No ordinary women, these
Priyanka Singh

A Space of Her Own
Eds: Leela Gulati and Jasodhara Bagchi. Sage Publications. Pages 275. Rs 340.

THAT the Indian woman is resilient is a truism, but that she could take control of her life while all about her was falling apart and that too without a formal education and much before the feminist movement made itself felt, inspires. She was never weak and grit would surface when the times so required.

A Space of Her Own is a remarkable read for the stark veracity of the narratives. The book combines 12 narratives, which were published in the Indian Journal of Gender Studies in 1999. The narratives are by Nabaneeta Dev Sen (Amartya Sen’s ex), Mary Roy (Arundhati Roy’s mother), Vijaya Mehta (actor Durga Khote’s daughter-in-law) and Hema Sundaram, among other successful women.

The writers have bared their souls and family history right down to the moments of shame, humiliation and triumph. There is no sugarcoating of words, no fear of ridicule or stigma, no pretensions and no attempt to disguise the truth. The pain and exhilaration flow through the pages, as does the quiet pride for the exceptional women in their household who took life head-on and turned it around to redefine its meaning and relevance in the restricting social context.

The narratives span over a century and delineate the interplay of relationships among women. Some of these women were uneducated while the others were less assertive but all were winners. They introduced the younger generation of women to the importance of education and the concept of freedom of choice, away from the tyranny of tradition and the culture of suffering in silence. They weren’t loud rebels. They knew their bounds but made themselves heard.

When Mary Roy talks of her setbacks and multiple rejections, she does so with ease and with none of the shame or self-pity. She speaks of her violent father, filial ingratitude, a broken marriage and a relationship with her daughter Arundhati gone sour.

When Nabaneeta writes of her failed marriage to Amartya and her driving her car as a cab in London to bring up two children, there is no reproach, only acceptance of a situation for what it is and swinging it around to make her own happiness. Her pride is understandable in raising her daughters as a single mother and becoming a published writer and professor.

When Hema Sundaram talks of her wife-bashing husband and a suicidal son, there is no venom or sense of failure as a mother.

Maithreyi Krishna Raj tells of a grandmother who would sell off baby food intended for a newborn in the family. She also talks of her neglect by her father when she was fighting TB in a sanatorium and the near-rape attempt on her during her stay there.

Failed or ill-thought marriages, abject poverty, family oppression, defiance against orthodox strictures, early widowhood and its consequences and much more are discussed with an openness and self-assurance that the writers could have only inherited from their mothers and grandmothers who set benchmarks in their natal and affinal families for their women to reach. Admiration for them only grows.

A beautiful poem by Maithreyi sums up the essence of a spirit that strives:

Didn’t you know, you little fool. Wings come to those who fly.

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