GENDER
Real women, real stories
RANJITA BISWAS
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The book focusses on this increasingly voluble voice of women in Bengal.
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Three Sides of Life: Short Stories by Bengali Women Writers; Editor: Saumitra Chakravarthy, Oxford University Press, Rs. 350
There is difference of only a letter in the spelling of the Bengali word manashi and manushi but it can connote a world of difference. While the former tends to centre on creation of a woman, a muse, by a poet
217;s pen catering to the prevalent image; manushi, on the other hand, is the real woman, flesh and blood. But her voice is often submerged or not recognised at all in an andocentric culture. Even then, that voice often floats up from
the flotsam of non-entity — in poems, novels, short stories. In the last few decades, that voice has been getting stronger.
Common strand
Through this anthology of short stories in translation, done by herself and other well-known translators, editor Saumitra Chakravarthy has endeavoured to focus on this increasingly voluble voice of the manushi in Bengali literature.
It has 15 representative stories by five contemporary writers known for their diversity of themes and narrative style but with a common strand of putting up the ‘woman’ question: Ashapurna Devi, Mahasweta Devi, Nabaneeta Dev Sen, Bani Basu and Suchitra Bhattacharya.
In the ‘Introduction’, scholar Tutun Mukherjee traces the evolution of Bengali women’s writing from the first tentative steps in colonial times to its blooming in the 20th century. About the anthologised authors, she says: “Their appeal is trans-generational. They speak in many voices : each distinctively different, yet each struggling to articulate a heretofore repressed and silenced female’s story and voice…These are the kind of stories that must cross borders.”
The selection reflects the transition of the Bengali woman writer from the andar mahal to the public arena. For instance, older-generation Ashapurna Devi was house-bound in the true sense of the term, brought up in a conservative ho
usehold where she was not even allowed to go to school or learn the alphabets, which she picked up from her brother. Even after marriage, it is said, she literally wrote in the kitchen. Her stories are woven around her familiar world but are universal in appeal and wrought with deep understanding. In “The Red Saree”, symbolising the bridal finery, she casts an ironical eye on the patriarchal society’s norms. Yet, Hymanti in “Please Forgive Me” gives into the societal image of a virtuous woman and hesitates to run away with her own husband who returns from forced exile due to an unfortunate incident.
Jnanpith award-winner Mahaswaeta Devi’s world, on the other hand, is peppered with political activism, which reflects in her writing too. Her Dhouli is a comment on the exploitation of an untouchable girl by the Brahmins in the village. But in “The Divorce” a plucky Kulsum outsmarts so-called guardians of society who dictate that she stay estranged from her husband because of a carelessly pronounced three talaqs.
Almost by coincidence perhaps, the lurking problem of loneliness of the elderly in a rapidly changing urban India figures in quite a few stories. Versatile litterateur Nabaneeta Dev Sen’s “The Kayak” examines the issue through the eyes of young Kaushiki whose parents have emigrated to the West. Suchitra Bhattacharya’s “The Indir Thakuruns” is about women in an old age home and “Bonds” on a lonely couple in a palatial house; their brilliant sons have settled abroad and are too busy to keep regular contact. The last lines in “Bonds” are heart-rending: “A deep sigh tore through Sukhomoy’s body. If only one of his sons had been uneducated, unemployed, worthless, like Amal!” Amal is an uncouth nephew who visited with his family for a few days ruffling the quietness of his house.
Pleasure to read
Bani Basu’s penchant for telling stories in an ancient mould but in the modern context is well-known. Her “Shirish”, a metaphorical story, on the peace ‘good’ brings and turmoil ‘evil’ brings is told through the earth-mother-like figure, Shirish. At her touch, a place where “there was no beauty, no harmony” blooms with happiness as people change; she is a true leader of people. But the blissful state is shattered by motorcycle-borne harbingers of politicians, her daughter is abducted; the earth dries up as she mourns. At last when the evil surpasses beyond limits, rains come in torrents, sweeping away everything like the proverbial Deluge; the revenge of the earth.
A few awkward phrases and typos could have been avoided but otherwise with ample footnotes and details, the well-mounted book is a pleasure to read.
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