In the recent past, I have often found myself turning to Malayalam fiction (in translation) for several reasons. Ingenious formal choices made by the authors could be one of them. Another factor that springs to mind immediately is Malayalam fiction’s probing engagement with a range of searing social, political, and personal concerns plaguing humankind. I am not a fan of issue-based fiction per se and that’s not how my previous statement should be read. I would like to re-emphasise the word probing to determine what this selection of fiction available in English translation has been able to achieve.
In Maria Just Maria, there are two words that constantly haunt the reader – through their usage in the novel and much after the novel has ended because they linger on in the mind – normal and abnormal. The protagonist, Maria is not considered normal by societal standards. The entire novel confronts you with seminal questions – Who is normal? Who determines these standards? What does normalcy denote? Are defiance and deviance abnormal? And doesn’t that indicate a problem with the opinion makers and standard setters rather than Maria?
Maria grows up with her grandparents. She has a special bond with her grandfather, Geevarghese, a man difficult to describe, loathed by all and zealously loved by his granddaughter. The novel has many characters that you will remember for their distinct traits. Such as Maria’s aunt, Neena, who brings home beggars and shelters them. Maria’s crazy dog, Chandipatti, a walking, talking philosopher who assumes “humanly prestige” which guides his “non-dog like” actions. Or Maria’s friend, Vinayakan, whose sole purpose of living is to argue with Hari. Maria herself is no less fascinating. She is a perennial dreamer, a quintessential vagabond indulged by her grandfather until one day her parents return to reclaim her when her supposed misdemeanours get out of hand. The question to ask here is – do we remember these characters because they are such oddballs? Or does their peculiarity hint at our own shortcomings and misgivings? Maybe we like them because we live vicariously through characters that we encounter in fiction and then form silent friendships with. Their lives differ vastly from our own. They do outrageous things which we watch in glee. We will never replicate their actions yet feel thrilled by them.
{{/usCountry}}Maria grows up with her grandparents. She has a special bond with her grandfather, Geevarghese, a man difficult to describe, loathed by all and zealously loved by his granddaughter. The novel has many characters that you will remember for their distinct traits. Such as Maria’s aunt, Neena, who brings home beggars and shelters them. Maria’s crazy dog, Chandipatti, a walking, talking philosopher who assumes “humanly prestige” which guides his “non-dog like” actions. Or Maria’s friend, Vinayakan, whose sole purpose of living is to argue with Hari. Maria herself is no less fascinating. She is a perennial dreamer, a quintessential vagabond indulged by her grandfather until one day her parents return to reclaim her when her supposed misdemeanours get out of hand. The question to ask here is – do we remember these characters because they are such oddballs? Or does their peculiarity hint at our own shortcomings and misgivings? Maybe we like them because we live vicariously through characters that we encounter in fiction and then form silent friendships with. Their lives differ vastly from our own. They do outrageous things which we watch in glee. We will never replicate their actions yet feel thrilled by them.
{{/usCountry}}Maria remains on the verge all throughout. She hates her parents and siblings and she is equally disliked by them. She runs away from home, gets married and then divorced. She has many affairs but is unable to love anyone beyond a point. She lives with her friends, goes hungry for days and then shows up unannounced at her grandparents’ demanding appam and chicken curry. Her hunger is ravenous. A lifelong recipient of societal and familial scorn, Maria remains unperturbed. People wonder how someone could be so mad. But Maria’s actions reveal another world of her own making where the line between reality and the imagination is blurry. The mad woman in literature is a trope. Often written by male writers, those women lack any interiority. Sandhya Mary reclaims that narrative in Maria Just Maria. Here, you see madness (if at all) from the point of view of not the other but the character herself and not necessarily as a curse.
There’s an instance in the novel when Hari (Maria’s friend) says that he uses English only when he has to say something difficult or sad because English, he feels is less emotional than Malayalam.There is no way to tell if this is indeed true when you read Jayasree Kalathil’s rendition of the novel, which is imbued with both emotion and intellect. I use intellect rather judiciously here because translation is not just a language-based skill. It is the most intimate and emotional act of reading and writing. In the hands of a seasoned artist like Kalathil, Maria acquires a renewed life and existence.
Kunal Ray teaches literary & cultural studies at FLAME University, Pune.