Revisiting the Literature in my own mother-tongue Malayalam

When I was a teenager, I was kind of an amphibian voraciously reading (but not always retaining the details) of good books in English as well as Malayalam, my mother-tongue. I could even read in my national language Hindi though nowadays I find it hard to decipher even the alphabets (which I have tried by reading the film news in Navbharat Times).

Regarding Malayalam classics, my tastes more or less revolved around these major writers in Malayalam- Madhavikutty, T. Padmanabhan, MT Vasudevan Nair and Vaikkom Muhammed Basheer. These were the writers whom I loved to read again and again. My mother always brought new books by these writers to replenish my reading list from her office library.

We were a curious mother-daughter duo for in most serious aspects of life and we have always differed from other in principles or just for the difference of it; but regarding books, she is the one who has guided my reading tastes in Malayalam literature. Now, she has turned religious and reads only the Bible and prayer-books but there used to be a time when I could listen spell-bound to the stories that she recounted from the books she has read.

Well, back to my love of Malayalam literature. Though I have read only a few Malayalam books these ten years since I became an English literature student- a few like Khasakinte Ithihasam, Short stories of Madhavikutty, Jeevithanizhalpadukal and Balyakalasakhi by Vaikkom Muhammed Basheer and MT Vasudevan Nair's Randamoozham- the fact that recently I was teaching in a place where Malayalam literature was taught for MA as well brought to light that love of good literature written in Malayalam.

What followed was a gobbling up of Complete works of Madhavikutty now followed by Complete Works of Vaikkom Muhammed Basheer as well as a few works of MT Vasudevan Nair. Greatly amazed by Basheer and well as by MT, I feel like a curious child who is still in the process of joining together a jigsaw puzzle.That means that you, my dear readers will soon be bombarded with reviews and stories of the books I have encountered in Malayalam literature soon! 

Shashi Deshpande

Self-revelation is a cruel process. The real picture, the real you never emerges. Looking for it is as bewildering as trying to know how you really look. Ten different mirrors show you ten different faces. SHASHI DESHPANDE

It's unfortunate that I got introduced to the works of Shashi Deshpande through her novel, The Dark Holds No Terrors. It was part of my BA Syllabus and somehow I disliked this classic of Indian feminism that openly attacked the patriarchal values of repressing women.

Now almost a decade later, I read her novels Moving On and Roots and Shadows. To my own amazement, the books were well-written and very readable though her books follow a particular structure and form just like all the thrillers of Dan Brown are made of the same mould.

Somehow I felt betrayed as a literary student when I realised that what I studied as a student was one of her earlier works written in 1980, while Roots and Shadows belonged to 1983 and Moving On was published in 2004.

Though so late, I have become a fan of her writing and is happy to find that can keep the suspense of the story intact till the end while writing in a simple yet precise style.Written mostly in the stream-of-consciousness technique, the novels reveal the inner lives of women who try to liberate themselves from the shackles of family and society.

An open mind

Window

I Love You

I am a wanderer.

Lusty for life
Often aimless
Vistas numerous
Endless journeys.

You are my dream.
Only destination
Unless you disagree.

Imperceptible

Today, imperceptible is the word that comes to my mind when I think about the few days that we spent together. For the last few months, since our first introduction on that narrow staircase by a common friend, our world was bound together by successes and failures of an opposite kind. 

Our failures and successes made a grand total; for it was strange how you won where I failed and I won where you failed. No two people could be so different in their attitudes to life; a pair of opposites in every single detail. Yet yesterday when you walked out of that door, I felt that the world has changed for me. 

The world that we built up with our daily chatter, quiet confidences and silly laughter exists in memory and there’s no way I can shed tears on my fondness; for that will make it too different from what I have known. Yet the whole credit goes to you, my dear friend, in making the world alive, all these unforgettable months.

Solace

In a different life made of walls and despair, you were my way of stepping into the future.Often I walked out of the walls and despair by travelling into time and dreaming of the future. 

You were a  pair of little feet walking beside me always giving me comfort . It was from your eyes that I learnt the magic of innocence and unconditional love. Still you cling to my hand as we walk together in the street, though you are grown up and hate to be called "baby".

You do not know much each and every word of yours mean to me. More than anything, all the silly rambling talks that we share- on the metaphysics of nothingness- have meaning than all the conversations on making a living or following dreams.

From the first time, I saw you and held your tiny form in my hands, you have remained with me as a treasure, a whiff of home and childhood that makes my heart flutter and wants to tease you forever with all those silly recountings of your countless mischiefs.