I interviewed one of the women from SAN’s (South Asian Network) AWAZ support group for survivors of domestic violence. Uma is currently separating from her husband and she and I spent over two hours with her story that spans 30 years of marriage. Below are several excerpts of the interview that struck me as interesting and how I feel they connect into Post Natyam’s current work:
"…One day he called me and say come here I want to talk to you…'tell me how much you love me. Tell me how much you love me, how much, how much, how much you love me?' I kept quiet and quiet. 'Tell me how much you love me.' Inside of my heart saying: 'you’re not worth it, you’re not worth it, you’re not worth it.' I could ask him the same question: How much do you love me? Did you honor that love that I gave it to you.? Did you give me that respect? Did you give me that honor?...Where is the dignity?... I didn’t say that I love him, he beat me up. He kicked me, I fell down on the floor, he kicked me up. Because I didn’t tell him I love him." - Uma
In the quotes above I am struck by Uma’s resilience and belief in her own dignity even in the face of a beating. Similarly, Veena Oldenburg’s fieldwork in her article “Lifestyle as Resistance: The case of the courtesans of Lucknow, India,” documents the story of a young widow is ill-treated by her in-laws but still finds ways to resist:
"I had no recourse to the laws, or to lawyers, only to my wits sharpened by adversity. I first tried to get back at them with sly acts of sabotage. I did the washing up indifferently, leaving a dull film on the metal platters and the pots. For this my mother-in-law thrashed me. I would sneak into the kitchen when my sister-in-law had finish-ed cooking and add a heavy dose of salt to the lentils and vegetables. I would hide my smile when I heard the yells and abuse heaped on her by the menfolk. She caught me one day and thrashed me soundly until I howled with pain."
Another connection I found in the interview was a desire for beauty and sensuality through the imagery of a flower. I am coincidentally exploring a similar idea in the end of a new piece I am working on “Tell me, Sister” based on the same story from the Oldenburg article.
"…When I grow the roses I go and admire and I put my face on top of them and smell and inhaling all the fragrance….life is like that, I thought in the beginning. But it’s not always….I want to smell the rose I want to feel the dew…all those small, small details I enjoy it, but I didn’t have it." -Uma
Here is a work in progress of “Tell me, Sister.” Since I first performed it in Post Natyam Unveiled, Cynthia and I have been working on creating the final section (after the projections). In this last section, the character explores her own flowering from within. The lovely sarengi music in the final section will replaced with a new composition by Loren.
PASSWORD: Tell me
Tell me, Sister (work in progress) from Shyamala Moorty on Vimeo.
Finally, I was surprised in the interview that Uma's fury was more about his infidelity then for his violence:
“If he is worth it, I would put up with anything, torturing, kicking, or even pricking a needle on my fingers. I will put up with it, but he is not worth it. If he has only alcohol habit…I could put up with it, but going with the different women and coming back, isn’t worth it.” -Uma
Here is a Padam (poem that was often sung and danced to) from the Telugu courtesan repertoire that deals with infidelity from a book Post Natyam has used material from in previous creative assignments: “When God Is a Customer” Edited and translated by A.K. Ramanujan, Velcheru Narayana Rao, and David Schulman.
A Woman to Her Friend
Friend, I didn’t say a word.
It would be a shame
if others were to hear.
He came with a glisten of mascara
still on his lips.
When I said it hurt me,
he made a scene.
When my friends asked me
what had happened,
I laughed it off,
covered it up.
I didn’t say a word
He wasn’t afraid to come home
with the red lac from her feet
on his forehead.
Still, he had the nerve
to ask for a hug.
I was furious
but, hiding it,
I protested gently.
I said it wasn’t right.
He raised his voice and,
fearing where it might lead,
I gave in.
As in the saying
about the thorn and the banana leaf,
it’s always the leaf that gets torn.
I didn’t say a word
Friend, he came here
with her betel juice
staining his neck
yet asked m for a kiss.
It seemed improper
to hurt a man
who had come to me.
But when he made love to me
as well as ever,
I felt obliged, and
I didn’t say a word
-Ksetrayya
The Pallavi or repeating refrain “I didn’t say a word,” is reminiscent of one other moment in the interview:
"…That was my silent cry. I was silently crying inside, but nobody knows outside. But now I'm not crying I'm speaking…I want to be me. I’m bold I have strength, I want to keep my head up and live with dignity!"-Uma
"…One day he called me and say come here I want to talk to you…'tell me how much you love me. Tell me how much you love me, how much, how much, how much you love me?' I kept quiet and quiet. 'Tell me how much you love me.' Inside of my heart saying: 'you’re not worth it, you’re not worth it, you’re not worth it.' I could ask him the same question: How much do you love me? Did you honor that love that I gave it to you.? Did you give me that respect? Did you give me that honor?...Where is the dignity?... I didn’t say that I love him, he beat me up. He kicked me, I fell down on the floor, he kicked me up. Because I didn’t tell him I love him." - Uma
In the quotes above I am struck by Uma’s resilience and belief in her own dignity even in the face of a beating. Similarly, Veena Oldenburg’s fieldwork in her article “Lifestyle as Resistance: The case of the courtesans of Lucknow, India,” documents the story of a young widow is ill-treated by her in-laws but still finds ways to resist:
"I had no recourse to the laws, or to lawyers, only to my wits sharpened by adversity. I first tried to get back at them with sly acts of sabotage. I did the washing up indifferently, leaving a dull film on the metal platters and the pots. For this my mother-in-law thrashed me. I would sneak into the kitchen when my sister-in-law had finish-ed cooking and add a heavy dose of salt to the lentils and vegetables. I would hide my smile when I heard the yells and abuse heaped on her by the menfolk. She caught me one day and thrashed me soundly until I howled with pain."
Another connection I found in the interview was a desire for beauty and sensuality through the imagery of a flower. I am coincidentally exploring a similar idea in the end of a new piece I am working on “Tell me, Sister” based on the same story from the Oldenburg article.
"…When I grow the roses I go and admire and I put my face on top of them and smell and inhaling all the fragrance….life is like that, I thought in the beginning. But it’s not always….I want to smell the rose I want to feel the dew…all those small, small details I enjoy it, but I didn’t have it." -Uma
Here is a work in progress of “Tell me, Sister.” Since I first performed it in Post Natyam Unveiled, Cynthia and I have been working on creating the final section (after the projections). In this last section, the character explores her own flowering from within. The lovely sarengi music in the final section will replaced with a new composition by Loren.
PASSWORD: Tell me
Tell me, Sister (work in progress) from Shyamala Moorty on Vimeo.
Finally, I was surprised in the interview that Uma's fury was more about his infidelity then for his violence:
“If he is worth it, I would put up with anything, torturing, kicking, or even pricking a needle on my fingers. I will put up with it, but he is not worth it. If he has only alcohol habit…I could put up with it, but going with the different women and coming back, isn’t worth it.” -Uma
Here is a Padam (poem that was often sung and danced to) from the Telugu courtesan repertoire that deals with infidelity from a book Post Natyam has used material from in previous creative assignments: “When God Is a Customer” Edited and translated by A.K. Ramanujan, Velcheru Narayana Rao, and David Schulman.
A Woman to Her Friend
Friend, I didn’t say a word.
It would be a shame
if others were to hear.
He came with a glisten of mascara
still on his lips.
When I said it hurt me,
he made a scene.
When my friends asked me
what had happened,
I laughed it off,
covered it up.
I didn’t say a word
He wasn’t afraid to come home
with the red lac from her feet
on his forehead.
Still, he had the nerve
to ask for a hug.
I was furious
but, hiding it,
I protested gently.
I said it wasn’t right.
He raised his voice and,
fearing where it might lead,
I gave in.
As in the saying
about the thorn and the banana leaf,
it’s always the leaf that gets torn.
I didn’t say a word
Friend, he came here
with her betel juice
staining his neck
yet asked m for a kiss.
It seemed improper
to hurt a man
who had come to me.
But when he made love to me
as well as ever,
I felt obliged, and
I didn’t say a word
-Ksetrayya
The Pallavi or repeating refrain “I didn’t say a word,” is reminiscent of one other moment in the interview:
"…That was my silent cry. I was silently crying inside, but nobody knows outside. But now I'm not crying I'm speaking…I want to be me. I’m bold I have strength, I want to keep my head up and live with dignity!"-Uma
It strikes me that the pallavi of Ksetrayya's padam, "I didn't say a word," connects to the SAN woman's first story about refusing to tell her husband she loves him. That could be a really effective literary device: if one rewrote the padam so that in the last stanza, instead of them making love "as well as ever," he comes to her stained with betel juice and asks her to tell him that she loves him, but her response is, "I didn't say a word," so that her passive acceptance becomes an act of resistance at the end.
ReplyDeleteOne of my favorite parts of Rasulanbai's story are her covert acts of resistance (salting the lentils, etc), which is not currently acknowledged in "Tell Me, Sister." I wonder if there is a way for that detail to brought in at a different point in the overall piece ?
I'm also struck at the difference between "nakhra" -- the pretense of love practiced by tawaifs as described by Veena Oldenburg -- and the sincerity of the way the SAN woman refused to express love for her husband:
"I am but a courtesan in whose profession love is a current coin. Whenever we want to ensnare anyone we pretend to fall in love with him. No one knows how to love more than we do: to heave deep sighs; to burst into tears at the slightest pretext; to go without food for days on end; to sit dangling our legs on the parapets of wells ready to jump into them; to threaten to take arsenic. All these are parts of our game of love. But I fell you truthfully, no man ever really loved me nor did I love any man." (quoted by Oldenburg, 19)
I could imagine it being interesting to intercut some of these different texts to create a poetic script that would bring out some of these connections and contrasts. It would also be interesting to put these different women into (fictional) conversation, perhaps using some of the techniques used in "Adda with the Ancestors."