a fruitful relationship.

That aside, Constance’s characterization is commendable as she makes a good antithesis for Clifford’s personality. Her affair with Mellors is an extension of her perceptions about class, gender and economic status. While Clifford is cold and passionless, she on the other hand is sensuous, vibrant and full of life.  He, in spite of being a successful writer and in a position of authority, is condescending and arrogant about his fame and noble birth and she is socially progressive and empathetic towards the colliers and their miserable lives. There are many instances where she argues with Clifford for leaving the miners to their destiny but Clifford, raised with capitalistic ideas, believes that the misery of the colliers is their own fate and that they depend on him for their livelihood. She tries to reach out to the colliers by befriending a few of them and making visits to soot-filled, desolate miner’s village, Tevershall. She argues with Clifford about relieving the colliers of their poverty but the latter believes that he is doing them a great justice by employing them in his mines.

“I can live without the pits. They can’t. They will starve if there are no pits.”

Connie tries to reason with Clifford saying that if the miners are not cared for by the employers and the economic disparity is not lessened, there will be discontent and jealousy which will soon destroy the rich. Clifford is smug believing that men who own and run industries are naturally born to do so and it is nature’s way of choosing rich and the poor.

“Why is the star Jupiter bigger than the star Neptune? You can’t start altering the make-up of things!”

The novel is autobiographical and the author’s experiences growing up in a coal mining town forms a strong background to many of his novels. Like many of his other works, ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ brings out dehumanizing effects of modernity and industrialization and evils it has thrown at the world.