A Childhood in Malabar—A Memoir

 

Title: A Childhood in Malabar—A Memoir
Genre: Memoir
Author: Kamala Das
Translator: Gita Krishnankutty
Publisher: Penguin Books
Original titles (two volumes): Balyakala Smaranakal/Varshangalkku Mumbu

Amy's Childhood Encounters with the Raw, Real World of Nalapat

I was in a hurry. I picked up two books on the go. One of them was “A Childhood in Malabar” by Kamala Das. By the way, this bug has got into my system. Of wanting to revisit timeless and modern classics—both movies and books. So when I saw the author’s name, I didn’t give it a second look. I just picked it up, got it issued and rushed out. Let me confess, if I had realised I was picking up the translated edition, I would have looked for the original. Not that I don’t read translated works. (Why would I not since I too occasionally try my hand at translation?) But I would prefer the original if I knew the language. Having said that, I now have no regrets that I picked this book up.

Gita Krishnankutty’s translation flows smoothly. Not for a moment would the reader feel this is a translated version. For me, reading this book gave some learning too on how a translation should sound and feel. While reading, I found myself translating certain words and phrases back to what I felt would have been the original Malayalam. I found this a delightful challenge. But more importantly, this shows how close to perfect Gita’s translation must be.

The memoir is a series of anecdotes which reads like a novel. They give you glimpses of how the young Kamala and her brother tried to find their feet in their native land where they were temporarily shifted to from Calcutta during the times of the Second World War. The reader gets a peek into Kamala’s mind, as she is pleasantly surprised at the conservative and religious ways of the people in the new environs and, at the same time, quietly disturbed at the class and caste differences and discriminations there.

The child’s perspective is maintained throughout the book with all its naivety and curiosity. And the readiness to believe all that one heard in a world that was hitherto unfamiliar to her.

Everyone appreciated the dishes Kunju Nair made. After his death, none of the cooks who succeeded him achieved his standards. People therefore lost interest in food, and apparently this was the most important provocation for dividing the wealth of the taravad later. It was the children of the family who told me these secrets. [P15, para 3]

Childhood memories remain unerased for a reason. They are like torches that light up the path to your future. The childlike wisdom of  young Kamala, who would grow up to become a writer known across the world for her intelligence and individuality, is evident in what she captured and held in her heart right from when she started noticing the world around her.

There were two types of people in our village at that time: a group who thought of truth as lies and another that thought of lies as truth. Both groups were entangled in a web of fallacy. [P63, last para]

The narrative flows at the same slow pace as that of the life in a traditional taravad of Kerala. The calmness on the surface is deceptive, as it hides the turbulence underneath. The author deftly—and subtly—brings this out.

‘She is not afraid of anything because she lives in Calcutta. She doesn’t even know snakes are poisonous! No one’s explained these things to her either,’ said Kali Narayanan.

‘Let her grow up like that, not knowing fear,’ said Ammamma. [P172, paras 2 and 3]

Among many things that fascinates me as a reader is the author’s creative brilliance in bringing out her slow discovery of her own roots as a child and then her gradually growing attachment to the place, its people and their ways. Her attachment to her Ammamma lurks between the lines through the entire narrative.

‘Won’t we take Ammamma to Calcutta?’

‘How can we take her? Doesn’t she have to look after things here? She’ll stay in the village. I’ll take you with me and make you an elegant, fashionable girl. Right?’

At that moment, I dreaded the city and its fashionable ways, the circus, everything… [P130, paras 1,2,3]

Kudos to Gita Krishnankutty for preserving all the understated emotions in the stories intact. The translation reads like it was the original, while it retains the regional flavour of the original. Every word and line of this charming memoir was a heart-warming read.

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