Odds’ Own Country: Kerala’s peculiar dichotomy

Express News Service

Contemporary really is the keyword here. The short stories in the anthology, translated by feminist historian and social researcher J Devika, deal with some of the issues that Kerala is grappling with today. In her foreword, she clarifies that neither were the writers for this collection picked from an exhaustive list, nor does the line-up adequately run the gamut of the literary talent that exists in the state. The selection process had one criterion: to shine a light on today’s Kerala, warts and all. And, it is a satisfactory one.

So we get 13 tales focusing on everyday life in the state, written by authors who range from the very well-known, such as KR Meera and Unni R, to promising new writers such as Prince Aymanam. The anthology trains focuses on Kerala’s peculiar dichotomy. It is a state characterised by a high rate of literacy, exemplary universal healthcare, and an ostensibly egalitarian spirit. It also seems to have religious harmony for the most part; minorities aren’t othered too overtly yet.

The flip side is rampant misogyny; being in the news for infamous sex crimes and horrifying dowry deaths; the sad reality that the high rate of literacy has not translated into women having significant agency; caste oppression, especially where the tribals are concerned; high levels of migration, the state becoming a large old-age home with the young and able moving away for work and better opportunities; and discrimination of the marginalised slowly gathering steam. 

The tone of the narratives comprises satire, humour, drama and surrealism, the last evinced in the concluding chronicle. Cleanly exposed are the insecurities, easily bruised egos and pettiness of the Malayali male, in the process revealing how this forms the patriarchal shackles within which women continue to be confined and undervalued. The educated but highly bigoted NRI, who seeks to aggressively dominate the discourse; the discrimination of castes like the Paraya and Pulaya, who despite having fought for their rights, have not made any significant gains; how Dalits too are outliers in the supposedly egalitarian society of the state, are other issues outlined with sharp precision.

In one prescient piece, a husband slyly but actively works behind his wife’s back to thwart her ambitions, buttressed by how women don’t help their own cause either, resorting to dirty tricks when competing with each other. Elsewhere, a supercilious husband learns to mend his ways. This particular story has the reader wondering afresh if the huge amounts of alcohol drunk by the Malayali male has another dimension; perhaps it acts as a prop to their self-worth to deal with what they perceive as their waning authority over women. And in the powerful last story in the anthology, women who are abused, vilified and shamed come together in a unique show of strength, neatly turning the tables on the ‘superior’ gender. One standout in the collection is a brilliant satire on the commodification of religion. Laced with biting wit and humour, it reveals, yet again, how religion can be weaponised in a deadly manner. 

Each narrative is preceded by a short introduction from the translator, in order to give the accounts context, but these passages could have been briefer and crisper. Then, one wonders about some of the linguistic choices made. The usage of words like ‘lemme’ or ‘buddies’ comes across as awkward, as does a line translated as ‘don’t talk big’. Also, one can’t help but feel that they could have come up with a better title for the book than the clunky Feeling Kerala.

These are minor quibbles, however, for an anthology consisting of remarkable stories. The takeaway is inescapable: all is not well in Kerala. If much has been achieved in the small sliver of a state, the gains need to be safeguarded, and not squandered. And yes, there is still much to be done.

<br /> Contemporary really is the keyword here. The short stories in the anthology, translated by feminist historian and social researcher J Devika, deal with some of the issues that Kerala is grappling with today. In her foreword, she clarifies that neither were the writers for this collection picked from an exhaustive list, nor does the line-up adequately run the gamut of the literary talent that exists in the state. The selection process had one criterion: to shine a light on today’s Kerala, warts and all. And, it is a satisfactory one.</p> <!-- WP QUADS Content Ad Plugin v. 2.0.81 --> <div class="quads-location quads-ad200503 " id="quads-ad200503" style="float:none;margin:0px 3px 3px 3px;padding:0px 0px 0px 0px;" data-lazydelay="0"> <!-- WP QUADS - Quick AdSense Reloaded v.2.0.81 Content AdSense async --> <ins class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block;" data-ad-format="auto" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7550963679842137" data-ad-slot="1823845571"></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});</script> <!-- end WP QUADS --> </div> <p>So we get 13 tales focusing on everyday life in the state, written by authors who range from the very well-known, such as KR Meera and Unni R, to promising new writers such as Prince Aymanam. The anthology trains focuses on Kerala’s peculiar dichotomy. It is a state characterised by a high rate of literacy, exemplary universal healthcare, and an ostensibly egalitarian spirit. It also seems to have religious harmony for the most part; minorities aren’t othered too overtly yet.</p> <p>The flip side is rampant misogyny; being in the news for infamous sex crimes and horrifying dowry deaths; the sad reality that the high rate of literacy has not translated into women having significant agency; caste oppression, especially where the tribals are concerned; high levels of migration, the state becoming a large old-age home with the young and able moving away for work and better opportunities; and discrimination of the marginalised slowly gathering steam. googletag.cmd.push(function() {googletag.display(‘div-gpt-ad-8052921-2’); });</p> <p>The tone of the narratives comprises satire, humour, drama and surrealism, the last evinced in the concluding chronicle. Cleanly exposed are the insecurities, easily bruised egos and pettiness of the Malayali male, in the process revealing how this forms the patriarchal shackles within which women continue to be confined and undervalued. The educated but highly bigoted NRI, who seeks to aggressively dominate the discourse; the discrimination of castes like the Paraya and Pulaya, who despite having fought for their rights, have not made any significant gains; how Dalits too are outliers in the supposedly egalitarian society of the state, are other issues outlined with sharp precision.</p> <!-- WP QUADS Content Ad Plugin v. 2.0.81 --> <div class="quads-location quads-ad200503 " id="quads-ad200503" style="float:none;margin:0px 3px 3px 3px;padding:0px 0px 0px 0px;" data-lazydelay="0"> <!-- WP QUADS - Quick AdSense Reloaded v.2.0.81 Content AdSense async --> <ins class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block;" data-ad-format="auto" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7550963679842137" data-ad-slot="1823845571"></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});</script> <!-- end WP QUADS --> </div> <p>In one prescient piece, a husband slyly but actively works behind his wife’s back to thwart her ambitions, buttressed by how women don’t help their own cause either, resorting to dirty tricks when competing with each other. Elsewhere, a supercilious husband learns to mend his ways. This particular story has the reader wondering afresh if the huge amounts of alcohol drunk by the Malayali male has another dimension; perhaps it acts as a prop to their self-worth to deal with what they perceive as their waning authority over women. And in the powerful last story in the anthology, women who are abused, vilified and shamed come together in a unique show of strength, neatly turning the tables on the ‘superior’ gender. One standout in the collection is a brilliant satire on the commodification of religion. Laced with biting wit and humour, it reveals, yet again, how religion can be weaponised in a deadly manner. </p> <p>Each narrative is preceded by a short introduction from the translator, in order to give the accounts context, but these passages could have been briefer and crisper. Then, one wonders about some of the linguistic choices made. The usage of words like ‘lemme’ or ‘buddies’ comes across as awkward, as does a line translated as ‘don’t talk big’. Also, one can’t help but feel that they could have come up with a better title for the book than the clunky Feeling Kerala.</p> <p>These are minor quibbles, however, for an anthology consisting of remarkable stories. The takeaway is inescapable: all is not well in Kerala. If much has been achieved in the small sliver of a state, the gains need to be safeguarded, and not squandered. And yes, there is still much to be done.<br />