DIFFERENT REGISTERS
A joyful find
C.S. LAKSHMI
WOMEN'S history has to be put together with bits and pieces gathered from many different sources. It could be a lullaby, sung by a woman in the fields while transplanting or it could be a short diary entry a woman made while in jail. It could be the deathbed statement of a burn-victim or it could be the letters written by a woman. While going through such varied sources, it is a great joy when one finds an autobiography or a biography or an unpublished piece of writing. Kalyanasundari Sitaram's autobiography was one such joyful find. Called A Century of Living: From Tradition to Modernity, it was published more than 10 years ago privately by her daughter Kamalini Roy. Her neighbour Prof. M.N. Srinivas has written the foreword.
The inside flap has the photograph of Kalyanasundari Sitaram, with a warm smile. And that smile drew me to the book. It is a simply written autobiography with no frills. There is no bragging, no lament. Just a direct narration of details of the life of a girl who got married at the age of 12 to a young man who was more than twice her age besides being a widower with a child. Her married life was not a happy one and at the age of 23 she was left a widow with three children to be raised and with no financial security or education. This autobiography is about how Kalyanasundari rose above all this and occupied important positions in life. Kalyanasundari writes the story of her life at the age of 91, a time she calls the evening of her life. As Prof. M.N. Srinivas says in the introduction, "I shall Overcome" could have been the title of this book.
Kalyanasundari was born into an orthodox and conservative family whose idea of bringing up a daughter "properly" was to deny every little desire of hers. She narrates an incident of how she went to attend a valaikappu, the ceremony when a expectant mother and other young girls around adorn themselves with many-coloured bangles. Little Kalyanasundari had also worn many bangles. But when she returned home, her elder brother, who was against this kind of dressing up, broke every single bangle of hers. He did not think it was cruel nor was he someone who hated her. But care and affection for girls get expressed in such harsh ways. When she was about nine, one evening she played for a long time with her friends and came back sweating, her face aglow with the exercise and full of joy. Her mother was sitting on the swing and looked angry. "Come here," she said. When Kalyanasundari hesitated, "Come here, I will not beat you" her mother said. When the little girl went to her mother, she thrashed her right and left, and kicked her from the hall to the veranda all the while asking, "Will you play like this again, will you play?" After that she asked her to bring the harmonium and sit down and practise music!
By the time she was 11, marriage proposals began to come in. There was a reason why a 25-year-old young man, who was a widower with a child was chosen for the 12-year-old Kalyanasundari. His first wife came from a family of social reformers and Kalyanasundari's family thought that he would be "broad-minded" and not be the Lord and Master type, as Kalyanasundari puts it. But obviously, the first wife had had no such influence on him. He proved this on the very first day of a four-day marriage. As was the custom those days, for the reception on the evening of the first day, two sisters who were daughters of a famous veena player had been invited to give a concert. The groom told his father-in-law that the sisters must not be allowed to sing for they belonged to the Devadasi tradition and should not be performing in the homes of decent people. After much imploring, the young man said that they could give the concert but except for some close relatives nobody else — definitely not the women — could be present. So Kalyanasundari, to whom music was an inspiration and later in her life, a great solace, hid herself on the terrace of the house and heard the heavenly music. All that her shocked father could say in Tamil was that he had nurtured a sweet parrot but had sacrificed it to a cat.
Kalyanasundari's married life began at Indore, where her husband was the Private Secreatary to the Prime Minister of the royal State of Indore. The year was 1916 and Kalyanasundari was 14. Her husband had many bad habits, including gambling, and always came home late. Whenever she questioned him she had to face the consequences for daring to do so. It meant getting beaten; "a few slaps" as she puts it. At the age of 15, Kalyanasundari became the mother of a child. And when she became a widow at the age of 23, she was a mother of three children. It is amazing how Kalyanasundari tackled her problems and took decisions about her life. She never became the docile wife she was expected to be. One incident she narrates speaks a lot about her keeping up her spirits. When she was 18 or 19 and already a mother of two, Kalyanasundari wanted to ride a cycle. She persuaded her husband's friend's brother to teach her to ride. It was not a ladies' cycle. But this did not deter her. She gathered her sari and tucked it in between her legs and climbed the cycle and learnt to ride it. One day she and the young boy were riding fast when she saw her husband sitting by the street talking to a friend. He must have been shocked but his friend saved the situation by praising her for riding the cycle. Kalyanasundari, of course, was unrepentant.
One can say that Kalyanasundari really became free only after her husband's death. She continued her education and despite many constraints kept up her music and learnt to play the violin. She learnt Sanskrit because she wanted to and while she was studying in Queen Mary's college she took part in swimming, tennis, debating and drama. She was constantly juggling with her time trying to keep her children, who were put in boarding schools, happy and cheerful. After completing her B.A. and L.T. she held a part-time job as a music teacher in three educational institutions in Chennai. She became an active member of the All India Women's Conference and forcefully spoke about the issue of divorce in one of the meetings, trying to push the members to pass a resolution supporting divorce, only to be strongly opposed. The others got on to the rostrum and began to talk about the Sitas and Savithris of this holy land and there was tremendous applause at the end of their speeches. Kalyanasundari whispered to the person sitting next to her (it was probably Rukmini Arundale, according to her), "What about Draupadi having had five husbands and Kunti's children born of different fathers, and Satya Kama not knowing his Gothram as his mother did not know who his father was! Our holy land seems to have produced such women of very advanced views too!" Her neighbour whispered back, "Kalyanasundari, this is the stronghold of these people now; I think it would be wise to lie low for the moment." So that particular resolution got dropped.
Amidst all these activities, Kalayanasundari also found the time and the money to build a house where she and her children could be together. She rose to great heights in her career. She was the first Indian warden of the Lady Hardinge Medical College hostel in New Delhi followed by a long stint as an educational officer at the Indian High Commission, London, and she retired as an Administrative Officer at LHMC from which position she retired in 1958.
When she was 88, her children decided to perform a rare Vedic ceremony called Kanakabhishekam for her. This ceremony, which is literally a "gold bath", is normally celebrated when a great grandson is born in the agnatic line. This gesture of her children must have given her great joy but what was even more meaningful for her was the ceremony she performed for her mother when her mother was 97. It is a ceremony called Sathabhishekam that is performed when a person has seen thousand moons. Kalyanasundari was sure that her mother had seen many more moons than that. So she decided to arrange for the ceremony to be performed. There was much criticism, for, only men were entitled to this ceremony. Kalyanasundari comments that since she had always maintained the equality of the sexes, it did not matter to her if the Shastras allowed it or not.
Kalyanasundari is no more. But I am happy she has left behind this book for us, for it tells us not only about her times but also about a rare woman who made a different history possible by living her life on her terms.
C.S. Lakshmi is an independent researcher and a writer. She writes in Tamil under the pseudonym Ambai. She is the founder-trustee and director of SPARROW (Sound and Picture Archives for Research on Women).
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