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Literary Review
Between convention and change
ANJANA RAJAN
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A chronicle of three generations of women caught between tradition and modernity.
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Bridges (Paalangal) by acclaimed Tamil author Sivasankari makes thought-provoking reading. Apart from the author’s metaphor of a woman acting as a bridge between generations, the uniquely structured novel compels the reader to construct bridges too — between the disparate worlds of the families whose lives are lovingly and intricately documented, between the old and the young characters struggling to understand each other in these three stories, between the eternally opposing poles of convention and change.
Bridges tells the story of three generations of Tamil Brahmin households. Considering women’s pivotal role in traditional societies, from bearing children to running the kitchen, maintaining the social network to providing the foundation for the observance of ritual practices, it is natural that the novel’s dominant characters are women.
Parallel vision
The chronicles of the three generations — 1907-1931, 1940-1964 and 1965-1985 — are not contiguous, nor do they necessarily belong to the same family. Beginning with the 1907 generation, the author intersperses the stories of the three, so that we get a parallel vision of their lives, so different in many ways, yet so similar.
If Sivakamu, the protagonist of the oldest generation, wonders if one day she will turn out to be like her mother-in-law — “The love is there, I know, but where does the harshness come from?”; Aparna of the generation 1965-1985 is surprised at her mother’s transformation. The woman who acted as a bridge across the chasm dividing Aparna and her grandaunt (“difficult me and impossible Vimala Paati”) is now “older, less understanding, more querulous, more demanding”. And even as Aparna finds the change painful, she also realises that the responsibility of being a bridge between a grandmother and granddaughter is now hers.
Mythili’s generation, 1940-1964, reflects changing times. In the adaptability or intractability of the elders and the eagerness of Venkittu and Mythili to embrace a ‘modern’ lifestyle, spiced up with trips to the cinema and unfettered by ‘pointless’ rituals, appear reflections of just about every Indian.
And though the scenario may change, with Charu and Aparna growing up in cities driving their own cars, while Sivakamu is not even allowed out of her house, the fundamentals remain. So, just as the woman’s primary role continues to be that of a bridge, the turning point of her life is still determined by her marriage.
No judgments
This is an observation the reader may make. The author only chronicles, passing no judgement. She weaves a vibrant portrait of each generation, and we can appraise each as we might Kanjivaram saris of different vintage.
The detailing in Sivasankari’s descriptions is a delight. Take Sivakamu’s traditional society, where every occasion demands precise and elaborate treatment, and every member of the family has an assigned role. The rituals that punctuate the lives of the patriarch Kalahasti, his daughter-in-law Pattamma and his eldest granddaughter Sivakamu are vividly described to conjure up every fragrance and flavour, every sound and sight of the days that began before sunrise and ended in the dim light of castor oil lamps.
Tradition is a continuous flow. Every day takes us further from the worlds conjured by the scriptures much of India still abides by.
So we can be thankful for novels like Bridges. Because bridges can be used to cross both forwards and backwards. And sometimes to pause and take a dip in the rushing eddies.
Bridges; Sivasankari, Translated from Tamil by S. Krishnan, Indian Writing, Rs.200
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