THE IMAGE IN HER MIND

 

“Viswapriya’s speech today,” 14-year-old Uma tiptoes into the room with the same humility as Nara [Arjuna] would approach Lord Narayana.                                                 

Telugu Women Writers, 1950-1975. Online supplement

Hello,

The following link takes you to the Telugu stories in English, discussed in my recent book, Telugu Women Writers, 1950-1975, Andhra Pradesh, India. A Unique Phenomenon in the history of Telugu literature.

http://www.thulika.net/MYBLOG/twwsuppltoc.html

Looking forward to your comments, as always,

Malathi N.

Structure [silpam] in Telugu story

(Published as author’s editorial for January 2007, www.thulika.net. Some of the stories referred are available in tanslation on the site)

Stories evolve in a given culture, like their lifestyle, from their own environment. Readers and critics need to analyze a story from that perspective. In practice, however, there seem to be two angles. One one hand, it would seem untenable to apply modern criteria to assess a work of fiction written long time ago. On the othr, we will not have new insights into the literature of previous centuries if we had not applied new ways of reading a text of the past. Then the question is what is the plausible way to appreciate the fiction of the past?

Kondaveeti Satyavati, editor of popular well-known feminist magazine, bhumika, pointed out in her article on Bhandaru Acchamamba , that Acchamamba was not given due credit by the  establishment as the first writer in the history of modern fiction. She commented that the critics dismissed Acchamamba’s story, dhanatrayodas, as “failed to meet the criteria for short fiction.”

I thought it would be interesting to compare Acchamamba’s story to a contemporary story by a writer who is regarded highly as writer and critic. While I was searching for such stories, I stumbled on an anthology, alasina gundelu [Tired hearts] by [late] Rachamallu Ramachandra Reddy. In the same anthology, Ramachandra Reddy included a 43-page essay on the structure in fiction, “kathaanikaa, daani silpamuu” [Short story and its structure]. In the essay, Ramachandra Reddy quoted Kodavatiganti Kutumba Rao, our top-ranking Marxist writer and critic, as saying, “In these stories we read about the same events we see in real life, and which we ignore, and are electrified.” Translating the entire essay is beyond the scope of this article. I will quote a few salient points relevant to my discussion from the aforesaid essay.

Ramachandra Reddy elaborated on his views on short story as follows:

I wrote these stories with a hope that they would imprint a strong sense of emotion on the readers’ hearts. … In fact, the entire literature is oriented towards hearts. There is no literature without feeling. That feeling however must not turn into a melodrama.

One popular notion is that a story must have a ‘point’. “I am not sure if there is an equivalent term in Telugu for the word ‘point’. For the present, I would call it lakshyam. A story must convey a truth, a moral, a principle, or a hypothesis. …

In the previous century, when the story was born, its point was either a truth or a moral. That means it is only a concept in the mind of the writer.

Then there is the question, What about feeling? … The reader continues to experience the emotions of the characters while reading a story. Then the question we must ask is whether a story can be written to either invoke a feeling or convey a message exclusively?”

Ramachandra Reddy discussed the topic at length quoting a few European writers like O’Henry and Katherine Mansfield and then posed the question how it was relevant to his discussion on hand. He stated that currently the short story in Telugu has gotten entangled in the steel arms of the commercial magazines, lost its original form, and been reduced to a skeleton. He further added:

Because a story will inevitably contain a “feeling” in some form or other, and because nobody is writing at Katherine Mansfield’s level now, let us limit our discussion to the point in a story. … A short story must have only one point, and, characters and incidents should contribute toward that end, the point.

From that perspective, Ramachandra Reddy attempted to write a story as an experiment in structure, an indispensable characteristic to achieve the point in the story. The author observed that most people in the world live a tedious, uneventful life, and most of them are women, understandably. Therefore, he decided to depict the life of one such woman.

The story, mana jeevita kathalu [Stories of Our Lives], opens with the statement, “I may search her entire life and still find not a single incident worth writing about. How can I write a story without anything special in her life or lifestyle?” That is the problem for structure, says the author.

Mr. Ramachandra Reddy took it as a challenge since he had never come across a story without point, which makes it impossible to make the story structurally strong. The closest he could think of was “Madame Bovary” by Gustavo Flaubert, in which Emma, the main character, lived a droning life. She was not without emotions. In fact, she had a fantasy in her mind, which clashed with her surroundings outside, leading to her mental breakdown. Her husband on the other hand was willing to take life as it came and so he had no problem. There was no conflict in his life. He was a flat character.

Ramachandra Reddy decided to create a character similar to the husband in “Madame Bovary” in peddamma, the main character in “the Stories of Our Lives.” Since there was no conceivable tension or conflict in peddamma’s life, the author created two more characters, a couple living next door. He based his story on the responses of the couple to the dull life of peddamma. Readers are expected to respond to the husband/writer/narrator’s anxiety to find a thrilling incident in the old woman’s life and the wife’s two-fold anxiety. She attempts to squeeze out a story from peddamma for the sake of her husband, and in the process, builds a bond with the old woman rather unwittingly. In the end, the wife sees a story in the life of peddamma but not the husband. Is that a comment on the way men and women think and respond to a fellow human: Or, is it supposed to be the way a writer and a non-writer would respond?

In his analysis of structure, we see three perceptions–that of Ramachandra Reddy the writer, Ramachandra Reddy the critic, and the narrator in the story. The author and the critic explain the why, how and the result of writing a story without plot. The narrator within the story lives it. There is however some overlap, I think between the writer and the narrator.

The author says, “Peddamma has a husband, children, and the usual events such as children’s weddings, and the little tribulations in life, the same as everybody else … That is a common denominator for almost all people. Other than that, there are no events, nothing unusual, in her life. She has not experienced intense pleasures or unbearable hardships. She believes that life is the same for everybody. Her understanding of life is so narrow.”

As I was reading this analysis, I had to stop at the last line. Suddenly it felt like the critic became the narrator in calling the woman’s understanding of the world into question. The narrator in the story had the same impression from peddamma’s life. However, his wife could relate to peddamma’s account of her life. That became obvious when the wife asked her husband, “Did you hear peddamma’s story?” There is a story for her.

Ramachandra Reddy the writer decided to write a story about the way people around her would respond to peddamma’s unflustered life in the absence of passion in her own life. “Others may react to her in any number of ways. Some may be sympathetic to her. Others may resent her apathy, or even be aggravated by it and become philosophical. If I could depict all these responses effectively, it could turn into a good story,” said Ramachandra Reddy.

There was also a comment about the names in the story. In response to the comment by another critic, the author said, “Somebody commented that I did not give a name to the old woman to imply that she is a very ordinary person, insignificant in a way. I did not think so. In fact, I did not give names to the other two characters in the story either. I agree that names do carry weight in stories but I did not find the need to do so in this story.”

I would like to add a note on this aspect in our stories. In Telugu culture, we often address people using relational terminology such as peddamma (granny), akka (older sister), atta (aunt( even when we are not related by blood. I see the term peddamma as a proper name in that context. Other minor characters in the story such as son and daughter are also not given names.

Acchamamba’s story, “strividya” [Women's education, www.thulika.net/2007January/ABstory.htm] is comparable to the above story in some ways stories deal with no major heartbreaking issues or earthshaking resolutions. In Acchamamba’s story, the point is women’s education, a mode of communication between husband and wife, while the husband was held as political prisoner. The story illustrates the main problem, which is the wife’s lack of reading and writing skills, and includes an elaborate discussion of the benefits of women’s education.

In both the stories, the incidents leading to the end are not played out or described in detail, which is common in our narrative technique. They are verbalized in brief statements. In “Women’s Education,” the wife says she would have her younger brother read and write the letters on her behalf. In “The Stories of Our Lives,” peddamma says she was married, her son and daughter were married and so on. Each incident was rounded up in one-liners or a few lines at best.

I thought it would be interesting to study the two stories written in juxtaposition, using the criteria, Mr. Ramachandra Reddy had identified.

The story, “Hard to Believe” brings up yet another question regarding the element of reality in fiction. Can a reader suspend his disbelief in the illusory figment temporarily and enjoy a good story just for its point of view? Is it possible to sift truth from fiction and apply one’s mind to the underlying argument in the story? I liked this story for its narrative technique. While the author addresses a potent issue, a social malignancy, the technique she adopted to tell the story raises questions in regard to its authenticity. Or does it?

Souris’ story, “A Memory” maybe construed as one more romance fiction or a brief peek into a given moment in human psyche based on how we look at it. Some readers may perceive this story as an illustration of a woman’s heartbreak. I am inclined to see it as a stop, a turning point, in one’s lifespan. The key point is, or so it seems, when she asks, “When did all this—the son-in-law, the daughter, and the children–happen?” It would appear that she blocked out, knowingly or unknowingly a considerable portion of her life between the kamini flowers and the grown up children. Strange as it may sound, I have known of male retirees ask the same question after a long period of their public life, “Where are the little children?” The point is we all get carried away by one preoccupation in our lives (the woman in the story enjoyed her husband’s wealth and social status for the time being) and then return to what captured our hearts in our adolescent years.

Souris’ father, Gudipati Venkata Chalam, spent major part of his life on his radical writings, advocating sexual freedom for women and later settled down in Arunachalam for peace. I could envisage him asking himself the same question, “What happened in the past several years?”

On a different note, I am also wondering if the story, “A Memory” was inspired by her father’s story, “O Puvvu Poosindi,” [A Flower Bloomed], a story about a girl’s coming of age.

(©Malathi Nidadavolu)

January 2007

What is a Good Story?

(Note: English versions of the stories referred to in this article are available on www.thulika.net.)

²

What is a Good Story?

(Note: English versions of the stories referred to in this article are available on www.thulika.net.)



This article is about a question I’ve been struggling with for sometime. My website, Thulika, is specifically created to introduce Telugu fiction to the global audience. Nonetheless, I am flattered that my site is reaching out to the young Indians who have adapted English as their medium of communication.

Before I go into the definition of a good story, let me briefly comment on the nature of our audience. First, it’s common knowledge that different parts of a story appeal to different readers. Secondly, the readers with different cultural background perceive the story from yet other perspectives.

For the purpose of this article, I could classify the readers into two categories—the participant and the critical. The participant readers interact with the story on a personal level, identify themselves with a character, a situation or the conflict in the story and participate in the course of events. Their comments could be simple statements like I’ve been there, I know what you mean. Possibly, they may go deeper and offer suggestions such as what a given character could have done differently or what else the author could have provided to resolve the conflict. For instance, in “Moral Support” by Anisetty Sridhar, why was Gopalam so stubborn? Why could he not get off his moral high horse and do something to please his wife and parents? Did he not have a moral obligation to his family? At another level, the readers put some distance between themselves and the story yet react like participants. They see the story as a story, a figment of the author’s imagination, and at the same time want more from it. They raise questions like why Gopalam could not see that buying goods at a cheaper rate and selling for profit was neither illegal nor unethical. That is business101. That is basically the rule we all are living by in our present day world. For some readers Gopalam’s arguments are in tune with his character. For others, it is a flaw in the portrayal of his character.

The critical readers distance themselves further and study the story objectively. They look into the structure, technique, characterization, diction and the message. At times, it is possible for the critical reader to get carried away in his critical thinking and lose sight of the author’s purpose.

Taking the earlier example, Gopalam, like all the idealists in real life, lost sight of the realities of life and failed to see the setbacks in his mode of thinking. Whether Gopalam’s character was depicted well or not depends on what the reader considers a good characterization. This is only one example of how various views could emanate from the same story.



Let us get back to the topic under discussion. What is a good story? For me, two pieces fell in place automatically—the cultural nuance and the insights as presented by the Telugu elitists. I reviewed some books and articles written by Telugu writers in the past three decades. Based on my readings, the essential components seem to be the same as in the case of world literatures. The list included the opening, the development of a plot or conflict through a series of incidents, the resolution or the ending, technique, the message or the author’s point of view, characterization, unity or structure, and author’s command of language. Using some of these elements as touchstones, I tried to examine some of the stories published on thulika.net.

Broadly speaking, when a person sees or hears about an event, he responds to the scene emotionally and feels a strong, innate urge to relate it to others. That is the motivation to write a story. But how to start it is another story.

The title: Not that the authors always start with a title. However, I would like to start with the title since that is what captures the reader’s eye first. The story, “Diary” by Vasundhara is a good example. The original title in Telugu was “Kukka” [Dog]. For Telugu people, the term “dog” may invoke an image of a sick, stray dog eating garbage on the streets. For the western audience, dog is a domestic animal, man’s best friend, and the impression on the reader’s mind is not as revolting as that of Indian readers. I wrote to the author, and we both agreed to change it to “Diary” in the English version. The term diary raises curiosity since a diary allows the readers to peek into somebody else’s private thoughts. The very first lines tell us that it is a peek into a child’s mind. The child’s use of a dog as a metaphor to make his statement is even more interesting which was the basis for the original title, “Kukka.”

The second title that caught my attention is “Soham” [He is I]. The phrase, soham, is taken from the upanishads, referring to an individual identifying himself with the Supreme Soul through a long and rigorous process of contemplation and reflection. The title for this story is open for interpretation. I had a hard time interpreting it and contacted some of my friends, writers and the author’s son, Malladi Narasimha Sastri garu. Narasimha Sastri commented that the title meant, “I am part of God because he stays within me, meaning I love and worship God and when he is within me, I cannot abuse my own body. I must respect myself and in turn respect others.”[1] Satya Sarada commented, “Perhaps the protagonist just realized who he was and stopped trying to be someone else based on false pride or instigation.” I understand the logic but fail to see the needed incident to justify the revelation the protagonist was supposed to have experienced. The discussion between the young man and the protagonist towards the end does not lead to this realization. The young man’s description of his experience at Rattamma’s house was left to the reader’s imagination. What do you, as a reader, think happened at Rattamma’s house? Was it the same as Swamiji’s experience? Why did the author leave out this particular, apparently crucial, incident out of the story? Was it the author’s intent to provoke the reader into thinking? Or, did the author imply we all have our share of the inexplicable in our lives, and we all live at random? Is this a strength or weakness in the story? Yet the story caught my attention only because of the title. Was that the author’s plan in choosing this title?

My understanding is, the story opens and ends with the young man and so I assume he is the protagonist. Since most of the story is narrated by the second protagonist, Swamiji, the young man possibly has felt a connection with Swamiji. At the end, after Swamiji returns to his wife, the young man could have said, “That is my story. He is I.” The use of first person, reflexive pronoun taanu in the Telugu original is significant. In Telugu, taanu indicates that the views are expressed from the perspective of the speaker, taanu, an equivalent of I. Thus, the connotation appears to be that the story is not about one individual but about exploring a universal truth. The title, an aphorism from the upanishads, also seems to indicate that the drifting away of one person for a while and returning home is a part of male psyche or human nature.

The title “The Drama of Life” is also open for discussion. Madhurantakam Narendra, son of the author and a writer in his own right, pointed out that the term prahasanam (part of the original title, “jeevana prahasanam”) meant burlesque or farce as opposed to the term I used.[3] I however felt that, if I used the term burlesque or farce, the implicit irony and satire are apparent for the native speakers but not for the English-speaking audience. I think a term like farce diminishes the intensity particularly because the sarcasm is lost in the translation and for those who are not familiar with the culture, the term drama conveys the gravity of the conflict the performer, Harinarayana Sarma, was grappling with. I would like to hear from readers, particularly non-native speakers.

Opening scene: Different writers open the story at different points in their narrative. Some stories begin and continue sequentially while others start in the middle or at the end and go back to the beginning.

The opening lines in the “Primeval Song,” once upon a time, by Maharshi, take us to the good old days of oral tradition. It is a song. It is about the enchanting times. The first paragraph depicts a luring scene only to highlight how far we have come from that heartening time to the disheartening present.

In the “Illusion,” by Racakonda Viswanatha Sastry, the story opens with a shrewd, seasoned lawyer lecturing on the stark realities of law practice to a junior lawyer, naive and fresh from law school. The senior lawyer’s crude and abrasive presentation makes the reader want to know what the junior lawyer would discover at the end. In both the stories, the opening scenes set the mood for the reader as in a play. The opening paragraph is a brief statement of what is to expect.

In “The Man Who Never Died,” the felling of a tree is the middle point in the story. In the first few lines, the author informs the reader of the crucial role the event is set to play in the lives of the two main characters, Appanna and Markandeyulu. One of the important ideas in the story is the difference between the two—one clinging to life and the other clinging to nature.

The development/unfolding of a plot or conflict: Incidents in a story are like building blocks. Each block reveals a little of the story, building readers’ curiosity, satisfying it partly and then creating more curiosity, keeping him wondering what next. The incidents add to the length of a story, although that is not the purpose. While some stories include only two or three incidents and bring to a close, other stories build the conflict through several incidents, and let the story evolve with a strong base and bring it to a head. Possibly the magnitude of an issue—the central theme—plays a role in the number of incidents the author plans to include. In the longer stories, the incidents contribute immensely towards recreating the milieu. The result is two-fold. For those who are familiar with the culture, it is nostalgic and for those who are not, it helps to appreciate not only the story but also the culture. The more the details are the clearer the setting is. For instance, in the “Primeval Song,” the incidents are straightforward and, actually, traverse the bounds of time and space. A curious baby monkey walks through several experiences only to return to the forest where she finds her home and her identity. The allegory format confirms its primordial nature. It is something readers could relate to anywhere anytime.

In the” Drama of Life” the author recreates the village atmosphere to an astounding degree. The story moves systematically from the villagers’ appreciation of tradition to modern ways, and rearranging their priorities. The story delineates meticulously the scenes in a carefully orchestrated fashion. The very first line tells the readers that it is about a performance. The village chief, Naidu, was impressed has been the moving performance by the traditional narrator, his originality and creativity. Each incident or episode—the description of the village, the customary celebration of Maha Bharata yajnam, Naidu’s zealous references to numerous episodes in Maha Bharatam, and the manner in which he extended his invitation to the performer —is filled with charming minutiae. For me, this was one of the hardest stories to translate. I however thought it was worth the effort since the story provided so much of the life in our villages and the changes that are taking place in the attitude of people and society.

The first half of the story includes several incidents leading to the conflict. The second set of incidents leads to the denouement or resolution and is needed in order to bring about a satisfactory experience in the reader’ mind. In “The Drama of Life,” the detailed descriptions of several gambling stalls—from the games with small bets to the games with high stakes which are a ruination of the local families—leading to the final catastrophe (breaking the heart of the traditional performer) serve that purpose.

The Conflict: The conflict is the pivotal point in a story. In “The Man Who Never Died,” it is the impending death. The protagonist was willing to compromise his values and cut down a 40-year old tree and ruin a 30-year old friendship in the process. Why we fear death and why we would want to live forever are the questions for which we don’t have answers. But can we do anything to conquer death and live forever? The story illustrates how the fear of death is fed by the people around us.

There is a subplot in “The Man Who Never Died,” the friendship between Appanna and Markandeyulu. Felling the tree has a symbolic significance for both of them for different reasons. For Appanna it was a blow to their friendship. For Markandeyulu it was a life-saving event. But their disagreements overlap and Markandeyulu does everything in his power to save Appanna’s life. This part of our culture, the interpersonal relationship that defies the caste and class distinction, is rarely presented in Indian fiction, translations or original, outside India. It is also interesting to see that, in this and a few other stories, the illiterate persons from the lower strata of the society are presented as instrumental in making the educated persons see the light of the day.

The end wraps up and reveals the author’s point of view. That is the simplest statement in any good story. Some readers felt that the ending in “Illusion” was left much to be desired. Bhaskara Rao commented that the ending fell flat.[4]

My understanding is that the central theme in the “Illusion” is our botched up court system. The story is about the failed system as perceived by Muthelamma, based on her experience with the courts. The senior lawyer in the opening scene expresses his disillusionment of the system in scathing and unequivocal language, e.g. comparing the lawyers to the foxes hanging in the graveyards. Later Muthelamma, a client from the working class and an illiterate fires away a volley of questions and even challenges the junior lawyer to prove her wrong. Her speech is considered one of the most powerful speeches in Telugu fiction. The author created a rebel-victim in Muthelamma who was betrayed by the system and who comes to understand that the only way to stay out of jail was to play along. That was the revelation, a poignant point, for the junior lawyer should face. At the end, Muthelamma rises to a level where she could even be patronizing, “You did good. I was there. I saw it. You shook them [the police] up,” she tells the junior lawyer. I wonder how many readers smiled at this twist, the reversal of this role-playing. To me, it looks like the author has succeeded in bringing the illusion—what the system claims to do, what it actually does and the hurt of the people betrayed by the system—into bold relief.

At the outset, I mentioned that some readers would ask why the author did not give us more details. My question is, is it necessary to summarize his point of view? Does the author have an obligation to answer all the questions on the topic he chose to write about? In that, are we not erasing the difference between an essay and a story? Personally, I feel that it is the author’s privilege to decide what and how much he wants to tell in his story.

In my story, “Frostbite”, the story revolves around the female protagonist’s silence. The readers would continue to read the story looking for the reasons for her silence. In that sense, the story ended when she broke her silence. However, the one question that has confounded me at the time and always is why do people hurt others and very often for no good reason. So, I continued the story, killed the protagonist in the process, and went on until I could raise the question no more. You, the readers, have to tell me if that made any difference to the story one way or the other.

Among the other elements of a good story are technique, characterization, diction or command of language, structure, and author’s perception of the society he is living in. I do not intend to go into all these components but only some that are relevant to my selection for publishing on my website, thulika.net.

One of our editors, Satya Pappu, said that her general reaction to Malladi garu’s stories has always been one of satisfaction and contemplation. That kind of satisfaction and contemplation is possible only when the author is skillful in his delivery and also in the reader’s disposition to lose oneself in the flow of the story. Any one of the elements—a character, an incident, the diction, figures of speech, proverbs, descriptions of the environment, or some other element in the story, that is normally ignored or overlooked by people, can suddenly pop up in the reader’s mind and bring about a kind of revelation or understanding. It is for this reason, stories that rush to the end without establishing the conflict and resolution sufficiently leave the reader with dissatisfaction.

One story I would like to review in this connection is “Woman’s Wages”. The conflict—the disparity between a woman’s wages and the services she is entitled to—is the main theme in this short story. The protagonist, Naidu, raises the question—why should the woman pay the same fare as males when she was not paid the same wages for her labor. And the story ended there. For the readers the unanswered question is what happened next? If I want to develop a story around this incident, probably I would include a few more incidents such as the protagonist protesting vehemently, even standing in front of the bus, insisting for a fair value of their labor and money, the passengers taking sides, the driver struggling with a dilemma—whether to make a special allowance for the woman or run over the man in front of the bus. Then we have a story. Then there is a room for the readers to empathize, room for a piece of social history and a story that goes beyond the immediate moment. But then again am I contradicting myself here? Earlier I have stated that it is the author’s privilege as to what and how much he wants to tell. What do you think?

Narration: The story “He is I” was a difficult one to translate for me due to its complex structure. There are two narrators besides the author. The story opens with taanu but  most of the story was narrated by Swamiji. At times, it was also presented as a conversation between these two characters—Swamiji narrating the story to taanu, the young man. On rare occasions, the author narrated the story, referring to the other two as they. There are also instances where the actual incident was left to the imagination of the reader. For instance, the young man’s experience in Rattamma’s house was not described. Swamiji’s comments seem to indicate that the young man had the experience Swamiji had craved for. Or, was it only the Swamiji’s interpretation of the young man’s unrecorded account? The story raises several questions and seems to contain too many loose ends.

I took it up as a challenge and tested my translation on some of my American friends. To my surprise, they were not as baffled as I was. Is it possible I was reading too much into the story because of my cultural background? Or, was it the author’s intention to force the readers to see that we do not get all the answers always, and that we live at random?

Characterization: Creating believable characters is part of good writing style. Depicting a character does not necessarily mean providing a physical description of the character. Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry is highly regarded for his character portrayal, particularly, strong female characters. The story, “Moments before Boarding the Plane, is developed with extraordinary flair in the form of a dialogue between a queen and a chief in her husband’s court. The chief, because of his long-standing association with the family, becomes a friend, confidante, protector and attains a brotherly status. The dialogues written in simple, everyday language of the ordinary people, is simply captivating.

A writer from current generation, Satya Sarada Kandula wrote a similar story, in her Old Letters. From the letters written by Vennela to thatha, the readers will understand that she is a young woman, has been married, divorced and is perplexed by serious questions about life. The readers can visualize a young woman and a grandfather from the storyline—the granddaughter sitting in her room and jotting down her baffling thoughts and the  grandfather from a far off place reading those letters and comforting his granddaughter in his own way.

This kind of characterization however is not common. In general, readers envisage the characters from their behavior, author’s description, and the comments made by the characters themselves and by other characters. The incidents and characterization are interdependent. It is impossible to write a good story with livid, lifeless characters.

Technique: Each writer develops his own technique. In a way, the writer is the technique as far as his writing goes. In addition to the elements discussed above, the technique includes the idiom, his knowledge of his culture, his awareness of his societal norms, and his ability to pull them all together to make that one indelible impression on the reader’s mind.

Most readers can identify a writer from his style. Style is one of the elements that does not lend itself for translation. For instance, let us see a line from “Marigolds” (published in September 2002).

buddideepam cheta pucchuku aa guddivelugulo chukkallaati kallato bikkubikkumantoo choostondi Kamalabala.

“With her starry eyes, she sat there, slouched over the flower bed, staring at the marigold plants furtively in the dim light of a little wick lamp in her  hand.”

The original lines are poetic. The alliteration is striking. The translation is pale compared to the original. The poetic quality is lost. The word count in the translation is three times the original, which speaks for the author’s skill. The author, Viswanatha Sastry, is one of those writers whose stories will not allow the readers to skip lines and rush to the end.

Another example of unique style is the references to the stage performers of the mid-twentieth century in the story, “He is I.” For those native speakers who had enjoyed stage plays in the past, the references are gratifying. Sometimes, it is a little humorous as well. Swamiji says, “she [his wife] was like Purushottam in his role as Chitrangi.” This analogy is amusing to me. Purushottam was a male actor playing a female role. Did the author intentionally compare his wife to a male actor playing a female role? Did the author expect the reader to take it as his observation of male psyche? Human nature? Or, it was meant to show the author’s appreciation of the performer?

In any case, individual writers use such reference whenever the occasion supports it, and in an attempt to evoke the nuance in the mind of the readers. Would the stories read the same without these references to the classics and the artists? For the native speakers, it is a bonding experience. For foreigners, probably, the story is easier to follow without these references. However, these details do serve a purpose, provide an opportunity to understand the culture better.

Author’s point of view: Whenever a story is written, a point of view is expressed. What specifically that point of view is a moot point. As mentioned at the beginning, different readers relate to different aspects in the story and different critics see different viewpoints. The story “Choices” (Empu) (Thulika, June 2002) provided a platform for different viewpoints. The author, Chaganti Somayajulu, was one of the early modern writers, well respected for his social consciousness fiction.

Let me first explain my perspective. The story was first published in 1945. At the time, most of the literature was focused on the middle class issues—the hopes, dreams, aspirations, fears and frustrations of the era. If the working class characters were depicted, they were depicted as victims of either the system or the centuries old tradition, which meant depicting only stereotypical images. The author of “Choices” seemed to point out that the hopes, dreams, and family values of the beggar community are not different from other human beings in the upper classes. The centers round four characters, an old man, his daughter, and two prospective bridegrooms, a blind man and a crippled man.  The father, musilaadu [old man] is looking for an eligible bachelor for his daughter within their own community, the beggars community. The father prefers the blind man but the daughter has her heart set on the crippled man. The father’s logic, the correlation between the marriage and the economic status of the two grooms, and the persuasive arguments of the crippled man are the same as in any middle class family. The only aspect that sets them apart is their status as beggars. Keeping that in mind, I mentioned that the story was about the beggars community—their hopes, dreams, aspirations and family values. Daskhinamurthy, a noted writer and critic, also commented that, “Their [the beggars’] philosophy was that all the beggar girls must invariably look for and find only blind men to marry”(498).

Chaganti Tulasi, a well-known writer and the author’s daughter, offered the following explanation: “The story, “Empu” was published in ARASAM special issue, September 1945, and that was 58 years ago. But the situation of arranging a marriage for one’s daughter has not changed much. Though ChaSo [the author] took his characters and life from beggars it is about the fundamentals of economics of all communities, rich and poor alike. The richest man’s philosophy is also the philosophy of the poorest. Chaso wrote a small keynote sentence in the story - musilaadi upanyaasam mushti lokaaaniki upanishattu [The old man’s speech is an upanishad for the beggars’ community]. Here mushti lokam has an inner meaning besides the meaning ‘the beggars world.’ The word mushti is used as a derogative term for the entire human community. In your translation, the second meaning has not been conveyed. It tells about the panhandlers community only. Fathers, daughters, would-be son-in-laws are all alike in all communities.”[5]

Themes: I’m going to make only a brief comment about the themes since enough has been said in the above paragraphs while discussing other aspects. I agree that a good writer can write a story almost about anything. However for the purpose of my website, I am looking for themes which are commonly ignored or overlooked, stories that throw light on cultural peculiarities, and stories that deal with human nature but unique to Telugu people. Writers and translators may also note that humor and satire are culture-specific and hard to import in translation. I know I am taking some chances in this regard.

Language: Diction is illustrative of the author’s command of figures of speech, knowledge of traditional values, symbols, epithets, proverbs and the ability to suffuse the story with native flavor.

Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry and Racakonda Viswanatha Sastry are often quoted as two writers who could present dialogue with the sharpness of a knife (Dakshinamurthy. 339). A famous poet, Sri Sri. stated that Muthelamma’s speech in the story “Illusion” belonged in the world’s greatest literatures.[6] Metaphors and proverbs are powerful ingredients of our socio-cultural history. Most of our writers draw on the characters from ancient literature for what the characters stand for in the public perception. A writer need not believe in Rama as a god to use the name as a symbol for an ideal person. In the story, “Reform”, the author, known for her Marxist ideology, describes the state of mind of the couple at the end as “two persons lost in dharma yuddham.” The phrase dharma yuddham refers to the great war in the epic, Maha Bharata, fought in the name of justice. The reference invokes an image in the reader’s mind of a battle fought for a just cause and lost.

On a different note, some of my American friends, Judy, Nancy, and Lucille,  commented on the lengthy names in our stories. One of them said that the long names are like roadblocks, they do not let the reader move forward with the story. In that context, I would like to mention that foreign names are hard to remember for any reader and long names are the hardest. However, the names are part of characterization. They add considerably to the narrative.

Tentatively, as an experiment to help my friends, I tried to change the names in “The Man Who Never Died” after contacting the author. I could change one name, Appalakonda to Appanna, but could not come up with a decent substitute for Markandeyulu. I was wondering what the thoughts of the writers and translators are on this one.

Finally, I would like to point out that my references to only some stories and/or some elements in the stories do not mean that they are the only stories/elements that are notable. I used them only as examples and must be understood as such.

Second disclaimer is, this article is not an attempt to offer guidelines for writing a good story but to bring up some of the topics for discussion and to show what I am looking for in my selections for stories on web site, www.thulika.net. I tried to point out what captures my imagination and by extension what I like to publish on my website. I hope to publish more stories by more writers rather than more stories of one writer and, thereby, create an awareness of the widest range of Telugu culture among English-speaking audience.

Looking forward to your comments.

(As I finished this article, the lectures of Prof. K. Viswanatham garu on E. M. Forster during my college years, 1956-1959 came to my mind. Professor garu, I am grateful for the confidence you had put in me! –Malathi)

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.88)

 

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]

 

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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

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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.