|
Literary Review
A masterpiece still
IN the fine arts, the cartoon is a full-sized preliminary drawing for a work to be executed afterward in fresco, oil, mosaic, stained glass, or tapestry. Italian Renaissance painters made very complete cartoons, and such works as Raphael's cartoons for the Sistine Chapel tapestries housed in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London are considered masterpieces. Ashokamitran's Tanneer is an incomplete literary cartoon. It is still a masterpiece. Whoever reads it in Tamil will never fail to be amazed by the uncommon talent of the author in bringing to life in a few delicate strokes characters that are subtle and unforgettable.
Water, or the lack of it, reigns in the book. It dribbles through taps, it plays truant, it mixes with muck and it pours down from the sky. Its control over the characters is awesome. It makes them, as the mood takes it, angry, edgy, compassionate, chatty and reflective. Only Jamuna and Chaya, the two protagonists of the novella, seem to escape from its tyranny, at the very end, as they walk out of their tenement. Jamuna, the older sister, is one of those junior artistes whose shattered dreams litter the streets of Chennai. She rarely protests. When she does, it is so mild that it is hardly heard. Even her ineffectual attempt at suicide irritates her landlady, rather than evoking sympathy. Yet Jamuna emerges, finally, as a steely girl of probity and poise, which remain unsullied in spite of the depredations of Bhaskar Rao and his cronies. Chaya, on the other hand, is impulsive. "She did not know the range, the fury, the arguments, the shouting, the muttering, the fits and intoxications of the world that she, Jamuna, knew." Her problems are no doubt searing, but they are temporary. Her husband will eventually return. She will get back her child. She is a working woman. As these sisters strive to find a balance in their lives, a swarm of dark, memorable characters flit about them. All of them are bitter, and bitten by life. Teacher Amma is perhaps the only exception. She is also the only character in the novella who tries hard to communicate.
Ashokamitran's mastery in portraying the humdrum, everyday life of Chennai dazzles you throughout the novella. Even the minutiae of municipal digging take a sheen when he writes about them. But the best passage in my view is the one that describes the progress of a young man from Chennai Central to his house as a reluctant rider in a "brightly shining" taxi's inexorable march towards its nemesis.
Translating Ashokamitran is an arduous task. It is exceedingly difficult to bring out in English the tenor, the taste, or the feel of his sparse sentences in Tamil. That Lakshmi Holmström has done so bears testimony to her competence as a translator. There are a few passages that sound jerky — "how often do I have to tell you not to put the buttermilk in the top compartment of the Tiffin carrier"; "you only want to put your head into a noose and die in my house and drag me through the streets, for shame!" — but the general quality of the translation is exemplary.
When I first read the book in Tamil, 30 years ago, I was disappointed that the author had chosen to keep it so short. The same disappointment wells up inside me when I now read it in English. It, without doubt, signifies the timelessness of the work — perhaps as timeless as the shortage of water
in Chennai.
P.A.L. KRISHNAN
Water (Tanneer), Ashokamitran, Katha, 2001, p.156, Rs. 150.
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Literary Review
|
