We tell stories to make sense of ourselves, writes Jerry Pinto. But our origins, the people closest to us, are mysteries that resist explanation.
THIS IS WHERE IT BEGAN: when the human species decided to stand upright. The decision, we are told, brought the birth canal between the pelvic girdle and limited the size of the head of the human foetus. Evolutionary biologists say that every human child is thus born a month premature. And therein lies the secret of the huge amount of time and energy that the human baby requires. The institution of the family was built around the wee form of a child.
You could even say it was built around the idea of immortality, of throwing one’s genes over the fence of time. Thus the family is a construct that deals with the future. Almost everything that is said about the family, within the family, is about the future. Try the following for size:
“You’ll see what I mean when you grow up.”
“You’ll know why I am doing this when you’re older.”
“Just wait until you have children of your own.”
“You don’t have to think about it now but who will look after you when you grow old? That’s when you will regret not getting married and having children of your own.”
That is the ultimate argument offered for starting a family. The assumption is not based on any realistic expectation. Aunty M who tells you that you might regret not marrying because you won’t have any progeny to care for you in your declining years will also say, not even an hour later, “This new generation does not have the values we had. They do not respect their elders. I, for one, don’t think you should expect anything from them. They only look out for themselves. All of them are abroad now,” she says, unaware of any irony. “They do this Skype thing and send postcards and once in two years they come down. But of course, every week, they say: ‘You come here, no?’ They never ask, ‘Do you want to come here?’”
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der January - March 2017-Ausgabe von The Indian Quarterly.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der January - March 2017-Ausgabe von The Indian Quarterly.
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The Image-Maker
Sukumar Ray’s most vivid images were saved for his classics of nonsense verse, but his singular eye, writes Nabarupa Bhattacharjee, found its earliest expression in photography
The Nawab's Last Sigh
Rudely awakened by the fact of independent India, an aristocrat in Meerut clung to his past. Now, he tells Sunaina Kumar, all he has left are his memories of a glorious age.
The Guest
Vaiyavan is the nom de plume of MSP Murugesan. Born in 1936, he did sundry jobs before obtaining postgraduate degrees by correspondence and then served as an English and Tamil teacher till his retirement in 1996. His writing career began in 1956. Multifaceted and prolific, he has to his credit a long list of short story collections, novels, plays, literary essays, poems and children’s stories. He has won several awards including Tamil Nadu government awards for best book on culture (1982) and best science book (1992) and the Malcolm Adiseshiah award for active participation in neo-literacy activities (1996). In his short stories and novels, Vaiyavan revels in a zest for life. Humaneness is the hallmark of his work, as the pain and pleasure, trials and tribulations of people in different rungs of society are described in minute detail. —CGR
The Birth of an Anthem
From right-wing slogan to moving patriotic song and now back to Hindu nationalistic war cry. Rimli Sengupta on the evolution of Vande Mataram
The Birth of a Parent
The beginning of a new life can create other strange new lives, reflects Manidipa Mandal
The Unknown Soldier
One man wondered and worried about his disappeared brother all his life.His granddaughter continued the search. Preksha Sharma resurrects a man and his story
The Art Scene
For the new kid on the block, it certainly has pedigree. The Centre for Con-temporary Art, housed within Delhi’s Bikaner House complex, finally opened its portals to welcome art aficionados during this year’s edition of the India Art Fair. Nature Morte was invited to stage the centre’s much-awaited inaugural show, an opportunity the gallery found too irresistible to pass up. The ambitious exhibition it mounted, The Idea of the Acrobat, occupied both floors of the recently renovated building and brought together the works of a dozen well known artists in a multitude of media. The line-up included Bharti Kher, Atul Dodiya, Dayanita Singh, Shilpa Gupta, Ayesha Singh, Khyentse Norbu and LN Tallur to name but a few.
Long, Long Ago
Arundhuti Dasgupta and Utkarsh Patel recount obscure creation myths from around the world, many echoing each other
Family Business
AT THE DINDUKKAL BUS DEPOT, the abortionist pushed her way through the crowd thronging the bus and finally managed to board it. She placed her travel bag beside her on the seat, calling out to her niece to hurry up. The young woman renewed her efforts to break free of the tangle of limbs and claim the seat reserved for her.
A Goan Childhood
Fragments of memory of a time long gone, from a life lived far away. By Selma Carvalho