'Just because you don’t have a son, I’m expected to sacrifice all sexual pleasure?'

Editor’s Note: ‘Me’ is just one of the many delightful short stories included in The Blaft Anthology of Tamil Pulp Fiction (Blaft/Tranquebar, Rs 295). Edited by Rakesh Khanna and translated by Pritham Chakravarthy, it introduces English-language readers to a literary treasure long enjoyed by readers of popular Tamil magazines such as Kumudam, Ananda Vikatan, Thuglaq et al. It highlights the writing of household names in popular fiction from Tamilvanan to Ramanichandran and Rajesh Kumar.

The author of this particular story, Vidya Subramaniam, is best known for her strong female heroines, most often urban middle class women willing to flout tradition in search of independence. What makes ‘Me’ exceptional is that it was written 24 years ago, and yet seems modern and subversive today.

“Stop right there!”

Just as I was going to step inside the house, I heard Amma’s command and froze. I looked up at her.

“Why do you want me to stop here? Can we discuss this inside the house, please?”

I had been expecting Amma to blow up like this for a week. She turned wordlessly back inside, and I followed her. I left my handbag on the table, went to wash up, came back, sat on the floor, leaned against the wall, and prepared to listen to a long tirade.

“Tell me, then,” I said.

“What do you want me to say? You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“What?”

“Every day for the past week, some guy comes home, you dress up and go out with him. I need to know what it all means.”

I stared at Amma. Was she really my mother? Sometimes I didn’t believe it.

“I’m hungry,” I said. “Please give me my food.”

“I can’t even show my face outside this house.”

“Is there any food for me here, or do I have to go out for that, too?”

“Oh, the questions I have to face! I want to die!”

“Is that right? You want to die now? Then how come you didn’t want to die of shame when people asked you why your eldest daughter was yet to be married?”

“Who will marry you now?”

“I did get some proposals, remember? You were the one who refused.”

She lapsed into a stony silence. It only caused my anger to build up even more, and finally it all spilled out, like a volcanic eruption.

“You were scared. You had three daughters after me, and they all had to be married. The government granted me the job I’m working at now on compassionate basis after Appa’s death. You decided that meant I should be responsible for the house Appa left behind. After that, every marriage proposal I got, you would find some novel method to ward it off. I worked like a dog, did overtime— and I earned money. I gave it all to you. Even to buy my underwear, I had to beg from you. Have I ever demanded anything for myself? If my bra was worn out, I would cover myself with my sari, rather than ask for a new bra. I had only six saris to wear in rotation.”

“And for whose benefit? Just when I could glimpse hope on the horizon, who was there to blindfold me and lead me back into the darkness? It was you! Do you remember? I even asked you up front: ‘Amma, why are you refusing to get me married to a widower? I have no problem with that. I’m over thirty-five; I can’t be too choosy.’ And what did you say? ‘Someone will come. Wait. Be patient. Don’t be hasty. After all, you have a mother; it’s my responsibility to get you a husband, isn’t it?’

“I can’t understand why you are still holding me back. I’ve paid for my sisters’ education, and gotten them married off, just as you wanted me to. What else is left to stop me?”

Amma cried, “Listen, there’s a problem for me here, too! If you get married and go away, what will become of me? I don’t have a son to look after me!”

“So? Just because you don’t have a son, I’m expected to sacrifice all sexual pleasure?”

The story continues on page 2

“Don’t be crude!”

“You’re forcing me to be crude.”

“I am looking for a man who will marry you and agree to live here, in this house.”

“And if you don’t find one?”

“I will find one.”

“I’m not your only daughter. You have four of us. You can divide your time between the four.”

“No, that would look bad. If you were my son, then it would have been your duty to keep me.”

“And if my future husband doesn’t agree to your condition?”

“You won’t marry any man, unless he does agree.”

“What if he initially agrees, but changes his mind after we’re married?”

“I will write down the condition on revenue stamp paper, and get him to sign it before the wedding. If he changes his mind I’ll then go to court and demand justice.”

“Tell me honestly, did you actually give birth to me, or did you find me in a dustbin?”

“Oh dear Goddess, Angala Parameshwari! Do I really have to listen to this from my first-born daughter?” She shed crocodile tears for a while. Then she demanded again, “Who is he? Have you got married in secret? Tell me!”

“Not yet. But I have slept with him a few times.”

“Oh, Goddess Mahamayi!”

“Even if She had been born as your eldest daughter, She would have done the same thing. You chased away every man who wanted to marry me. For the sake of your future, you made my future a bed of nails. Why should you be able to eat three meals a day, have three new saris a year, while I stay a frozen virgin?”

“Wench, do you think that pleasure is the only important thing in life?”

“If I did think like that, I would have left you and run off with him the very first time we went to bed. What could you have done? Weddings and thalis are just for the outside world. These things are simply a license to have sex. If our hearts are united, we have no need for social licenses. In case you die, I need someone for myself! You want to know who he is, do you? He is the man I chose to have sex with, and he will be that special someone for my future.”

“What arrogance is this? It’s completely unacceptable! How can a good woman be so shameless?”

“What is acceptable or unacceptable in our society was not written by God. Every human child is naked when it is born. Adam and Eve did not wait to exchange wedding rings before going to bed. All that is, today, has evolved over time. A thousand years ago, in this same nation, a woman was able to select her mate from thousands during her swayamwaram. A few hundred years back, the custom changed to shaving widow’s heads or throwing them onto the funeral pyres of their husbands in the name of sati.”

“Sorry, but I’m not about to shave my head, or immolate myself. If you don’t like our relationship, tell me; I’ll leave here, and move in with him. You won’t be allowed to visit. You can, of course, move in with one of your other daughters. If you want me to have a marriage, then this is your only option. You can’t have your cake and eat it too. You have annihilated even my smallest desires with your greed. I’m an ordinary woman. This is my fair and just demand! I don’t care what this society thinks of me. If you want to stay with me, then stop interfering in my sex life. Bless me, as you should, that I have finally found some pleasure.”

I went to bed.