I bought Devaki Nilayamgode's book for two reasons. The first was a personal one: here was a woman who had written her first book at the age of 74! She is almost 84 now. Living as I do, in a world where youth is adored and idolized more so than ever before, where it is so unfashionable to be old, where the writers worth encouraging are those who are easy on the eye, I thought: here's someone who is different. She showed her grey hair, her voice as an author seemed soft and gentle, without artifice. I thought I should cough up the Rs 395 that OUP was charging, if only to encourage her and others like her.My second reason has to do with Kerala itself. As a Tamil, neighbouring Kerala with its matriarchal Nairs and its patriarchal Namboodris, has always fascinated me. I wanted to understand the intricate cross weaving of feudal design at play. And the book did not disapppoint on this score.
Antharjanam was the term used to refer to Namboodri women. They had to stay indoors, unseen by males who did not belong to the family as post puberty, these women observed gosha or seclusion. When they moved out of their homes, they had to cover themselves in a cloak and carry their distinctive umbrellas. A Nair woman, from a poor family, called an irrikanamma, heralded their arrival, so that those of even lower castes could keep out of the way of these women.
The memoirs are based on two books written by the author: Nashtabodhangalillathe (with no sense of loss or regret) published in 2003 and Yaathra: Kattilum, Nattilum (a journey through lands and forests) in 2006, in Malayalam. The present collection is a selection from these two books.
Though it begins at the beginning with a brief autobiographical introduction, the book is not autobiographical in the sense that it is not about Devaki Nilayamgode's personal life, it is about aspects of the life she experienced. It has very little information about the feelings of the author, we do not even know what her children do or even how the the life of her daughter is different from hers, except that she wrote at the prodding of her grandson, Tathagatan. Had she not married into the more liberal Nilayamgode illam, her life may have been very dreary indeed.
That said, we are not disappointed with the paucity of personal details. We see that the book is a detailed recounting of aspects of life in a Malayala brahmin household in the first half of the twentieth century. So, we have chapters on the daily routine, the ritual bath, clothes, widows, betel nuts, fever, harvest, granary. In the end, we come away with a wealth of information and a very good grasp of what life must have been like for the average antharjanam: pretty damn terrible!
I'am trying hard not to put in excerpts from the book. Often, reviewers point out the best parts of the book and quote extensively, and I hate to go to a book and find that there is not much else to read. I don't want to spoil it for you. However, the book is full of shocking incidents, so I guess I'll refer to one which angered me the most.
This is the recounting of the feasts at which the irrikanammas are forced to eat from the leftover leaves of their mistresses. They first have to wait as the door is half closed by two hefty men, who push them off as they rush in, they are allowed in only after checking their identity, several are turned away and have to wait for the next round, if any. The meal is then quickly served before the women have the opportunity to push away the offending leftovers. This is done when there are fresh leaves aplenty and food in abundance. It is meant to humiliate, from start to finish, these poor Nair women, who serve their mistresses, the only reason for being so targeted is that their caste is a trifle lower and the feast is an occasion to rub this in powerfully. The author realizes this and wishes, in retrospect, that she had protested. I wish she had too!
The same humiliation is extended to the bride: the newly married antharjanam, is considered to have become part of her husband's household only if she eats from the leaf that he has eaten from. Disgusting!
After all these decades of social change, the leveling out of the castes is difficult, perhaps because it is not easy to respect the descendants of the lower castes, if your forefathers have so humiliated them. As with those of a lower caste, so too with women. Such things remain in the collective memory, for sure.
The other aspect is the sexual one. Only the eldest Namboodri male could marry from his community, the others had samandhams with Nair women. I have had many friends almost boast of their brahmin forefathers. But in retrospect, it seems that this too was a device to keep the lower castes in their place. There is also the obsession with pollution and the endless bathing! At the end of it all, most antharjanams were no cleaner it seems: most had lice in their hair!
I find it hard to digest the fact that the antharjanams had such a dismal life in the 1930s and 1940s, when women were being sent to university and medical college and entering into various professions. And progress was very much in the air.
The translators, Indira Menon and Radhika Menon have brought the period alive for us. OUP has done a good job. The editing is tight, the page lay-out is excellent and the paper is of good quality. And I do like the font: Garamond Premier Pro. That it has a hard cover with an evocative visual is an added bonus!
Do read this book if you like this kind. I do. I am going to re-read it soon.
