All I wanted was to Read

[The Telugu story, “trushna” was originally published in Andhra Jyoti Weekly, 10 April 1970, won special prize in Ugadi Short Story Competition.]
*
[Note: System is a mark of civilization. We pride ourselves on creating rules, and following the system to the letter, while the very persons, for whose benefit the rules are created, pay the price--all in the name of the same game, called the system.]
*
Balaiah brought in the day’s mail, stamped the date on each piece, put them in the tray. I asked Balaiah to bring two cups of coffee.
Kamala, a Telugu lecturer in a local college, was sitting in the chair across from me. She came to borrow some books from our library. Kamala wanted. I started opening the mail.
“Where did you get this fellow,” Kamala said, watching him leave.
“What do you mean?” I said, casually.
Balaiah started as office boy in our library a month ago. No complaints. He minds his own business.
Is he behaving?” Kamala fired her second question.
I did not care to respond. During the course of my service, the one thing I have learned about the work ethics of subordinates. Some people are careless at first, and then come around; then there are others, who would start with a bang like fireworks and slowly dawdle away. Some people would listen to only one person and drive others nuts.
Kamala continued, “He worked as an errand boy in my home until he was twelve.”
“What happened after that?” I asked, as if I was obliged to say something.
“He started jerking around and so we threw him out.”
Kamala seemed to be more interested in criticizing Balaiah, than in the books she had come for. Her rambling did not make much sense to me. I nevertheless managed to gather, that Balaiah started working for them at the age of eight. At first, he was just raring to go, would jump on a chore even before Kamala finished the line. After a couple of years, however, he had started playing hooky; would disappear for a precious few hours in the mornings in the mid-afternoons. He had never given any explanation for his behavior. The word accountability was not in his book or so it seemed. He would not change it either…
“Maybe, he wanted to have some fun. After all, he was just a kid, you know,” I said, looking for an explanation myself.
“The fellow has no sense of responsibility, not interested in hard work; and that’s all there is to it,” Kamala said.
That amused me. I could not help thinking about all the fanfare around her ‘walk to work’. Short of a palanquin, it was a royal parade—she would walk to the college, just two hundred yards from home. It was a sight with she carrying a parasol, wearing sunglasses, her face glistening with Ponds cream, her father on her side, and a servant behind her carrying her books… Who could be better qualified to comment on hard work if not her, I told myself.
“We hired him to help us, and it was more like we were attending on him. So, we let him go,” Kamala said again.
We went to the stacks, Kamala picked up the books she needed. We came back to my office. Balaiah was waiting with two cups of coffee. I gave him the books. He took them to the counter, got them checked out, and handed the books respectfully to Kamala.
Kamala thanked me for the books and the coffee, and left.
I had better things to do than worry about Balaiah; I did not give much thought to Kamala’s comments. In the next few days, however, I could not help myself; I was paying special attention to Balaiah rather involuntarily. A couple of times I visited the section he was working for no apparent reason. I was checking upon him.
One day, I caught him reading a book. “We did not hire you to read books you know,” I said. There was no need for me to be so harsh.
“Sorry, madam,” Balaiah said, looking down. After that incident, I went to his section several times but never saw him with a book again.
Then came the grants time. I got busy with proposals for new grants. I had no time to check upon Balaiah. He could be reading, singing, or dancing, for all I knew.

Then the trouble rose to the fore once again. “Balaiah is not paying attention to work, madam,” his supervisor complained to me one day.
“What happened?”
“I caught him napping during office hours. I woke him up and questioned. He says he went to a late night show and so a kind of dozed off.”
I told him to send Balaiah to me. The supervisor went to his seat. Balaiah came to my office.
“Is it true that you were sleeping in the office?” I asked him straight.
“Just a nod madam, just for a second,” he said.
“I am not asking you, whether you nodded or slept like a log. I am asking you, what were you doing during office hours. You can watch all the three shows on the same day for all I care. But you must attend to the library work during library hours,” I said.
“I did not go to the cinema, madam,” Balaiah said.
That ticked me off. “That is beside the point. If I hear a complaint again, I will have to take action. Do you understand? Go back to work.”
Balaiah left without a word. Something was telling me that I should have believed him; what if he were telling the truth?
The supervisor however continued to complain. I talked to Balaiah several times. He was always polite, never, not once, talked back to me. The supervisor says Balaiah was rude to him.
How can I ask Balaiah, “Are you being rude to your supervisor?” or, “What are your reasons for being rude to your supervisor?”
One day, Balaiah took the day off. He said he had a splitting headache. The supervisor said, Balaiah was lying and that, the real reason was the new movie just released.
“Mr. Rama Rao, do you remember the Pancatantra story ? The ever-suspecting person is never happy,” I said, suggesting it would helf if were a little open-minded.
“Okay, madam,” he said, and left.
That evening, on my way to shopping, I saw Balaiah at the movie theater, in the line for one-rupee tickets. Balaiah saw me and turned away. My trust in Balaiah slipped.
*

The medical college warden, Dr. Gopal, came to see me. He saw Balaiah, and said, “You’d better be careful, he is light-fingered.”
“Fill me in,” I said.
In my mind, we should not call a needle and a spike by the same name although by nature the two serve similar purpose.
“You didn’t it, missing things around here?”
“Not to my knowledge,” I said.
“How is his work?”
I did not like this line of questioning. To speak the truth, maybe there were some lapses in the smallest of things but I have never found any reason for complaint. He never refused any work assigned to him, not even when it was beyond his call of duty; there was no indication he was expecting any cash reward.
“So, how do you know him?” I asked Dr. Gopal.
As the story goes, Balaiah was working in the medical college dorm before came to our library. At the dorm, he was hired to help the chef in the kitchen. Within a few days, they found out that he was stealing rice; they fired him. Gopal said he had seen with his own eyes the man who had seen Balaiah stealing the rice! Obviously he logic was beyond my comprehension. Gopal himself did not catch him in the act; he only saw the ma, who claimed to have seen…
Why would Balaiah steal rice? Did he steal anything else? Was there any other occasion to confirm those suspicions? No, Gopal did not think it was necessary to go into such details.
I however wanted to discuss the matter with the Principal and request for Balaiah’s transfer to another department if possible. I went to the Principal.
The Principal did not see it my way. He argued that, if Balaiah wanted to steal books he could do so while working in another department as well. He also lectured to me on the underlying principle of handing over the keys to the thief, the entire beauty of it. I failed to convince him of my reasons, and so I left disappointed. I never told the supervisor to keep an eye on Balaiah.
A few days later, I reassigned Balaiah to my office. He was good; actually great in getting jobs done. He amazed me with his unusual skills. For example, at one time there was kerosene shortage in town. Even the people in power like the senior doctor and the district judge could not get a liter of kerosene for all the muscle they could flex. Balaiah got me a full tin just like that. There was not a thing– sugar, rice, reservations in trains, permits from the city office–not a thing Balaiah could not conjure up if asked. At the same time the things I heard from the elite of our township were anything but pleasant.
“He has no respect for work.”
“He is a crook.”
“He is a loner, a fool with no connections; eats at the shelter and sleeps on the sidewalk. Keep an eye on him.”
“I didn’t find anything wrong with him,” I tried to argue with each one of them, but to no avail. They all reminded me of another Pancatantra story, and said, “You know, the rice grits are sprinkled for a good reason.”
I was sure of one thing though. Balaiah never expected a reward from me, never accepted even when I offered on my own.
*
Summer vacation started. All the students went home.
It was two years since I had joined the college. We never conducted stock verification. I issued necessary instructions to the staff and left for my hometown. I took a leave of absence for two weeks.
I returned after two weeks and found out that Balaiah was suspended. I was stunned.
“Why?”
Stock verification was completed; and twenty-five books were found missing. The Principal ordered Balaiah to stay away from the library until I returned and submitted my report.
After that, Balaiah never showed up for work, not even after I returned to work. I sent for him and the peon said he had searched everywhere but could not find Balaiah.
I could not believe that Balaiah would steal twenty-five books but there was nothing I could do. I wished to God Balaiah was here and offered some explanation.
I took the list of missing books and tried to locate them one more time. We were able to locate ten books. In addition, eight more books were accounted for. For a number of years, the Principal, the college correspondent, and the committee members, had been down titles of books on slips of paper with a request to send them to their homes; but they never cared to return the books to the library. They would keep the books for any length of time. Two more weeks passed before this much had been identified. Still no sign of Balaiah!
Since it was my duty, I prepared a report and submitted to the Principal. In all seven books were missing. I felt a jab at my heart when I heard that the committee reported it to the polic and Balaiah was the prime suspect. There was no mention of the books borrowed by the committee members. Nobody cared to raise questions such as “When was the last time the stock verification was done?”, “Is it possible that some of the books were lost long before Balaiah and I started working, here?” What can I say? This kind of reasoning is unhealthy for the likes of me.
*
The police acted upon the report from the committee members. They did their duty and located Balaiah’s little hut on the outskirts, six miles away from the town. The police asked us–me and the Principal–to accompany him in order to identify the property. I reluctantly followed the Sub Inspector.
The thatched door fell at the slightest touch. I looked around. There were very few items in that little hut—an old lungi , a shirt, and a pair of pants hanging from a loosely tied rope; a clay pot and an aluminum tumbler stowed away in a corner, a kerosene lamp, a few books, one notebook and a pen by the door.
“Will you please check the books, madam,” The Sub Inspector said politely.
I started feeling bitter in my mouth. I kneeled down to take a look at the books. The Sub Inspector was explaining to the Principal how he had seen it all in his twenty-year service so many fellows “doing this kind of business”; he has seen them all, he said.
I was looking at the titles, one by one– “War and Peace”, “Crime and Punishment”, “Krishnapaksham” , “Gonaganna Reddy” , “Allo Neredu” , and “Krishnatheeram”. For a few moments, I forgot about the question, “how Balaiah got these books”; I was so pleased he had such a great taste in books! I was also feeling relieved that none of the books carried our library stamp. I opened the notebook that was lying next to the books. My heart shuddered as I started reading the quotes jotted down in the notebook…
aidu rekula deepakalikanu
aarpa juchedarevvaru
taarakaa nava taila binduvulaara nicchune brathuku divvenu?
[Who would want to stifle the pentagonal illuminaton of life?
Would the bursting beams of celestial bodies allow the life’s glow to extinguish?]

vraatha vrasedu hasthammu vraasi
kadali vraayuchunu povuchunda
a vraathaloni pankti sagamaina
mari raddu paracha levu
[The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line
Nor all your Tears ash out a Word of it – Rubayat of Omar Khayyam]

kanne evato chanipoyi
mannu kaaga
poochinadi summu
aa mallepoovu sogasu
[Some young maid must have died and turned into dust; thus blossomed the elegance of this jasmine flower]

I could hardly contain my excitement. Is Balaiah a scholar of this caliber? Are these books really his?
“Yes, madam?” Sub Inspector said calling my attention to the job on hand.
“Yes,” I said, as I put down the notebook and picked up the last book in the pile, “veyi paDagalu” (Thousand Hooded Cobra). I opened the book, the page looked hazy. There I was our library stamp. There was no indication of having checked out. A small piece of paper was stuck at page 460 in the book.
“This one belongs to our library,” I said as I got up.
Precisely what I was hoping and praying did not happen, happened. I was annoyed God only knows with what. I heard the harrowing cries of pig, being slaughtered I suppose. It turned my stomach.
“I can’t take this anymore. Let’s go, please” I begged the Principal.
*
After returning home from Balaiah’s hut, I could not focus on anything for a couple of days. I kept thinking. Something else occurred to me. A couple of times, when I was looking for a specific book in the library, it was neither on the shelf nor checked out; and, after one or two days, the book would reappear on the shelf mysteriously. Nobody could explain such disappearance and reappearance of books. Now, I found some quotes from those very books. There was one more angle to it; the list of missing books did not contain the title “veyi paDagalu”, found in Balaiah’s hut. Is it possible that Balaiah was “borrowing without authorization”, and returning them, after he had finished reading? A tall order!
Apart from all this, one more important question, the most intriguing part, was Balaiah’s scholarship and sophistication; could Balaiah read books like “veyi paDagalu”? And nobody knew about it?
The police could not find Balaiah. The college committee concluded that Balaiah stole all the twenty-five books; his current month’s paycheck was credited towards the cost of the books; and he was fired from his job.
I could not dismiss my thoughts that easily though. I kept thinking about the books in his hut and the quotes in his notebook and wondering what a great scholar he could have become had he only had the opportunity?
*
I was convinced eventually that I would never see Balaiah again. Three years passed by. The memory of Balaiah was fading reluctantly.
I went to Madras to visit with one my nephews. In Madras, there is a place called Moore Market, a kind of flea market, where we can find all things we can not find anywhere else. I saw Balaiah there while looking for some rare and out-of-print books
I was strolling down the street, and saw him. He came to me with a big smile and a little hesitation. He said, “Namaste madam,” raising one hand. Lately, it has become common to raise one hand and say, “namaste”, a hybrid variety of Western salutation and Eastern way of folding both hands. That amused me.
I was thrilled to see him. It was like finding a long-lost little brother after many years. I was speechless for a few seconds.
“How are you?” I asked him, feeling genuinely happy.
“I am fine, madam,” he replied politely. Then, he showed me a second-hand bookstore round the corner, and said that was his.
Suddenly, I heard a thump in my heart. Almost involuntarily, the Sub Inspector’s words flashed across my mind.
Balaiah did not notice my waning enthusiasm.
“Please, come, madam, see my store,” he extended a warm invitation zealously.
I followed him making a desperate attempt at some small talk.
I started browsing his collection. I must give it to him; his collection was impressive. I asked him for the price list.
“Take whatever you want, madam,” he said politely.
I continued to browse, and said, “How do you get all these books,” and then I bit my tongue. I should not have said that.
Balaiah laughed. “They are not stolen, madam,” he said. His words lashed out across my face.
“No, Balaiah, I mean…” I fumbled for words.
“I am sorry, madam, I am not blaming you. I have heard what happened at the college after I left. Please believe me, despite what you all had concluded, I did not steal those books.”
I noticed for the first time that Balaiah was very articulate; he was making a conscious effort to speak the language of the polite society.
I was listening.
He continued, “It’s true, I took that book, veyi paDagalu, without your permission like several other books I admit that. But I did not steal that or any other book for that matter. I would have returned it after I finished reading. To tell you the truth, that was my last resort. All I wanted was to read, and so badly. I would have borrowed, if only, we, the Class IV employees , had the borrowing privileges like everybody else. I had to find a way; I wanted to read so badly. I was always interested in reading as long as I could remember. Kamala garu said I was dodging my duties. That was not true. A new branch library opened in our town and I used to go to the library to read in my spare time. I never really ignored my job. I used to go to the library only after I had finished all my chores; and that was not good enough for them. At the medical college I was not fired. I quit. I saw the ad and thought that a job at the library would give me an opportunity to read…”
“And, I did not make it any easier for you, either,” I said.
Balaiah smiled, embarrassed a little. “No, madam. You were right. Like you said, you did not hire me for my reading pleasure. It was bad enough I could not borrow books because I was a Class IV employee. I tried asking others to get the books checked out in their name. Can you imagine what they’d say and the manner in which they’d say those words? They would look at me, those funny looks you know, and say, “You? Want to read? These books?” Maybe I was wrong but I could not help myself. I did not steal any books. I took that one book, veyi paDagalu, without your knowledge but I did not steal it. I would have returned it after I finished reading.”
I could feel his consuming craving to read. I could understand his method, his last resort, to satisfy his thirst for books. His plan did not work, not for long. So he ran away to Madras, started out as an errand boy in a second-hand bookstore, became a partner and, eventually, opened his own store. What an accomplishment!
“I am so glad for you, Balaiah! I am proud of you. Now you are not accountable to anybody. You can read all you want,” I said, feeling genuinely happy for him.
Balaiah laughed. “That is the funny part, madam. Now, the books are only commodity for me. I don’t feel like reading, not any more than a candy storeowner enjoys the candy.”
(M.N. June 2098.)

Lunch at Rotisserie’s

LUNCH AT ROTISSERIE’S

[Published in Sulekha.com, 7/10/01]

I was sitting across from my American colleague.
We both were taken by the apparent differences in
our two cultures.
We were sitting across from each other
On our way to our class on cultural diversity.
We were talking about the family values, cultural differences…
Then we also wondered if we are really different at all?
Occidental - Oriental.
Blue jeans - Red dot.
Fair skin - Perfect tan!
Shivering cold - Sultry hot
Enjoying authentic American Indian meal
Chicken - Vegetables
Corn muffins - Jalapeno Peppers
There are so many facets to what we know and/or don’t know.
What we want to say and what could follow in spite of ourselves.
I started talking,
And unwittingly slipped into my family history.
What I want to say and what I can say
What I can’t or won’t say
But then what would follow in spite of myself…
“You know, Once I was talking to a group about me growing up and
my religious upbringing. I mentioned that as a child I wasn’t involved in
domestic chores. And immediately one of the women said, ‘You’re spoiled’.”
“I was surprised at that comment.”
“Did you ask her what she meant by that?”
“No. Actually I was offended. Later they invited me again but I refused.”
*******
Sitting in my living room, looking out the window, watching the snow flakes, I remembered the conversation at lunch and am beginning to wonder how was I different from that woman who said I was spoiled. I thought that she was quick to judge, jump to conclusions.
What if she wasn’t being judgmental, maybe she was being frivolous, teasing, maybe she didn’t mean anything, just wanted to say something to keep herself from dozing off. Was I quick to jump to conclusions?
The sky is heavily overcast. It is turning into freezing drizzle. I think freeing drizzle is an oxymoron! This weather is weird!
Again I slipped back into the Rotisserie’s. She said, “We are going to visit my mother over the week-end.” “Oh!” “My son wants his girl friend to meet his grandmother… My mother doesn’t want me to go to India… She is upset…She is upset because they were living together.” I sat there listening. She said again, almost as if she was talking to herself, “Well, he is my son. Mom says she doesn’t have to change her beliefs. She has been living all these years with the same beliefs. Why change now? … Probably she is right…Can’t say one way or the other.”

There was nothing I could say.
After a few minutes she said slowly, “He is my son. I am protecting my
child. And she is protecting hers.” I noticed a tiniest smile flash across her face. I was watching her with fascination.
******
Heavily overcast sky. Freezing drizzle.
Again I slipped back into the Rotisserie’s.
Watching the falling snow flakes.
“I am protecting my child. She is protecting her child”
I tried to imagine the conversation between the mother and daughter,
Between mother and son,
And between the grandmother and the child.
I even tried to imagine in Telugu, putting the family in my hometown.
I remembered the conversations back home, the conversations between
mother and daughter,
mother and son,
grandmother and child - about the girl from another caste.
Then a flash, a conversation from a few years back.
Can’t remember his name.
He came from India for a three-month training program.
He kept saying that he wanted to talk to me.
First I ignored him.
Then I wondered. What was it? What could be so important that he would
want to talk to a total stranger about?
He said he wanted to show me his wedding pictures.
Ah! Alright!
Slowly things started unfolding.
It was a girl from his office back in India.
Actually she was his supervisor.
It turned out to be a lot more than supervising his work.
Then came along his training abroad program.
She wanted him to marry her before he left.
He agreed.
So what was the problem?
He didn’t have the heart to tell his family.
He was crossing the bounds of his caste!
He was from the old orthodox brahmin caste, strict followers of the
rigorous, centuries- old tenets.
The family was waiting for him to marry within their caste and follow

the calling of traditional priesthood.
How could he tell them? They wouldn’t let him marry even from a different
subsect within the brahmin community. How could he tell them that he
was going to marry a girl from a lower caste?
So…
“I agreed to marry her. Her family made all the arrangements.”
He was showing me the pictures.
Perfect traditional marriage, with the bride flanked by her parents on
either side, a priest across from them, the sacred fire in the middle…

Picture perfect… Complete with honeymoon pictures!
What was missing? The groom’s parents. They should have been sitting on
either side of the groom. But they were not there. Because…
“I couldn’t tell them, you know. It will break their heart.”
I stared at him.
“My father will hit the roof. My mother will cry… My grandmother was
always telling me that she was living only to see my wedding.”
I was still staring at him. With a little smile…
The girl had the courage to tell her parents and got them perform the
wedding.

Here is a man! Marrying outside his caste! Defying the centuries-old
traditions! Sitting there alone next to the bride. With no one from his
side of the family!
He had the courage to go through the entire ceremony without mom and dad
present.
Was he a social reformer, a supreme example for the rest of India to
follow?
Or a spineless coward who couldn’t invite his own mother to his wedding?
Then I understood his reasons for wanting to talk to me.
He was using me for target practice. He wanted to know how it felt like

when he was ready to break the news to his mother.
“I know it breaks her heart,” he said with his eyes glued to the floor.
“You DID break her heart. Except she didn’t know it,” I said ruthlessly.
“Yes,” he said like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
The words don’t matter really, in any language…
The plain truths are “I am protecting my child. She is protecting hers”
and “I am going to break my mother’s heart.”
Here is a family value that cuts through the confines of race and religion.
A mother struggling to keep the old traditions in tact…
A son reworking his own values into that very tradition that seem to be
falling apart.
Or, is it, is the tradition really falling a part?

***** ***** *****
[Author's note: I am always intrigued by the commonalities in different cultures as much as the differences. It seems the difference from culture to culture is less than the difference from generation to generation. When we dig deeper we realize that culture is like a flowing river. There is the old waters. And then the new waters come and integrate with the old. The culture is a constant reworking of the past into the future. The rules are not set in stone but keep revised again and again all the time.]

Urban Characters in Telugu Fiction of the Sixties and Seventies.

 

 

(Paper presented at South Asia Conference, Madison, Wisconsin, and published in Journal of South Asian Literature, v 25 No.1. Winter & Spring, 1990 –(©Malathi Nidadavolu))

 

 

Traditionally the city has been treated in Telugu literature as a place of riches and freedom, and city as something to which people should aspire. Traditional writers have always portrayed the city in all its glory, even correlated it to the royalty of the country. There is, however, a major departure from this attitude in Telugu writers of the sixties and seventies. Western education, modern technology and Marxist ideology have inspired the writers to recognize various life styles available to individuals in society. Most Telugu writers of these two decades felt a strong urge to probe into these different life styles which developed as a result of the modern urban situation.

 

It is not the sketchy and idealistic image of the city but a host of other aspects that developed around the city that appealed most to the writers. It is not the wealth but the inevitable alienation that accompanied wealth, not freedom but the suffering of other losses in achieving freedom that appear in bold relief in Telugu fiction of the sixties and seventies. Modern technology with all its progress is also causal in bringing about disruption through commercialization in an individual’s life.

 

For the purpose of this paper, I will consider three life styles discernable in Telugu fiction corresponding to the three economic strata of society: namely, the rich, the middle class and the poor. This classification, according to economics, plays a more crucial role in cities than in villages; in fact, it has even superseded religion and caste to a remarkable degree. These latter two important aspects of Indian society are more conspicuous by their absence in novels and short stories in which they do not form the central theme.

 

In general, the rich are portrayed as reflecting a pseudo-western culture which is developed out of misinterpretation of a foreign culture and through the operation of ill-informed sources. The middle class people are lured to cities by western education and employment opportunities but are into ready for changes in their traditional values. The poor unskilled laborers see promise of respectability and social mobility in cities.

 

I must add that within these three categories, the life styles of women reveal the constraint put on them by both men and money. Their life style also differs from both their female counterparts in villages and male counterparts in cities.

 

With this introduction, let us examine each group in detail in order to derive Telugu writers’ perceptions of city life in the sixties and seventies.

 

THE RICH CLASS: MEN

 

One new trend one notices in Telugu fiction beginning with the sixties is the lack of empathy for rich people. Telugu writers in these two decades seem to be particularly averse to the life styles of the rich, and have depicted the wealthy as possessing neither the strength of character, nor other plausible innate qualities.

 

The city of Hyderabad being the capital of the Telugu-speaking state of Andhra Pradesh has been developing into a big center of modern technologies since the formation of the state in 1951. This city was also the seat of Muslim rules of the recent past whose tradition was epicurean in nature. In Telugu fiction we see a combination of these two aspects—the effects of modern technology and love of sensuous pleasures—giving rise to a new way of life very much foreign to Indians that can only be called pseudo-western.

 

A popular Telugu writer, Panyala Ranganatha Rao in his novel Gadval cira [Gadval Sari] describes the life of a wealthy man, Somasundaram who becomes the chief of his company by means of living a western-style “social life.”

 

Among the company bosses there exists a lot of “social life.”  Every employee should go to every party accompanied necessarily by his wife. Once in a while each should call on others for a “social visit.” Without any reason one should invite all others for a “cocktail party.” The future of some employees and the survival of some companies depend on this “social life.” That’s not all. Every member should enroll himself in some gymkhana or cosmopolitan club. Foundations for promotions and foreign tours are laid in these parties. Women recommend each other’s husband.

In this narrative Ranganatha Rao seems to feel that among the rich, traditional human values disappear in the face of overpowering material and economic success. Individuals become caricatures. Another popular writer, Madhurantakam Rajaram criticizes these parties even more strongly in his short novel, Maricika [Mirage].

 

Behind that dinner it looked as if a race was started. Each of them was lost in his attempt to attract everybody’s attention, some through dress, some through talk and some through action. The real problem arose there. If all of them are speakers, who are the listeners? If all of them are actors, who is the audience?

 

Both Ranganatha Rao and Rajaram observe in their novels that the social life of the rich in the cities is success-oriented as opposed to the life imbued with community spirit in villages.

 

In Telugu novels dealing with the life style of the wealthy, we find two varieties of characters that usually are the models for the rich of India. The first variety is comprised of those Indians who have been to or lived abroad for sometime. Devadas in Gadval cira is one such character. He has lived all his life in the United and returned to India to marry an Indian girl at the insistence of his father. He is blatantly ignorant of both cultures. At his own wedding reception, he drinks excessively, insults guests and drags his wife upstairs while the reception is still going on. In the room upstairs he tells his wife to undress because he wants to see a “beautiful nude figure.” And then he forces her to drink and dance. He tells her, “It’s fun when a wife undresses herself. In America every wife takes off her clothes in front of her husband even before he asks her to.” The writer’s spite for persons like Devadas is clearly shown in the final statement of the narrator about this scene: “Devadas raped his wife like a common criminal would rape a stranger.” The entire novel is similarly replete with the ill-conceived perception of American culture among Indians.

 

The other variety of characters that supposedly represent foreign culture is the foreigners themselves. In Gadval Cira, Williams and Rita re a British couple working in a British firm in India. While Williams is hardly mentioned, Rita is given a stereotypical female role in the novel. She asks Somasundaram for sexual favors while Williams is away and Somasundaram cooperates. Later when Williams writes a strong and favorable report about Somasundaram, the latter could easily understand that the rewards were due to Rita. These two characters, Devadas and Rita, stand for the gross misrepresentation that the Indian fanatics of western culture want us to believe to be true.

 

Very rarely do the wealthy look back to Indian culture. When they do so they are withdrawn from the “social life” of the modern world. For instance, in Gadval Cira, Somasundaram admits to Saradhi, a young man from a middle-class family in search of a job, in the privacy of his (Somasundaram) home:

 

However civilized we may think we are, however much we acquire foreign habits due to the pressures of circumstances, we honestly cannot repudiate our customs and conventions so easily! It is in our blood. (p.8

 

With this argument Somasundaram willfully ruins Saradhi’s chance to get a job in his firm. He wants Saradhi at his own home for literary discussions; Saradhi represents tradition. In Telugu fiction, we do not find compatibility between tradition and technology.

 

 

THE WEALTHY: WOMEN

 

Wealthy women in Telugu fiction, unlike any other class are presented as having a lifestyle of their own. They enjoy greater freedom than women in other classes. While the wealthy women in villages continue to be homemakers, their urban counterparts go out to reach society.

 

It is important to mention that there are at least two perspectives. First that of the women writers in Andhra Pradesh, and the other, that of the male writers who delineate the female characters in wealthy families. The female writers tend to draw heavily on the sex roles the women in the high class are made to play in their husbands’ lives. Lata, a female writer of many controversial novels has extensively dealt with this aspect in her novels. She is most vocal in her description of Hyderabad and the position of women in that city. The following passage illustrates some general impressions on the city of Hyderabad shared by many writers.

 

For many people Hyderabad is heaven on earth. It is the place for care-free life, pleasures, and the unfettered life of art lovers. In that city, woman, too is one of many pleasures. Although women have been used endlessly for the pleasures of men since the beginning of creation, still those who suffer from this meaningless intoxication. …

 

Earlier in Hyderabad women were available for money only in ‘Mehboob ki mendi’ [prostitutes quarters]. After the city became the capital of Andhra Pradesh and the law against prostitution came into force, women became available everywhere—in hotels, in cars, near Charminar … in every form, on the pretext of employment; women are made to please men.

 

 

It is evident that the freedom that women could exercise in the cities is taken advantage of to serve the purpose of male-dominated society. In this novel Maha nagaramlo Stri, Lata writes about three women with mediocre talents who successfully make their way into the movie world by using sex. All of them were seduced early in life. It is important to note that Lata has been particularly concerned about the causes or factors that lay behind the behavior of these women.

 

By contrast, the male writers reveal a different aspect when they write about the high class women. They write with levity, even with a touch of sarcasm. The women characters created by male writers engage themselves in activities like club memberships, picnics, and celebration of national holidays—January 26 (Republic Day), and August 15 (Independence Day), etc.—or get busy with the latest gads. Telugu male writers seem to feel that these activities not only fail to serve any meaningful ends but sometimes turn even disastrous. Binadevi has delineated a typical character, Vijaya in his Punyabhumi, Kallu teru, (Oh Pious Land, Open Your Eyes!). The following quotations illustrate the author’s viewpoint:

 

A quarter of a century ago, Vijaya studied up to tenth grade. She has only one wish in life that she should become a very prominent figure in that city. She started a ladies club with all the officers’ wives in that city. She started another organization for women with all the middle class housewives and she was its president. They celebrated important festivals and gave away prizes. Reports about the functions were sent to the All India Radio women’s programmes for broadcasting.

All the members are middle-aged. None, including Vijaya is under thirty-five. All of them have cooks, governesses and servants. So none of them need to pour a cup of coffee for their husbands or feed their infants. On holidays they play cards with their husbands with high stakes.

 

She recently started writing articles like ‘My husband and Little Irritations’, ‘Children and Discipline,’ etc. Magazines published them!

 

She strongly believed that the children are the main hindrance in the progress of mothers.

 

In the end, she becomes pregnant and to cover that shame she commits suicide. Here one can perceive that while the female writers treat these characters sympathetically and attempt to explain, the male writers touch upon the realities only superficially.

 

The rich, both men and women, with their penchant for foreign culture and foreign goods reveal very little of their won values in life. The society they have created for themselves does not reflect a happy blend of the best of the cultures, east and west, but a sad and miserable imitation and apparently a failure.

 

THE MIDDLE CLASS: MEN

 

The middle class life as depicted in Telugu fiction in the sixties and seventies reflects the hardcore, day-to-day realities much more vividly than the rich class life. Here we find elaborate descriptions, rich with valuable details and true-to-life characters.

 

Ironically, Telugu writers show awareness that for the rich the city holds everything they wish for but it is not so for the middle class people. For them, it is just another arena for their struggle for existence. For instance, Saradhi in Gadval Cira, a middle class young man, who goes to Hyderabad in search of a job, stumbles into a high class family. He fails to get the job because of his traditional values in life. Prakasam in Maricika is an idealist who is educated but remains in the village. He modernizes his home with a good library, newspapers, etc., and his farm with modern equipment such as a bored well. But his cousin Sobhadevi from the city fails to see his point.

 

“Why do you need all these books if not to show off that you are an educated man? Sobhadevi asked.

 

“I don’t blame you for thinking that these books are for show. In fact, the idea that the whole human life is only for show is getting deep-rooted. Education is not for enlightenment through the training of intellect. Wealth is not, like the pious glow of Ganga, for washing poverty. Everything is just for the pride of possession. Sobha! If you remove the pride and show from the kind of life you value as supreme, is there anything left? I think there will be nothing left.”

 

For both Saradhi and Prakasam, city implicitly means a departure from tradition and is thus unacceptable

 

Natarajan, who worked in a small coffee shop as a waiter under the female pseudonym, “Sarada”, had thrown some remarkable insights into the life style of middle class people, particularly, in the second largest city in Andhra Pradesh, Viajayawada. One of his novels, Manci, Chedu [The Good and the Bad], deals with various aspects of middle class life in cities. Most of the problems the middle class face are related to money. Insecurities on jobs are a major concern for them, their jobs being their only source of income. So they have to work hard to secure a job and stay in it. Sarada presents this anxiety powerfully in the following passage:  

Bhaskara Rao is a junior clerk who marries the daughter of a senior clerk. At his nuptial ceremony, instead of asking for an expensive gift like a wristwatch or radio according to the custom, he asks for “confirmation of his job in the shop.”

 The bridegroom’s request and the father-in-law’s reaction to the request confirm people’s anxiety for security in their jobs:

 

What a genuine wish, he (the father-in-law) thought. He remembered the times when he was newlywed and worried about the uncertainty of his own job. The senior clerk understood very well the anxiety and concern of the junior clerk.

 

Their houses, their daily lives and their efforts to keep up appearances present a grim picture:

 

There are four families in that one house. But each lives a secluded life. Not that they do it on purpose. /They cannot afford the time for chit chat. Maybe once in a while the women get together and talk. Besides, there is always shortage for something or other like sugar, salt, coffee and at least for that reason they have to approach the neighbors. Then develops among them a bond of friendship and affinity …

 

In front of these houses everyday one or other creditor will be shouting at a high pitch …

 

Their earnings would not exceed one hundred rupees a month. They have very large families. Children will be screaming and crying everywhere …

 

The men would go to work, washing and ironing with hot water pans the one or two shirts they had, and go with the look of respectability.

 

In the face of these harsh realities, they develop a wry humor and their own ways of entertainment.

 

Their dwellings are old and badly in need of repairs and maintenance.

 

“Why didn’t you ask the landlord to whitewash the walls?”

 

“Of course I did. He said he had gotten it done only during the last pushkaram [Tidal wave that repeats every twelve years] and no hurry”

 

“The landlord is waiting for the building to fall apart by itself so that he can save on demolition charges.”

 

They cannot afford to pay for the movies, theater, and concerts and so they content themselves with cards which do not cost them money.

 

 The Telugu writers in the sixties and seventies have stressed that the dwellings, daily life and entertainment in the villages do not put so much pressure on individuals as the city life does.

 

THE MIDDLE CLASS WOMEN

 

Women in cities coming from middle class families face all these tensions the middle class men face and the added burden of being a progressive woman. In Telugu fiction after fifties, the women are usually portrayed as educated and conscious. Strangely the middle class men want these women to act both as happy homemakers on one hand and go to work too. Both male and female writers have produced voluminous literature on the problems on the educated, middle class, working women. In playing this dual role, women suffer a great deal.

 

In Marina kaalam-Marani manushulu [The Changed Times-Unchanged People] by Vacaspati, the main character, Rukmini is an educated woman who shoulders the family responsibility because her father, being a gambler, does not care for the family. This is a fairly new trend and can happen only in cities. After seeing her brothers and sisters settled in life, she marries, late in life, a widower, and less educated than herself. Since the attitudes of people deep down remain conventional, her family disapproves the marriage. The society cannot condone the act either. They face baseless scandals and humiliation. The husband, who is not bad by nature, repudiates her for want of moral courage on his part. Rukmini commits suicide.

 

This story gives a typical example of the problems middle class working women face in cities. Like the insecurities on jobs for middle class men, the public scandal plays a considerable role in the case of women. ‘

 

The theme of scandal has an interesting approach in Telugu novels. Persecuting women through public scandal is a universal phenomenon and it happens both in villages and in cities. Strangely, however, the urban situation helps the male victims but not the female victims. For instance, Rukmini in Marina Kalam-Marani Manushulu is driven by scandal to such an extreme measure as suicide, whereas Bhaskara Rao in Manci-Chedu is hardly affected by a scandal about himself and his stepmother. To forget any irritation caused by the scandal, he is advised by his father-in-law, Sudaram to move to another part of the city. Sundaram tells him:

 

This is not a village for a scandal to persist for years. If you move from one part of the city to another, it won’t bother you anymore. In the city, an incident that can create havoc on one day becomes an ordinary incident on the second day and totally forgotten on the third ay. The time and opportunity available in villages to discuss such matters at length are rarely available in cities.

 

 

These two perspectives obviously imply that in the case of women, the old moral standards continue to apply, irrespective of the locality.

 

The situation is somewhat similar when caste is the central theme in the novels and short stories. While here too the victimization of women continues, the urban situation makes it a little different.  The marriage between Aruna, a brahmin woman and Bhaskar, a Harijan man, is the central theme in the novel, Balipeetham [Sacrificial Stone] by Ranganayakamma, a militant female writer. In view of the importance of this novel in the history of modern Telugu fiction, I am tracing some of the main points of the story here. The circumstances that led to the inter-caste marriage in the novel are: (a) Aruna is a child widow and yearns to die as “sumangali” which means dying while husband is alive; (b) Aruna is sick and doctors predicted a short life span for her; (c) Bhaskar is an active member of a humane organization and decided to marry a destitute or a lady in distress; and finally, (d) their urban situation makes it possible.

 

Aruna’s uncle Sastry and aunt Jagadamba vehemently oppose this marriage as can be expected. They are also Aruna’s in-laws by virtue of their son’s marriage with Aruna at a very young age. The boy died soon after the marriage. Interestingly, Aruna and Bhaskar were not ostracized, which would have been the case, had they lived in a village. Their life in the city saved them from being ostracized. For the same reason, Sastry and Jagadamba maintain familial ties with Aruna but Bhaskar is treated as an outcaste. The older couple welcomes their granddaughter, Jyothi without any qualms into their house and despite her lineage on her father’s lineage. They are also willing to allow Bhaskar’s nephew, Gopi, into their home, but assign menial jobs to the boy, reflecting their awareness of his low class status. In other words, Aruna, Sastry, and Jagadamba are willing to ignore the caste barriers only to the extent that it suits their convenience and the city provides them with opportunity to do so.

 

Aruna sets for herself similar dual standards in her daily life too. On one hand, she puts up fights for equal rights as an earning member of the family, and on the other, she attempts to play the traditional housewife, calling herself, padadasi [wife whose place is at the feet of her husband]. Thus because of the superimposition of modernity on tradition, the middle class educated women in the cities face both family problems and job-related problems. Part of the reason is their own awareness of their difficult situation which does not seem to hold any creditworthy solutions.

 

THE WORKING CLASS: MEN

 

The poor and the middle class experience the same strain in some matters such as housing and day-to-day necessities. Yet the poor in the cities project a lifestyle of their own. New kinds of occupations like rickshaw-pulling, work in factories and hotels, jobs in government and quasi-government establishments (peons and office boys) have created a new lifestyle unknown in villages.

 

In short stories and novels in the sixties and seventies, the /Telugu writers have depicted lower class as people moving from villages to cities with new hopes.  The attraction of unskilled laborers to the cities can be explained on one hand as something based on superficial matters like the movies, movie stars, high officials and all that glitters; on the other hand, it is the removal of social seclusion of the lower caste. Although the lower caste people are not totally integrated into the urban society, they are permitted to move within this society with some reservations. Their gain fits at least their own concept of respectability. In is evident in their material possessions.

 

The proletariat class people are aware of their position in society and they try hard to relate themselves to the higher social stratum through imitation of the language of the literate, cleaner clothes, and possessions of sophisticated items like wristwatches and transistors.

 

In story, chiruchakram [The Small Wheel] by Malathi Nidadavolu, the main character Venkanna moves to the city because he considers a peon’s position in a school is more respectable than farming on his land in his village. On his job in the school, he goes far beyond his job obligations to please his superiors. In the end he gets fined not for his fault, not for the mistake of his boss. Later in the night, he describes with great thrill the day’s happenings at school to his wife except the fine, which he purposely omits. In reality, he is intent on ignoring the raw deal the society has dealt him. The universal problem of the disadvantaged taking the blame of everything that went wrong continues in spite of all the progress and civilization the city claims to have achieved. This is a valuable perspective many Marxist writers of Telugu fiction have been projecting since the sixties.

 

THE WORKING CLASS: WOMEN

 

The women characters of the proletariat in Telugu fiction are alert, racy and sensitive.  Racakonda Viswanatha Sastry and Binadevi, both veteran Marxist writers, have created many impressive female characters in this class. For them, the low class people are only underprivileged but not unintelligent. For example, Muthyalamma in “Maya” [Illusion], by Racakonda Viswanatha Sastry baffles a professional lawyer with her knowledge of the operation of the judicial system:

 

The truth of the courts is different. For them, it is enough if the testimony holds. These witnesses, although they go on the witness-stand one after another, corroborate their testimonies beforehand. What are the questions you can ask? Questions like “At what time you left the police station? How many of you went there? Did you go in civilian clothes or did you wear uniforms?” etc. Right? These questions are like ready-made dough for the police. [and they are ready with their ready-made answers]. The magistrate would say, “Well, the testimony sounds about right. There are no discrepancies. Even if there are any, they are only minor. So you pay the fine. Or else, go to jail,” Two times … two hundred rupees … blood sir I paid.

 

Muthyalamma, who was booked on false charges, simply because she failed to pay the monthly bribe to that police, at the end, gets acquittal not through her own rhetoric nor the expert cross-examination of the lawyer but by paying the same bribe she could not pay earlier.

 

Her opinion on the present day world is equally perceptive:

 

There is nothing but money and commerce in this world. Animals—dumb chattel—have morals but not we. I am illiterate. And I don’t have any morals. You are an educated man and you don’t have them either. The whole world is prostituting itself for money. I sell rum for money. You sell your education for money. They police sell justice for money. In the elections, you, I and he, all of us are sold in exchange for votes … sale, sale, sale nothing but sales in this world. I am not educated but this is the truth I have come to realize. If that is not the truth, you tell me what is.”

 

The female working class characters are thus invariably shown as the victims of failure of social institutions in reality.

 

A FEW OTHER REFLECTIONS ON THE CITY

 

Some Telugu writers have given their perceptions of the city life without reference to a class or group. The picture is usually unfavorable. They appear to nurture a general skepticism towards everything that is new or non-traditional.

 

For instance, Kodavatiganti Kutumba Rao, known for his critical understanding of Marxism, disapproves every aspect of city life in his story “Patnavasam” [City Life]. Some of his impressions of the city life as revealed in the story are:

 

The vegetables are not fresh; the food is not nutritious; the city people resent longevity of life; they present uncertainties in life as pleasant surprises; they interpret the disobedience of children as an expression of individuality.

 

“How is life in the city?” the villagers asked him. “Our people are finding ways to commit suicide,” he replied.

 

Kutumba Rao observes that the city life does not in reality symbolize progress but only provides us with a way of interpreting things to suit our fancies. Angara Venkata Krishna Rao presents a similar view from a different angel in his short story, “Nagarikata” [Civilization]. In this story, first he describes the savage killing of a pig by a group of muscular men using clubs and ropes. Later when he sees a well-dressed couple walk out of a store in a city with a beautiful and colorful box marked “Bacon” in English, he wonders:

 

A beautiful and colorful box is a symbol of civilization. But what about the cries of the pig it contained? Dress is a mark of civilization. What about the people in those clothes? 

 

In other words, the city has been teaching us to refuse to notice the offensive and ugly facts of life, and learn to accept everything that is presented in a neat and pleasing-to-the –eye package.

 

CONCLUSION

 

Beginning with the sixties, the Telugu fiction writers have become increasingly concerned with the psychology or social behavior of individuals. In ach class or group, people have a definite way of conducting themselves in relation to others. An important factor to remember, however, is that there is a tangible shift in the emphasis regarding values in life. The much-wished-for economic progress has led individuals to become self-centered. Technological progress has enabled people only to accumulate material possessions. Education has been viewed as another means of moving into a higher economic group. Conventional and familial relationships have suffered severance. Now relationships are formed on the basis of social status or residential contiguity.

 

Telugu writers of the past two decades (50’s and 60’s) have perceived the social institutions as definite failures. All the illusions about them as instrumental in improving the lot of the unfortunate people do not seem to stand the test when their actual working is critically probed.

 

Against this urban background, the lot of women is even less reassuring. Whatever their economic position, their social acceptance by men as equals is doubtful. The freedom the women can enjoy in the city is only skin deep. Their capability to act intelligently and achieve success is counteracted by the contrivances of the male-oriented society. The city with all its material and technological progress has become seriously detrimental to the individual’s development as a full-fledged and civilized human being.

 

[End]

 

–

 

Source List.

 

Binadevi [Pseud.]. Punyabhumi Kallu teru. Vijayawada: Navabharat Publishers, 1971

Kutumba Rao, Kodavatiganti. “Patnavaasam,” Kathalu V.2 Bratakanerchinavaadu. Vijayawada: Navabharat Prachuranalu, 1963 

Lata. Mahanagaramlo Stri. Secunderabad: M. Seshachalam &Co., 1969

Malathi, Nidadavolu. “Chiruchakram”. Andhra Jyoti Weekly. April 2, 1971.

Rajaram, Madhurantakam. Maricika. Chittoor: Bharati Prachuranalau,

Ranganatha Ro, Panyala. Gadval Cira. Secunderabad: M. Seshachalam &Co., 1969

1967.

Ranganayakamma. Balipeetham. Vijayawada: Sarvodaya Publishers, 1963.

Sarada [Pseud.]. Manci Chedu. Tenali: Brundavan Publishing House, 1969.

Vacaspati [Pseud.]. Marina Kaalam, Marani Manushulu. Vijayawada: Sarvodaya Publishers, 1971.

Venkata Krishna Rao, Angara. “Nagarikata,” Kadile Bommalu. Visakhapatnam: Visakha Sahiti, 1975.

Viswanatha Sastry, Racakonda. “Maya” Aru Saaraa Kathalu. Vijayawada: Vijaya Books, 1962.

 

 

Six Blind men and the Elephant

SIX BLIND MEN and the ELEPHANT

 

By Malathi Nidadavolu

 

Ì

 

I began my preparation to leave for the United States of America. An ardent patriot and well-wisher told me, “Look, you are an unofficial ambassador of India. Don’t forget that you inherit the spirit of Gandhi.”

 

“Which one[1]?” I asked timidly.

He cast a nasty look at me and left.

 

I have a degree in math. I can talk about the Pythagorean theorem. May be a little about Einstein. But about Sankara[2] and Panini[3]?

 

I rushed to the library and checked out fifty books on every conceivable topic–from Mahatma Gandhi to Indira Gandhi, from Aurobindo to Guru Maharaj ji, from babas to cobras, Hindu religion, Elephanta caves, Meenakshi temple, Brindavan Gardens,…

 

Then I talked to people who had been to the States and returned to India with valuable possessions and invaluable ideas. They advised me:

“Be yourself. Don’t imitate them blindly an bring shame on our country.”

“Remember, you’ve got to be a Roman in Rome.”

“Take plenty of cotton sarees. Cotton is very expensive there.”

“Don’t take any sarees. No one wears sarees in the States.”

“Americans are highly individualistic.”

“Americans are success-oriented.”

“Americans are honest.”

“Americans expect you to be on your own.”

“Oh! It’s heaven. The streets are paved with dollars.”

“The American girls are pretty and friendly. May be you can get me a date,” one of my brother’s friends hoped.

 

One of my nieces secretly told me that I should send her four packets of that revolutionary pantyhose which was advertised in the latest issue of a Bombay fashion magazine.

I was also educated on such details as how to hold a fork, when to say ‘thank you,’ when to say ‘you’re welcome,’ which car, which toothpaste..

 

Finally I arrived in New York with a suitcase that was half empty and a handbag loaded with Andhra pickles. If the customs officials thought I was crazy, they hid it very well.

 

After a week-long sleep-eat-sleep schedule, I woke up one beautiful morning. I looked out of the window.

 

The first snow of the season!

The first snow of my life!

Glistening white flakes of snow floating in the air, settling gracefully on the tree tops, roofs of houses, cars, bicycles, people.

I was thrilled!

 

I pulled my winter clothes out of the closet and put them on. I felt like a polar bear. But it was the most exciting moment of my life when I stepped out on the street and looked up to feel the snow flakes on my cheeks.

 

A BIG THUMP!

 

I slipped and fell.

I got on to my feet, lifted one foot and fell again.

I fell for a third time.

I rose to my feet again, and before taking that small step, which was not in any sense a giant step for mankind, I looked around. I knew I was being watched.

 

With a gentle smile hovering on his lips, he approached me and extended his hand. I grabbed it quickly and walked over to a safer spot.

 

As I was about to go on my way, I said to him, “You know I just found out something no one ever has told me before.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! One could slip in snow and fall!”

 

                                                            *                      *                      *

 

---

[1] The late Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was at the lowest ebb of her popularity at this writing. The question refers to Indira Gandhi versus Mahatma Gandhi.

[2] A great Indian philosopher from 8^th century. His interpretation of Hinduism is liberal and so accepted by majority of Hindus.

[3] The first sanskrit grammarian from 4^rd century.

 

 

(Reprinted with permission from Wisconsin Academy Review, June 1982)

 

 

New Articles on Thulika.net

Hello,

Please visit my other website, www.thulika.net. where I posted new articles:

1. “Three Million Rupee Bet” by Dr.Arudra, translated by S. Narayana Swamy

2. An overview of Dr. Nayani Krishnakumari’s poetry by Dr. Vaidehi Sasidhar.

Also please visit desijournal.com. The link to my story Two Glass Bubbles is,

http://www.desijournal.com/article.asp?articleid=329

Looking forward to your comments.

 

Girls’ Voices

 
                HOPES AND DREAMS
  
             Staring into the sky
             Peeking through the stars
             Stretching on tiptoe
             Far beyond 
             Into the unknown and unseen
             Wondering
             what might be 
             Up there
             Wishing and hoping
             That 
             If only I could
             Reach out 
             And move the stars around
             By the tips of my fingernails
             Not just for me
             But 
             For all the daughters
             Mine and others’.
 
 ***                                              
 
    ((Nidadavolu Malathi, 
    July 19, 1999)
 

Grading an LCTL student

  

Kantha, a young woman from India, wife of a geography lecturer, Murthy, and a mother of a 3-year-old boy, landed a job as a Telugu teacher in a midwestern university. She was not looking for a job. The job fell into her lap, literally.

 

A couple of decades ago, the U.S. government had realized the need for Americans to learn the languages of other countries, especially the countries in which they had vested interest. And India was one of those countries, and Telugu was one of those languages, which eventually had come to be known as Less Commonly Taught Languages. Telugu actually could be labeled as Even Less Commonly Taught Language. It did not make it to the top twenty among the Less Commonly Taught Languages.

 

Anyway, the American government offered funding for the foreign language education. Numerous colleges and universties jumped on the bandwagon, scrambling for a native speaker who would be willing to put in his/her two-cents worth to promote an LCTL. In that period, Dr. John Hastings, Associate Professor of Religious studies in a midwestern university was asked to teach Telugu. John was in Andhra Pradesh in his childhood and had learned the script. His resume said so. The Chair suggested John teach elementary Telugu and John agreed.

 

That was twenty years ago. Dr. John Hastings was up for tenure now. He told the Chair that he was writing a book, hard-pressed for time, and so, would prefer a teaching assistant share his responsibility of teaching Telugu.

 

“Well, we don’t have funds for a T.A. position. Maybe, a student can help you. Know anyone who knows the language?” the Chair asked him.

 

Thus, it turned out to be John’s job to find an assistant. The geography lecturer Dr. Murthy came to his mind. That afternoon he found Murthy in the faculty lounge sipping coffee.

 

John said hi to Murthy, sat down next to him, waiting for the right moment to broach the subject, and the right moment came soon enough. “Didn’t you say your wife has a master’s degree? No job yet, as I recall,” he said.

 

Murthy was confused. He’d never said anything about his wife looking for a job. 

 

“Yes, she has a master’s degree in economics, and no, she is not working,” Murthy said.

 

“I’ve an idea. We’re looking for an assistant to teach Telugu,” John said, looking sideways.

“My wife never taught Telugu. She used to work in customer service for a bank in my hometown.”

 

“Well, she is a native speaker. I’m sure she knows the alphabet, doesn’t she? Knows how to read and write, right?” John said.

 

“Let me talk to her,” Murthy said, still unclear where this was going.

 

“Think about it, don’t take too long though. The Chair’s pushing to outsource the position,” he added with a smile, “The pay isn’t much, but more than what she was making as a bank rep, I suppose.” 

 

Murthy was hurt by the last remark but kept quiet. John reminded him one more time to get back to him soon and left.

*

Kantha threw in dirty clothes in the washer, turned it on, and returned to the family room. She was reading a Telugu novel when Murthy walked in. She folded the corner of the page she had just finished and got up to bring coffee for her husband.

 

“Where’s Kittu?” Murthy asked, rolling his eyes around.   

 

“Janet was going to the park with her kid. She took Kittu also with her.”

 

Murthy looked at Kantha, sipping coffee. He was a bit hesitant to open the subject.

 

“What?” she asked. Instinctively she knew he wanted to say something.

 

“Nothing,” he said quickly. After a few seconds, he added slowly, “You remember John? We met him and his wife at the Christmas party last year.”

 

“Yes. Why?”

 

“Well, he says they’re looking for an assistant to teach Telugu.”

 

“So?”

 

“He says you can have the job if you want.” He stressed the last part.

 

Kantha was surprised. “You know I am not looking for a job. Besides, I don’t have a degree in Telugu literature. You know that too,” she said, staring at her husband.

 

“I’m not saying you’ve to take it. He suggested it, I didn’t tell him you’re looking for a job. I’m simply conveying the message. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

 

He smiled. Kantha laughed.

“Think about it. It’s not like you’ve to be there 8 to 5 pouring over a pile of files. You go to the class, teach and go home. You may have to have some office hours but you don’t have to be there for preparation. You can prepare at home and the preparation time counts too. Plus, that may serve as a break from your housework.”

 

Kantha did not say it alound, he wants me to take this job?

 

Murthy added almost like an afterthought, “It may not be much but the money is still money. It’s more than what you used to make as a bank rep.”