My Mother at 66- Kamala Das

The Poem

Kamala Das

Driving from my parent's
home to Cochin last Friday
morning, I saw my mother,
beside me,
doze, open mouthed, her face
ashen like that
of a corpse and realised with
pain
that she thought away, and
looked but soon
put that thought away, and
looked out at young
trees sprinting, the merry children spilling
out of their homes, but after the airport's
security check, standing a few yards
away, I looked again at her, wan,
pale
as a late winter's moon and felt that
old familiar ache, my childhood's fear,
but all I said was, see you soon,
Amma,
all I did was smile and smile and
smile.

Summary-

"My Mother at 66" is an ironical expression of the inevitability of Death. Kamla Das very skillfully portrays this theme of ageing, death and isolation through a narration involving her mother. The poem is an intricate mixture of the two very fundamental human tendencies-- Love and the Fear of isolation-- which puts the poet on the highest pedestal of reflective poetry. These two emotions are inseparable, intertwined with one-another for eternity; the feeling of Love gives rise to the fear of isolation and loss, and the fear of isolation itself nourishes the Love as it buds in the human heart. 

As the poet is driving from her parent’s home to Cochin Airport on a ripe Friday morning, she notices her mother beside her, lying still, “open mouthed”, in a sleep that seemed to stretch till Eternity. Her face, pale like a corpse, almost ashen, and the pain visible on her face makes the poet realise the thoughts lingering far away in her mother’s mind. This realisation erupts in her the fear of isolation from her mother. It is a childhood fear of every kid that he might be isolated from her mother; an emotion that grows even more intense with Age because as a child the fear is of mere isolation but as Age starts catching up, this fear turns into the fear of losing one’s mother forever. Thus, the poet very skilfully describes the helplessness that human nature feels upon the inevitability of Death. 

In order to distract her mind, the poet tries to divert her mind by looking out of the window, only to be clasped by the memories of her childhood which get refreshed when she witnesses “young trees sprinting” and “the merry children spilling out of their homes”. These remind her probably of her own youth and life, her own younger days and her mother when she was young. Kamla realises that to the children, she is now a mother’s age. But to Kamla, her mother is still her mother, and when she looks at her, she feels like a child again.  This is an ironical expression of the fact that as animals, we grow old and die, but the relationship that we share with people never changes with time. We are always kids for our elders and we feel the same when we are around them. We have an identity as animals, this is subject to time. But our identity as persons seems timeless. 

After the airport’s security check, “standing a few yards away”, she catches the glimpse of her mother again—pale, exhausted, and as motionless as “a late winter’s moon”-- and seeing her like this, losing the battle with Death, the old childhood fear within her of losing her mother surfaces again. But suppressing this ominous feeling with all her might, she bids her mother goodbye and hopes to see her soon, again an irony to the thoughts that are going through her mind and just smiles as her mother fades out of view.

The poem instates Kamla Das as skilful portrayer of human emotions which she very innocently describes through the fear of isolation and loss and the very powerful emotion of Love, both as integral to nature as the inevitability of Death.

My Grandmother's House- Kamala Das

The Poem-
There is a house now far away where once

Kamala Das

I received love……. That woman died,
The house withdrew into silence, snakes moved
Among books, I was then too young
To read, and my blood turned cold like the moon
How often I think of going
There, to peer through blind eyes of windows or
Just listen to the frozen air,
Or in wild despair, pick an armful of
Darkness to bring it here to lie
Behind my bedroom door like a brooding
Dog…you cannot believe, darling,
Can you, that I lived in such a house and
Was proud, and loved…. I who have lost
My way and beg now at strangers' doors to
Receive love, at least in small change?

Summary-

“My Grandmother’s House” is a constituent poem of Kamala Das’s maiden publication Summer in Calcutta. Though short, the poem wraps within itself an intriguing sense of nostalgia and uprootedness. In her eternal quest for love in such a ‘loveless’ world, the poet remembers her grandmother which surfaces some emotions long forgotten and buried within her-- an ironical expression of her past which is a tragic contrast to her present situation. It is a forcefully moving poem fraught with nostalgia and anguish.

The poet says that there is a house, her grandmother’s home, far away from where she currently resides, where she “received love”.  Her grandmother’s home was a place she felt secure and was loved by all. After the death of her grandmother, the poet says that even the House was filled with grief, and accepted the seclusion with resignation. Only dead silence haunted over the House, feeling of desolation wandering throughout. She recollects though she couldn’t read books at that time, yet she had a feeling of snakes moving among them-- a feeling of deadness, horror and repulsion, and this feeling made her blood go cold and turn her face pale like the moon. She often thinks of going back to that Old House, just to peek through the “blind eyes of the windows” which have been dead-shut for years, or just to listen to the “frozen” air.

The poet also shows the ironical contrast between her past and present and says that her present has been so tormenting that even the Darkness of the House that is bathed in Death does not horrify her anymore and it is a rather comforting companion for her in the present state of trials. The poets says that she would gladly (“in wild despair”) pick up a handful of Darkness from the House and bring it back to her home to “lie  behind my bedroom door” so that the memories of the Old House and its comforting darkness, a rather ironical expression, might fill assurance and happiness in her present life.

She wraps up the poem saying that it is hard for one to believe that she once lived in such a house and was so loved by all and lived her life with pride. That her world was once filled with happiness is a sharp contrast to her present situation where she is completely devoid of love and pride. She says that in her desperate quest for love, she has lost her way; since she didn’t receive any feelings of love from the people whom she called her own, she now has to knock “at strangers' doors” and beg them for love, if not in substantial amounts, then atleast in small change i.e. in little measure atleast.

The poet has intensified the emotions of nostalgia and anguish by presenting a contrast between her childhood and her grown-up stages. The fullness of the distant and absence and the emptiness of the near and the present give the poem its poignancy. The images of “snakes moving among books”, blood turning “cold like the moon”, “blind eyes of window”, “frozen air”’ evoke a sense of death and despair. The house itself becomes a symbol - an Ednic world, a cradle of love and joy. The escape, the poetic retreat, is in fact, the poet’s own manner of suggesting the hopelessness of her present situation. Her yearning for the house is a symbolic retreat to a world of innocence, purity and simplicity

An Introduction- Kamala Das

Edit:  An equally beautiful summary of the poem can be found in the following two links below, written by a very talented Ms. Rukhaya MK who is much more accomplished in the field than I am, and apparently has many more well-wishers, for they have stormed my life and also the comments section below with allegations of plagiarism.
http://rukhaya.com/poetry-analysis-kamala-das-an-introduction/
http://www.galaxyimrj.com/V1/n2/Rukhaya.pdf
Writing is about inspiration. And whatever we write is inspired by someone or the other. That being said, whatever we write as a result of this inspiration we have all the right to claim it as our own. I happily say that I was inspired by Ms Rukhaya MK, but certain lines from my summary might have looked more similar to hers than she would have liked them to (I still can't figure out which ones!). Nevertheless, this entire summary is the product of my long, tiring, and dedicated efforts spanning hours, and I have every right to call my original creation. Thank You; Enjoy Reading (whichever you choose to)!
The Poem--

Kamala Das

I don't know politics but I know the names
Of those in power, and can repeat them like
Days of week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru.
I am Indian, very brown, born in Malabar,
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.
Don't write in English, they said, English is
Not your mother-tongue. Why not leave
Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,
Every one of you? Why not let me speak in
Any language I like? The language I speak,
Becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses
All mine, mine alone.
It is half English, half Indian, funny perhaps, but it is honest,
It is as human as I am human, don't
You see? It voices my joys, my longings, my
Hopes, and it is useful to me as cawing
Is to crows or roaring to the lions, it
Is human speech, the speech of the mind that is
Here and not there, a mind that sees and hears and
Is aware. Not the deaf, blind speech
Of trees in storm or of monsoon clouds or of rain or the
Incoherent mutterings of the blazing
Funeral pyre. I was child, and later they
Told me I grew, for I became tall, my limbs
Swelled and one or two places sprouted hair.
When I asked for love, not knowing what else to ask
For, he drew a youth of sixteen into the
Bedroom and closed the door, He did not beat me
But my sad woman-body felt so beaten.
The weight of my breasts and womb crushed me.
I shrank Pitifully.
Then … I wore a shirt and my
Brother's trousers, cut my hair short and ignored
My womanliness. Dress in sarees, be girl
Be wife, they said. Be embroiderer, be cook,
Be a quarreller with servants. Fit in. Oh,
Belong, cried the categorizers. Don't sit
On walls or peep in through our lace-draped windows.
Be Amy, or be Kamala. Or, better
Still, be Madhavikutty. It is time to
Choose a name, a role. Don't play pretending games.
Don't play at schizophrenia or be a
Nympho. Don't cry embarrassingly loud when
Jilted in love … I met a man, loved him. Call
Him not by any name, he is every man
Who wants. a woman, just as I am every
Woman who seeks love. In him . . . the hungry haste
Of rivers, in me . . . the oceans' tireless
Waiting. Who are you, I ask each and everyone,
The answer is, it is I. Anywhere and,
Everywhere, I see the one who calls himself I
In this world, he is tightly packed like the
Sword in its sheath. It is I who drink lonely
Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns,
It is I who laugh, it is I who make love
And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying
With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner,
I am saint. I am the beloved and the
Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no
Aches which are not yours. I too call myself I.

Summary-

“An Introduction” is perhaps the most famous of the poems written by Kamala Das in a self-reflective and confessional tone from her maiden publication Summer in Calcutta(1965). The poem is a strong remark on Patriarchal Society prevalent today and brings to light the miseries, bondage, pain suffered by the fairer sex in such times.

The poet says that she is not interested in politics but claims that she can name all the people who have been in power right from the time of Nehru. By saying that she can repeat them as fluently as days of week, or names of the month, she indirectly states the fact that politics in the country is a game of few chosen elite who ironically rule a democracy. The fact that she remembers them so well depicts that the same people have been in power time and again.

Next, she describes herself saying that she is an Indian, born in Malabar and very brown in colour. She speaks in three languages, writes in two and dreams in one, articulating the thought that Dreams have their own universal language. Kamala Das echoes that the medium of writing is not as significant as is the comfort level that one requires. People asked her not to write in English since isn’t her mother tongue. Moreover, the fact that English was a colonial language prevalent as medium of communication during British times drew even more criticism every time she had an encounter with a critic, friends, or visiting cousins. She emphasizes that the language she speaks becomes her own, all its imperfections and queerness become her own. It is half-English, half-Hindi, which seems rather amusing but the point is that it is honest. Its imperfections only make it more human, rendering it close to what we call Natural. It is the language of her expression and emotion as it voices her joys, sorrows and hopes. It is as integral to her as cawing is to the crows and roaring to the lions. Though imperfect, It is not a deaf, blind speech like that of trees in storm or the clouds of rain. Neither does it echo the "incoherent mutterings of the funeral pyre." Instead, it has an inherent natural coherence of its own.

She moves on telling her own story. She was a child, and later people told her that she had grown up for her body had started showing signs of puberty. But she didn’t seem to understand this interpretation because at the heart she was still but a child. When she asked for love from her soulmate not knowing what else to ask, he took the sixteen-year-old to his bedroom. The expression is a strong criticism of child marriage which pushes children into such a predicament while they are still very childish at heart. Though he didn’t beat her, she felt beaten and her body seemed crushed under her own weight. This is a very emphatic expression of how unprepared the body of a sixteen-year-old is for the assault it gets subjected to. She shrank pitifully, ashamed of her femininity.

She tries to overcome such humiliation by being tomboyish. And thereafter when she opts for male clothing to hide her femininity, the guardians enforce typical female attire, with warnings to fit into the socially determined attributes of a woman, to become a wife and a mother and get confined to the domestic routine. She is threatened to remain within the four walls of her female space lest she should make herself a psychic or a maniac. They even ask her to hold her tears when rejected in love. She calls them categorizers since they tend to categorise every person on the basis of points that are purely whimsical.

Towards the end of the poem, the poet describes her encounters with a man. She doesn't take names, for it is the symbolism in her relationship that she seeks to convey. He is every other man who wants a woman, like an embodiment of the hungry haste of river, while she is every other woman, an embodiment of patience like the ocean's tireless waiting. When she asks every such man who he is, he replies saying he is I. The poet herein through symbolism presents to the readers the inherent male ego of a patriarchal society. He is rigid in his mindset like a "the sword in its sheath", and his views are not open to discussion. It is this "I" i.e. male ego that justifies lying drunk at 12 in the night in a hotel in some strange town, that justifies the condescending laughs, that makes love to woman and then feels ashamed about being so easily carried away, and yet dies with a rattle in the throat, like everyone else. Death exposes the futility of male ego, showing that the "he" is no greater than "she". Thus the poet concludes by saying that this "I" should be no different from "her", and thus I is both the sinner and the saint, both the betrayer and the betrayed, and both the man and the woman. There are no joys to "I" that she doesn't get to experience, nor any pains to him that she hasn't gone through. Thus "She" is "I" too.