Dakshin - South Indian Myths and Fables Retold

 

Aren't folktales like rivers, crossing the barriers of borders and languages, flowing for years down generations? As a spring in the mountains, gushing down gorges, cascading down cliffs, flowing steadily and nurturing life, eventually draining into the wide sea; at times swelling in a blinding rage, and at others meekly vanishing into a thin stream, a river assumes many forms, quite like a folktale that comes in different versions. For instance, 'The Tale of the Singing Drum' from the Pattole Palame compilation (Kodava folklore) in this book loosely reminded me of the tale of Tejimola (from Assam).

The similarity between rivers & folktales struck me as I read the last story 'The Sage and the River'. It's not just a tale of Sage Agastya and the River Kaveri but a testimony to the valour of Kodava women (Kodava is the language spoken in Coorg & name of community too), also one that explains why Kodava women drape their saree in a unique way.

Why do Kodava men carry Piche Kaththi (an ornate sheathed knife with a crescent moon mark) during traditional ceremonies? 

What does their war cry 'Iggi Bokki' mean? 

Why is the Varaha (wild boar incarnation of Vishnu) revered in many places in Western ghats? Other than simple life lessons that folktales offer, it's interesting how they tell us the how, why and what kindling our imagination, in a way so unlike chunky encyclopedias.

Dakshin, a collection of 15 folktales, feels wholesome for the regions and languages it represents. Tales translated from Badaga (language & community in Nilgiris), Tamil (set in Kongunadu), Malayalam and one from Telugu (Tale of Bala Nagamma & Evil Sorcerer that has inspired movies) apart from many tales set in Karnataka feature here. Though the author clearly focuses on folklore from Coorg (from where he hails), he stretches the book's coverage by including a tale from Odisha (from Munda community). 

In storytelling that is lucid and engaging, Dakshin - South Indian Myths and Fables Retold is every bit enjoyable. One aspect that clearly stood out for me in the book is how the author has included a story (consisting of three stories - The Tale of the Jungle River) narrated by his primary school teacher. My love for reading and stories is largely due to me middle school English teacher, I cannot thank her enough. The stories are adequately supported by Pari Satarkar's lovely illustrations. The beautiful cover design is by Isha Nagar. 

For children and for 'hungry-for-stories child' alive in us grown ups, Dakshin by MP Nitin Kushalappa is a very beautiful treat.

Marquez, EMS, Gulam and others

 

This splendid collection of 15 stories let me travel to Doha, Jerusalem, Baghdad, Dublin, Djibouti, Ethiopia, America, Nainital, Solapur and of course, to a few towns in Kerala.

In the author’s note, Benyamin writes ‘stories cannot be pulled out of thin air like magicians and sanyasis pull out vibhuti. They are deeply rooted in life’. He explains how stories here are inspired by his experiences. Rather than report them in a matter of fact style, he wraps them intelligently with his opinions, beliefs, fears without pontificating even once. In every story, he highlights how we human beings view each other with spite and skepticism, through a myriad of filters - race, colour, religion, caste, class, nationality missing out the most rudimentary link - of humanity. The poor and marginalized, denotified nomadic tribes, immigrants from third world nations eking out a living in rich, developed countries find a place in these stories.

What happens when a young journalist in Kerala, Gregory George Mathews, wakes up one morning and believes he has transformed into the great writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez? The similarities between Mathews and Marquez that convince him the transformation is real, how Mathews’ wife ends his madness by deploying ‘a thorn to remove a thorn’ strategy tickle a funny bone. Missing animals from a zoo in Doha and princes fleeing Saudi, the Hmongs in America and EMS Namboodiripad are puzzle pieces the author connects with brilliant storytelling in ‘Gulam Hussain’ and ‘EMS and the Girl’. The shortest story ‘The Enemy’ packs a punch showing how for one standing in the path of extreme hatred & violence, the choice is to either be a victim or a perpetrator, never a mute spectator. While there is a man who cannot begin thieving, his scruples wouldn’t let him, there’s another who cannot quit thieving for his caste wouldn’t allow him.

Sharing a few favorite lines from the stories here - 

No matter which story I say is true, you will still believe only the version that you choose to. It applies not just to stories - life too, has this limitation. (from the story - Alice in Wonderland) 

Life has a way of settling into a routine, which, in no time, effortlessly sweeps away friends, edging you  into a personal pit, making you abandon everyone who anchored you and gave you a sense of rootedness until then. (from the story - Javed the Mujahideen) 

From sailing on ancient trade routes from Alexandria eastwards to Muziris to learning about ethnic clashes between Hadiyas, Amhara & Oromo in Ethiopia, there’s never a dull moment in this collection that dazzles with nested stories and stories with luscious open endings. The Harper Perennial editions are known for elaborate end-notes that mostly include an author's interview, notes from the author and translator. However, this book has only an introduction by the author, and the stories more than make up for the lack of insights section at the end. Though I enjoyed every story, those that left a deep imprint are - The Stones of Gazan, Addis Ababa, EMS and the Girl, Alice in Wonderland, Solapur, A Chapter from my Red Sea Book. 

Translated well by BR Swarup, Marquez, EMS, Gulam and others - selected short stories by Benyamin is a fulfilling smorgasbord!

The Buddha in the Attic

 

"One by one all the old words we had taught them began to disappear from their heads. They forgot the names of the flowers in Japanese. They forgot the name of the water goddess, Mizu Gami, who protected our rivers and streams and insisted that we keep our wells clean. But whenever we heard them talking out loud in their sleep the words that came out of their mouths came out—we were sure of it—in Japanese." 

"Our daughters took big long steps, in the American manner, and moved with undignified haste.Our sons grew enormous. They insisted on eating bacon and eggs every morning for breakfast instead of bean-paste soup.They refused to use chopsticks. They drank gallons of milk. They spoke perfect English just like on the radio and whenever they caught us bowing before the kitchen god in the kitchen and clapping our hands they rolled their eyes and said, “Mama, please.” "

-- above is an excerpt from the book The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka, a work of historical fiction on 'Picture Brides' who sailed from Japan (in early 20th century) to join their husbands in San Francisco, men they had seen only in photos until then, in hope of a better future or out of obligation to their parents. They were told their husbands are bankers but they were peasants. These women were crushed down to their bones doing odd jobs alongside their husbands all day long. They gave birth under horrific conditions, some of their children died and some survived. 

They told their children - "Study hard. Be patient. Whatever you do, don’t end up like me." And still, when their children  turned different, they felt they had become 'indifferent' too.

The chaos that's bundled with 'hyphenated heritage', the emotional experience of being 'an outsider' makes The Buddha in the Attic a layered read. This extra dimension reminded me of Asako Serizawa's depiction of life of a Japanese woman in America until the miscegenation law was repealed in 1948 in her book Inheritors and Cynthia Kadohata's portrayal of a modest Japanese family in 1950s America in her book Kira Kira. It is this dimension that makes me want to pick Kimi Cunningham Grant's book Silver Like Dust. 

There is no doubt that The Buddha in the Attic sheds light on a relatively lesser known dark chapter of history and it does so remarkably well, in a clearly structured fashion with thematic chapters. The book begins a chapter dedicated to the journey of these picture brides by boat. Chapters that detail their first impression as they land in America, the truths that unravel when they meet their husbands, consummation of their marriages, the menial jobs they do all day long while silently bearing the brunt of racism, ordeals related to child birth and health care, the culture shock that tears them apart as their children grow up etc follow on.  

The author's thorough research (we infer from the acknowledgements) lends a precision to the text and earns readers' trust. The writing is lucid and evocative too. Yet, the book fails to garner a perfect score on two accounts. 

Repetition is a common literary device used to assert or drive home a point. At Night all Blood is Black by David Diop and The Twilight Zone by Nona Fernandes are historical fiction works that come to my mind instantly as instances where this is employed and works pretty well. However, in this book, though repetition enhances the reader's emotional connect with the plight of the women initially, it lends a clear drag thereafter; pronouncedly in the last three chapters where the Japanese are branded as traitors, incarcerated, evicted from their homes and interned at camps following the Japanese attack of Pearl Harbour. Instead of letting this tragedy sink in us readers, the drag left a sense of urgency in me to complete the book.

Also, though the writer's usage of 'we', a first person plural in narration to amplify the collective experiences of the picture brides felt intelligent, in the absence of a distinct set of characters to connect with, my journey through the read felt directionless at places. 

Despite the above shortcomings, The Buddha in the Attic, a slim and highly important read, will stay with me for long for the way it dazzled in parts. 

Dead-end Memories

My first read for the year 2023 was Dead-end Memories, a collection of five stories by Banana Yoshimoto, translated by Asa Yoneda. 

"This was what it took, I realized, to be something that survived. Not just constancy, or strength. But—like the ever-flowing river—to engulf everything that came your way and move swiftly on as though it had never been."

Women are central characters in the stories here. They are either looking back on a day that changed their lives, fighting horrific scars from their past or learning to handle loss of love or a loved one, betrayal and failed relationships. In prose that is pellucid and brims with tenderness, Banana Yoshimoto dwells deeply on incidents that transform the lives of her characters and shape their memories. 

My favorite stories are ‘House of Ghosts’ which has a coming-of-age flavor to it, ‘Not Warm at All' which poignantly depicts how being surrounded by people doesn't always assure security or ward off loneliness and ‘Tomo Chan’s Happiness’ (though I felt this ended abruptly) which is a sensitive take on what defines and who controls one’s happiness. 

A freak food poisoning accident flushes out toxic baggage from the past for Matsuoka in the story ‘Mama!’. In Dead-end Memories, a newly forged friendship helps the protagonist battle loneliness and her fiancé's betrayal. In my opinion, these two stories would have had a better impact had they been shorter. And, the choice of the title for this collection where every story bestows its characters with hope, a fresh lease of life and space for more memories feels a little incoherent.

I re-read the author’s ‘Bee Honey’ from the Penguin Book of Japanese Short Stories. Looking back at all these stories, I adore Banana Yoshimoto for how she handles grief, loneliness, mental health issues and myriad everyday human emotions like an artist with the most nimble fingers. It's also lovely how she incorporates food as a medium of expression. Her acuity in detailing her character’s emotional vulnerability and maturity is stunning.

I am jotting down some of my favorite lines from the stories that I hope will substantiate the thoughts I have shared above -

"A feeling of closeness lay silkily between us, like a sourdough starter quietly rising." (from House of Ghosts)

"But my family was just the three of us. It seemed to me like we had no backup at all."

(from Not Warm at All)

"I was also learning that every single person in the world had been hurt by their family at some point. I wasn’t special at all—some people dealt with it well, and some didn’t, but that was the only difference, and either way, we were all nourished and cherished by our families, and at the same time limited and defined by them—that was what it meant to be human, I understood." (from Mama!)

"Each one of us has our own personal rock bottom. There are so many people out there with lives far less fortunate than ours, and if we got even a taste of what it’s like to be them it would crush us, we’d never make it through. Because we’re lucky, we’ve got things pretty easy. But that’s not something we need to feel ashamed of.” (from Dead-end Memories)

Mildly melancholic and pretty philosophical, Dead-end Memories feels like a blanket made of words that will keep us warm on cold winter evenings (maybe even help tackle a few cold vibes).

Fifty-five Pillars, Red Walls

Ralph Waldo Emerson's quote Money often costs too much was my WhatsApp status message for a long time and Fifty-five Pillars, Red Walls by Usha Priyamvada, translated from Hindi by Daisy Rockwell reminded me of it strongly. 

Isn't it ironical that money which assures a lot of freedom can actually tie a person down and thwart a few basic rights? Does financial independence itself come with a heavy price tag? 

The protagonist of this novel , Sushma Sharma, the eldest daughter in her family who's mature, intelligent and well-educated makes us ponder over the above question. Sushma is a lecturer and a warden in a reputed women's college in Delhi. As her family's breadwinner, her responsibilities are many. Her parents' initial reluctance to let Sushma work is gradually replaced by a smug understanding that her income is indispensable to run the household and to secure the future of her younger siblings. Sushma's mother often quips that Sushma is too able and literate and it's hard for them to find her a suitable match.  Though she remarks that  Sushma has been granted complete freedom to find a life partner herself, we realize through the read that this freedom is bogus. 

When Sushma meets Neel, a charming man, few years younger than her in Delhi, desires frozen deep within her begin to thaw. A gentle longing for love and companionship grows in her despite her sincere efforts to nip these changes as they bud. Neel's loving gaze, his wit, humor and child-like persistence; even his silence only draws them closer before Sushma realizes that she is trapped in a quagmire of personal desire conflicting with  familial duties and workplace obligations. 

Sushma's battle with loneliness, her angst at knowing that she will be caged for life within the confines of her workplace (fifty-five pillars, red walls refer to the college) and this angst pushing Neel to a state of despair are all written in a heart rending manner. 

That workplace gossip can be quite harmful and women bear its worst brunt even as they are its worst perpetrators is another subject dealt with in the novel. The friendship between Sushma and Meenakshi (Sushma's colleague) wins our hearts. The novel has a clear film-like quality to it and through the read I couldn't stop fancying Deepti Naval playing the part of Sushma and Vinod Mehra playing that of Neel. 

The book felt broadly similar to a story by Rajee Seth that I read in an anthology Alone Together, translated from Hindi by Ruth Vanita. 

One of my last reads - Taniya by Arupa Patangia Kalita, translated from Assamese by Meenaxi Barkotoki has an introduction penned by author Jahnavi Barua where she writes - "when the original comes effortlessly to you on reading a translation you know it is a job well done". When I read translations from Indian languages I can speak in - Tamil, Malayalam and Hindi, I try/naturally tend to think back on the probable lines in the original language. For this book, I was so deeply invested with Sushma's thoughts, decisions and actions that I skipped this exercise and devoured the book quickly. 

Fifty-five Pillars , Red Walls, a slim classic that poses essential questions, gives us readers a female protagonist we wouldn't forget easily.