{"id":255,"date":"2014-06-10T17:31:53","date_gmt":"2014-06-10T17:31:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/scholarblogs.emory.edu\/postcolonialstudies\/?p=255"},"modified":"2017-05-23T20:35:35","modified_gmt":"2017-05-23T20:35:35","slug":"das-kamala","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/scholarblogs.emory.edu\/postcolonialstudies\/2014\/06\/10\/das-kamala\/","title":{"rendered":"Das, Kamala"},"content":{"rendered":"

Biography<\/h3>\n
\"kamala_das\"<\/a>
Image by Sreedharantp\/CC Licensed<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Recognized as one of India\u2019s foremost poets, Kamala Das was born Kamala Madhavikutty\u00a0on March 31, 1934 in Malabar in the state of Kerala<\/a> (Dwivedi 297). Her love of poetry began at an early age through the influence of her great uncle, Nalapat Narayan Menon, a prominent writer. Das remembered watching him \u201cwork from morning till night\u201d and thinking that he had \u201ca blissful life\u201d (Warrier interview). Das was also deeply affected by the poetry of her mother, Nalapat Balamani Amma, and the sacred writings kept by the matriarchal community of Nayars (India World<\/em>). She was privately educated until the age of 15 when she was married to K. Madhava Das (India World<\/em>). She was 16 when her first son was born and she said\u00a0that she \u201cwas mature enough to be a mother only when my third child was born\u201d (Warrior interview). Her husband often played a fatherly role for both Das and her sons. Because of the great age difference between Kamala and her husband, he often encouraged her to associate with people of her own age. Das said that he was always \u201cvery understanding\u201d (Warrier interview).<\/p>\n

When Das wished to begin writing, her husband supported her decision to augment the family\u2019s income. Because Das was a woman<\/a>, however, she could not use the morning-till-night schedule enjoyed by her great uncle. She would wait until nightfall after her family had gone to sleep and would write until morning: \u201cThere was only the kitchen table where I would cut vegetables, and after all the plates and things were cleared, I would sit there and start typing\u201d (Warrier interview). This rigorous schedule took its toll upon Das\u2019 health, but she viewed her illness optimistically. It gave her more time at home, and thus, more time to write.<\/p>\n

In an interview with Shobha Warrier, Das indicated that her husband was the greatest supporter of her progressing career. Even when controversy swirled around Das\u2019 sexually charged poetry and her unabashed autobiography,\u00a0My Story<\/em>, Das\u2019 husband was \u201cvery proud\u201d of her (Warrier interview). Though he was sick for 3 years before he passed away, his presence brought her tremendous joy and comfort. She stated that there \u201cshall not be another person so proud of me and my achievements\u201d (Warrier interview). This depiction of her husband differs from his description in Merrily Weisbord\u2019s biographical work that was published after Das\u2019s death.<\/p>\n

Das\u2019s achievements extend well beyond her verses of poetry. Das says, \u201cI wanted to fill my life with as many experiences as I can manage to garner because I do not believe that one can get born again\u201d (Warrier interview). True to her word, Das dabbled in painting, fiction (Warrier interview), and even politics (Raveendran 53). Though Das failed to win a place in Parliament in 1984, she\u00a0was later\u00a0successful\u00a0as a syndicated columnist (Raveendran 53). She\u00a0moved away from poetry because she claimed that \u201cpoetry does not sell in this country [India],\u201d but fortunately her forthright columns did (Warrier interview). Das\u2019 columns sounded off on everything from women\u2019s issues <\/a>and child care to politics.<\/p>\n

In December, 1999 Kamala Das converted to Islam<\/a>, creating a furor in the press. Less than a year later, Kamala Surayya announced plans to\u00a0register her political party \u2018Lok Seva,\u2019 (see articles available through the section on \u201crelated links\u201d).<\/p>\n

Das passed away on May 31, 2009 in a hospital in Pune, Maharashtra, India.<\/p>\n

Womanhood in Das\u2019 Poetry<\/h3>\n

Das\u2019s uncanny honesty extended to her exploration of womanhood and love. In her poem \u201cAn Introduction\u201d from\u00a0Summer in Calcutta<\/em>, the narrator says, \u201cI am every\/ Woman who seeks love\u201d (de Souza 10). Though Amar Dwivedi criticized Das for this \u201cself imposed and not natural\u201d universality, this feeling of oneness permeated her poetry (303). In Das\u2019 eyes, womanhood involved certain collective experiences. Indian women, she argued, did not discuss these experiences in deference to social mores and\u00a0Das consistently refused to accept their silence. In her work, feelings of longing and loss are not confined to a private misery, but rather they are invited into the public sphere and acknowledged. Das insisted\u00a0that these feelings had been experienced by women across time. In \u201cThe Maggots\u201d from the collection,\u00a0The Descendants<\/em>, Das illustrated just how old the sufferings of women are. She framed the pain of lost love with ancient Hindu myths (de Souza 13). On their last night together, Krishna asks Radha if she is disturbed by his kisses. Radha says, \u201cNo, not at all, but thought, What is \/ It to the corpse if the maggots nip?\u201d (de Souza 6-7). Radha\u2019s pain is searing, and her silence is given voice by Das. Furthermore, by making a powerful goddess prey to such thoughts,\u00a0Das\u00a0makes the case\u00a0for ordinary women to have similar feelings.<\/p>\n

Eroticism in Das\u2019 Poetry<\/h3>\n

Coupled with her exploration of women\u2019s needs\u00a0was an attention to eroticism. The longing to lose one\u2019s self in passionate love is discussed in \u201cThe Looking Glass\u201d from\u00a0The Descendants<\/em>. The narrator of the poem urges women to give their man \u201cwhat makes you women\u201d (de Souza 15). The things which society suggests are dirty or taboo are the very things which the women are supposed to give. The \u201cmusk of sweat between breasts\/ The warm shock of menstrual blood\u201d should not be hidden from one\u2019s beloved (15). In the narrator\u2019s eyes, love should be defined by this type of unconditional honesty. A woman should \u201cStand nude before the glass with him,\u201d and allow her lover to see her exactly as she is (15). Likewise, the woman should appreciate even the \u201cfond details\u201d of her lover, such as \u201cthe jerky way he \/ Urinates\u201d (15). Even if the woman may have to live \u201cwithout him\u201d someday, the narrator does not seem to favor bridling one\u2019s passions to protect one\u2019s self (15). A restrained love seems to be no love at all; only a total immersion in love can do justice to this experience. Much like the creators of ancient Tantric art, Das makes no attempt to hide the sensuality of the human form; her work seems to celebrate its joyous potential while acknowledging its concurrent dangers.<\/p>\n

Feminism<\/h3>\n

Das once said, \u201cI always wanted love, and if you don\u2019t get it within your home, you stray a little\u201d(Warrier interview). Though some might label Das as \u201ca feminist\u201d for her candor in dealing with women\u2019s needs and desires, Das \u201chas never tried to identify herself with any particular version of feminist activism\u201d (Raveendran 52). Das\u2019 views can be characterized as \u201ca gut response,\u201d a reaction that, like her poetry, is unfettered by other\u2019s notions of right and wrong (52). Nonetheless, poet Eunice de Souza claims that Das has \u201cmapped out the terrain for post-colonial women in social and linguistic terms\u201d (8). Das has ventured into areas unclaimed by society and provided a point of reference for her colleagues. She has transcended the role of a poet and simply embraced the role of a very honest woman.<\/p>\n

Her Works<\/h3>\n

Das has published many novels<\/a> and short stories in English, as well as in the Indian language of Malayalam under the name \u201cMadhavikutty\u201d (de Souza 7). Some of her work in English includes the novel\u00a0Alphabet of Lust\u00a0<\/em>(1977), a collection of short stories called\u00a0Padmavati the Harlot and Other Stories<\/em>\u00a0(1992), in addition to books of poetry including\u00a0Summer in Calcutta<\/em>\u00a0(1965),\u00a0The Descendants\u00a0<\/em>(1967),\u00a0The Old Playhouse and Other Poems<\/em>\u00a0(1973),\u00a0The Anamalai Poems<\/em>\u00a0(1985),\u00a0Only the Soul Knows How to Sing<\/em>\u00a0(1996), and\u00a0Yaa Allah<\/em>\u00a0(2001), a collection of poetry with Pritish Nandy (1990), and her autobiography,\u00a0My Story<\/em>\u00a0(1976). Some of her fiction pieces from the 90s in Malayalam includes\u00a0Palayan\u00a0<\/em>(1990),\u00a0Neypayasam<\/em>\u00a0(1991),\u00a0Dayarikkurippukal<\/em>\u00a0(1992), and\u00a0Chekkerunna Pakshikal\u00a0<\/em>(1996). After 2000, she has published several works including\u00a0Chandana Marangal<\/em>\u00a0(2005),\u00a0\u00a0Madhavikkuttiyude Unmakkadhakal<\/em>\u00a0(2005)\u00a0and\u00a0Vandikkalakal<\/em>\u00a0(2005)\u00a0.<\/p>\n

Three Poems from\u00a0Nine Indian Women Poets<\/em><\/h3>\n

The Dance of the Eunuchs (from\u00a0Summer in Calcutta<\/em>)<\/h4>\n

It was hot, so hot, before the eunuchs came
\nTo dance, wide skirts going round and round, cymbals
\nRichly clashing, and anklets jingling, jingling
\nJingling\u2026 Beneath the fiery gulmohur, with
\nLong braids flying, dark eyes flashing, they danced and
\nThey dance, oh, they danced till they bled\u2026 There were green
\nTattoos on their cheeks, jasmines in their hair, some
\nWere dark and some were almost fair. Their voices
\nWere harsh, their songs melancholy; they sang of
\nLovers dying and or children left unborn\u2026.
\nSome beat their drums; others beat their sorry breasts
\nAnd wailed, and writhed in vacant ecstasy. They
\nWere thin in limbs and dry; like half-burnt logs from
\nFuneral pyres, a drought and a rottenness
\nWere in each of them. Even the crows were so
\nSilent on trees, and the children wide-eyed, still;
\nAll were watching these poor creatures\u2019 convulsions
\nThe sky crackled then, thunder came, and lightning
\nAnd rain, a meagre rain that smelt of dust in
\nAttics and the urine of lizards and mice\u2026.<\/p>\n

The Maggots (from\u00a0The Descendants<\/em>)<\/h4>\n

At sunset, on the river ban, Krishna
\nLoved her for the last time and left\u2026<\/p>\n

That night in her husband\u2019s arms, Radha felt
\nSo dead that he asked, What is wrong,
\nDo you mind my kisses, love? And she said,
\nNo, not at all, but thought, What is
\nIt to the corpse if the maggots nip?<\/p>\n

The Stone Age (from\u00a0The Old Playhouse and Other Poems<\/em>)<\/h4>\n

Fond husband, ancient settler in the mind,
\nOld fat spider, weaving webs of bewilderment,
\nBe kind. You turn me into a bird of stone, a granite
\nDove, you build round me a shabby room,
\nAnd stroke my pitted face absent-mindedly while
\nYou read. With loud talk you bruise my pre-morning sleep,
\nYou stick a finger into my dreaming eye. And
\nYet, on daydreams, strong men cast their shadows, they sink
\nLike white suns in the swell of my Dravidian blood,
\nSecretly flow the drains beneath sacred cities.
\nWhen you leave, I drive my blue battered car
\nAlong the bluer sea. I run up the forty
\nNoisy steps to knock at another\u2019s door.
\nThough peep-holes, the neighbours watch,
\nthey watch me come
\nAnd go like rain. Ask me, everybody, ask me
\nWhat he sees in me, ask me why he is called a lion,
\nA libertine, ask me why his hand sways like a hooded snake
\nBefore it clasps my pubis. Ask me why like
\nA great tree, felled, he slumps against my breasts,
\nAnd sleeps. Ask me why life is short and love is
\nShorter still, ask me what is bliss and what its price\u2026.<\/p>\n

Works Cited<\/h3>\n