Review: Ma is Scared by Anjali Kajal
While earlier Dalit literature brought out spine-chilling details of oppression, Anjali Kajal’s stories in Ma is Scared critique caste hegemony and reflect on the oppression of Dalits by highlighting finer strands of discrimination in places of education
The Hindi literary ecosystem has been such a seat of Brahmanical supremacy that most early writers looked away from the issues of the “lower” castes. Those like Premchand, who attempted to write Dalit characters, brought some representation but couldn’t resist resorting to stereotypes, which, perhaps, caused more harm than good.
To his credit, Rajendra Yadav, editor of the progressive monthly magazine Hans, first brought Dalit and women’s discourse into the mainstream. He suggested that Omprakash Valmiki title his autobiography Joothan, which went on to become a milestone in Dalit literature. Now, with writers like Sheoraj Singh Bechain, Sushila Takbhoure, Ratnakumar Sambharia, Jaiprakash Kardam and others, Dalit literature is no longer relegated to the margins.
Hindi writer Anjali Kajal, author of Ma is Scared, might not be as well known but she should be considered as one among this list. Wonderfully translated by Kavita Bhanot, who has retained the simplicity and rootedness of the original, the stories in this collection hold up a mirror to the casteism and misogyny of small-town India. The author’s first book of short fiction to be translated into English, it won the 2021 PEN Translates award.
While earlier Dalit literature brought out spine-chilling details of oppression, these stories critique caste hegemony and reflect on the oppression of Dalits by highlighting finer strands of discrimination in places of education. It is through presenting this normalisation and everydayness that she shows the deep penetration of casteism.
In History, when two old college friends meet, the upper caste girl apologises, very casually, for a past mistake. A flashback reveals that she had actually framed the other girl for a crime she didn’t commit. In general, Kajal’s O Henryesque endings are masterful but this one is particularly great as it hints at a larger collective history.
“‘To history,’ I replied. ‘Whose?’ she asked. I shook my head and changed the subject.”
Rain, one of the collection’s strongest stories, begins with a couple’s lovemaking. At the pinnacle of pleasure, “something between them would suddenly snap like a tightly-stretched thread pulled too hard.” This is soon followed by a rumination that marriages, whether love or arranged, run their course and turn lifeless. Marital discord grows even as the partners choose peaceful coexistence. When Kamya finds out that her husband stays up late to chat with his old lover, her immediate response is not anger but a deep self-doubt: “Haven’t I had the chance to stray, to have other relationships too?” She asks a male friend to compensate, while also being acutely aware that she loves her husband more than any other man in her life. The story’s depiction of the push-and-pull between the husband and the lover, and the husband’s eventual confession — of wanting to take revenge on a girl who left him — shows the dreadful impact of patriarchy on both men and women.
The titular story, Ma Is Scared, casts a similarly terrifying spotlight on patriarchy in small-town north India. Here, a mother in a basti is waiting for her daughter to come home. While, at heart, this is a straightforward story of sexual harassment, it complicates the common understanding that only weaker women are vulnerable. The daughter is not only educated but has a history of having pulped a lecherous man. And it is exactly this that makes the mother even more scared.
In Sanitiser, which also delves into the devastation caused by the Corona virus, the intelligence of a Dalit boy threatens the mother of a rich, upper caste girl. She believes such children should study in government schools and convinces her daughter that reservation is reverse discrimination. When the boy is made the head of the group, she is upset. To counter the reverse-discrimination argument, a teacher points to the American experience. While the story is based on an interesting premise, its even ended conclusion and its sketchy look at the upheaval wrought by the pandemic dilutes its potential.
To Be Recognised features a tired trope. A principal, aiming to be politically correct, admits a female student. She, however, believes “These people get away with murder. They don’t have to study; they don’t need to pass. They get everything through charity.” Strangely, the same principal doesn’t know the caste of a teacher who has been in her school for a while. It’s revealed only when the staffroom questions the teacher about the extra attention she pays the girl. Here too, oft-repeated arguments for reservation are featured but there are no counter arguments. Fiction works best when it weaves the politics of a character into the story and presents the issue in all its complexity. That’s missing in this particular piece.
Still, this is a highly readable collection. Anjali Kajal’s work has much to offer.
Kinshuk Gupta is the associate editor of Usawa Literary Review and the poetry editor of Jaggery Lit and Mithila Review.