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Showing posts with label right to write. Show all posts
Showing posts with label right to write. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

1986 : an old story - translated.



In 1986, when I was a college student, I participated in a short story competition, "a story for a movie", organized by a leading Malayalam film magazine. The selected stories would be published in their weekly. The stories had to fit a page. It was a time when some fiery thoughts were searing through my brain. I had just passed my B.A. in flying colors, and my parents who had promised me that I would be allowed to go out of state for higher studies, backtracked. They cited many reasons, the main one being, I had to be married off pretty soon, and my going away like that won't help with that. Needless to say I was heartbroken, and angry at the injustice. My rebellion stopped at chopping off my hair, and starving myself. Nothing like the heroine in the story.

But it made me think as to the why's. And I wanted to share my thoughts with people. I wanted to change attitudes, the old stupid ways of thinking. A story was born out of that. As far as the plot went, it was nothing, even by my standard. But then it was a story of ideas, a story for social change, all of which I knew even then. I sent mine in, never expecting to be selected.  But still, every week I would run to get that weekly to see if it was in there.  And one morning, I opened the magazine, and my story was in there! The delight! the pride! But I could  not share that happiness with anyone. When I sent it in, maybe they thought it would not see the light of day - my parents just watched me indulgently.  But now that it was out there, they were not happy. What will people say! They would think everything in there, that I had written in order to shock people out of their complacency,  was true. That I was a "bad girl". No man from a respectable family will want to marry me. What I wrote there, say, about marriage or religion, would not faze a westerner or a westernized Indian. But back then, in India, in Kerala, in Thrissur, things were different. I am sure, even now, it would shock at least a few. Even the outfit of the heroine must have disturbed them.

The thing is they had published my address with that story.  Two movie companies wrote to me asking to meet for a discussion. Another one for a tv program. I was not allowed to write back, as all men were bad. Because meanwhile other things happened. Hate mail. For daring to think and talk about freedom for women, one letter writer threatened that  he would gather up a group of men and come and rape me. They seemed to, or wanted to assume that my silly little plot, which was just a vehicle for my status quo-shattering ideas, was true. Actually they just did not like the idea of women being free. And of course, I had to be punished. I was intimidated. My parents felt I let them down by bringing such shame on myself and the family! I was guilty without committing any sin, except write. In fact at first my parents did not show me these letters - don't know why they did after a few days, maybe to prevent me from doing it again. Anyway, it worked. I stopped writing. I felt so guilty at hurting my parents, and ashamed at myself, that I pretended it did not happen. I did not talk about it even to my University friends, a year later. In fact it was only last year that I gathered up the courage to read it again. Looking back,  I did not know how to deal with publicity, the little I got - it was a time when there was no internet, and when TV was still new, with less than a handful of channels. I was too naive, lead too sheltered a life, had no supporter, let alone, a mentor. The nuns in my college weren't too pleased either. Except for one teacher who wondered what went on in my mind. However, even though there were a few letters that congratulated me, I foolishly, or pragmatically, overlooked those. And focused on the negative comments, not knowing that those comments arose out of fear and spite. That fear and sense of guilt lingered on for so long that my attitude to the whole concept of publicity was confusing, to say the least. On the one hand I wanted people to read my writings, actually a lot of people, and I wanted to change the way they saw things. But at the same time, I did not want anyone to! I dreaded it. I hoped no one would read it! Again, when they did not, I felt disappointed! I am sure there are others who are in the same boat as me. That is  one thing I have learned so far - that I am not particularly unique or special in any way, unlike my heroine.

Here's a translation of my story -- I do admit that some of it is cringeworthy. My heroine, Ribelle (Oh my God! the name , for Rebel! haha.) now reads like an arrogant little show off.  Still, she is mine. :) Funny thing is I wrote it first in English back then, and then translated it into Malayalam. Maybe, unconsciously I felt that writing my ideas down in English  made it less dangerous somehow, than in my own language! I lost the original, or maybe I destroyed it.  Sadly, I do have a tendency to delete or tear up old letters, writings, emails etc. I know I will be sorely tempted to modify when I am translating now. But I will resist, and be true to the original. But remember, Rebel's ideas may be mine, but not her experiences. When I wrote this, I was still a student in an all-girls' college run by nuns. I did not have any male teachers.  Later on, I did go to a University for Research, but then I was so loyal to my family's Puritanic codes that I avoided any kind of romantic/sexual relationships. In fact I quite successfully rationalized it all so well that I fooled myself into thinking that I was an evolved rational being who was above mere emotions and needs. So I ended up being a truly celibate and chaste Christian even though I wasn't religious!  ah, youth! (look at me! I am  still doing  it -- justifying, defending, explaining -- trying to be the 'good" girl - I am never going to change, I guess. sad. )And the subject for research that Rebel chooses is amusing, to say the least.And obviously she did not know the difference between an atheist and an agnostic. Please do not laugh too much when you read this. Boy, was I brave, and stupid! ;))

You can find the Malayalam version here: ഗുരുവിനെത്തേടി - Guruvinethedi

Translation follows (with some editorializing in italics)
In search of a Guru

A pair of faded blue jeans, a loose-fitting yellow shirt,  steel-framed glasses, a reserved look on her face, and eyes that searched for someone - that is Rebel. (probably needed new glasses). No one would notice that girl who walks by fast, her fingers running through her short, cropped hair. You would wonder if this  is the same girl who scribbles in her diary in the bag thrown over her shoulder  as the one who acts the clown in her home.

At home, she is everyone's apple of the eye. The girl who makes everyone laugh out loud, at times stating small philosophical theories, the girl who pouts, has to try hard to stop herself from crying at a little scolding. She is not especially close with anyone.

She is here for research. The goal is to get a doctorate in English Literature. The subject is "The Problem Plays of Shakespeare". At times, she wondered as to the necessity of researching such a subject.  Rebel is a repository of the old and the new. In her mind, it is a constant struggle between the two. Although she is a total non-believer, she believes that an unknown power rules the world. However she thinks that that power is a cruel one. Or else why is there so much suffering in this world?

Once, while she was sitting with a classmate in her hostel room, Rebel looked outside the window, at the trees bathed in moonlight, and said, "When a time comes when any girl can walk by herself, even in the middle of the night, unmolested,  I would agree that women are free".(This seemed to enrage the males more than anything - apparently I wanted sex!) At another time, she said, " I do not have a great belief in marriage.  We are ready to lose that valuable treasure called chastity, (she means virginity), which we guarded so closely till then, the moment a  man puts a string around our necks. I can never understand that. Why is there a double standard for the man and the woman in our society?" Dowry , or property for women, is necessary. But, in Rebel's opinion, the brides who are sacrificed for it, suffer more than the son of man who was crucified, but who  got to rise from the dead on the third day.(god, she is insufferable!)

There was someone who noticed this girl who spent most of her time in the library. Professor Philip. Professor Philip is married. With one child. He is the friend of Rebel's Research Supervisor. At first, when he talked to her, Rebel barely answered him, and went her way. But they got closer during a send off party for someone. One day he invited Rebel over to his house. On another day, while Rebel was walking around town with her dad, they met the Professor and his wife. The Professor's wife was beautiful. It looked like she too liked this serious looking girl. (hahaha -sorry,  couldn't help it!)

College Day came around. Rebel was slowly falling in love with the Professor. As expected, she did not talk of this to anyone. (Thank God!haha) . This was something that a student should not feel for a teacher, that too, a married one. When he made fun of her usual blue jeans, Rebel felt bad. Whenever the thought of a family life, she chased it away.  Why should she marry? After all, we all have to die. (aha - so I always talked of death) Why be a slave to someone else, till then? As it is, Rebel was always against rules.

The Professor was surprised when Rebel appeared in a black silk saree. She proudly strutted away.  Was it her theories, or her seriousness, or her clownishness - the Professor did not know what attracted him to her ( or in other words, the Professor didn't know what hit him!hehe) They had more chances to meet.

In one moment of weakness (or sleaziness ) Rebel gave herself to Philip. (yikes!) The next day she told the Professor who was suffocating with his sense of guilt, (ya, right!), (now begins the speech!), "Let us end this here. I am saying good bye.( :) good byes are my old friends, obviously) I am not asking you to marry me or anything. I do not like that either. The mistake is mine too, anyway. (aah - the eagerness to accept responsibility!) I feel guilty when I think of your wife. (how nice!) If we meet everyday, this will only lead to sadness. You are not going to love me like this always. Not just you, no man can ( I am a know-it-all!) What I need now is a guru. (hmm) I feel I have to do a lot in this world. I am not playing an intellectual. May be I will go to some forest and live there by myself. Of course, I am not going to turn to God.I do not like to see human beings. (uh -oh) May be some would brand me as a crazy woman. But there is one thing - The mad men in this world are the fortunate ones. May be they are the real human beings."

That unusual girl went her way - in search of a guru.

The End.

(hahaha - lucky Professor. )
well, this obnoxious girl and the equally obnoxious professor managed to make people mad! Which is kind of what I wanted - not mad, but to think differently. And, like I said, the girl and the man are mine, no matter how irritating they are. :)

I said I stopped writing, but I never stopped thinking or reading. My abilities, for what they are worth, were directed into my studies and my dissertation. Years later, in another country, I wrote a novel. Imagine what they would say if they read  that!