My Mother's Sari
by Vaidehi
Translation by Dr Ramachandra Sharma and Ahalya Ballal
3Quarks Daily
http://www.3quarksdaily.com/3quarksdaily/2009/10/thursday-poem.html#more
There, in the wooden box
my mother's sari, enveloped in white muslin,
with mothballs.
Her sense of order is in each one
of its folds,
and the press of her palm.
A universe of ironing lies beneath the pillow.
Tiny packets of camphor, incense and fragrant roots –
her perfume.
My mother's sari's tucked-in eagerness
coupled with the jingling of bangles
is the zest to get down to work.
Lines running across the broad pallu,
the unbroken bridges of an upright life,
keeping all evil at bay –
a cane to reprove naughty children.
Folds tucked into a knot,
a mysterious treasure-house of meanings,
the pretty yellow Madhura sari
with its green border of blooms . . .
. . . that queen was perhaps like my mother.
Endless is my mother's sari –
the more I wrap it around me, the more it grows.
I remember becoming a midget once
trying to measure it,
trying to drape it.
My mother's sari –
the latex of mango and cashew,
a heaven of Ranja, Kepala and Suragi
golden wheat-beads auguring
the New Year Kani,
the old rolling over each year
to yield a new import.
My mother's sari,
with stars all over its body,
shields those in distress
from rain or shine,
it glows uniquely in the darkness
My mother's sari
of voile or handloom,
with a small dream of silk
When the dream came true,
Father was no more.
She wears it now
but the dream is gone.
There! My mother's old, Udupi weavers' sari
looks at me from where it hangs.
I unfold it and envelop myself in it
uttering with a long sigh
the word 'Amma' –
a word that remains forever fresh,
however worn with use.
Background on the Poet:
Vaidehi (real name Janaki Srinivasa Murthy), born in 1945, in Kundapura, Dakshina Kannada District, Karnataka is a well-known Kannada fiction writer and poet, renowned for her espousal of the cause of women.
Her writings, generally described as post-modernist, depict the plight of women in an indignant and rebellious tone. In fact, it is told that her creative self blossomed as a result of her encounters with patriarchy, in search of her personal freedom.
For instance, daring to sit on a chair was, for her, one of the heroic feats she accomplished in her childhood, in defiance of the social injunction that girls should not sit on chairs in presence of the male members of the family, let alone male members from outside. She longed for the freedom that she was denied on account of being a woman, but enjoyed in full measure by her brothers.
Her short stories and novels lament the discrimination and unequal treatment meted out to women in society. She successfully takes up cudgels on their behalf, using her pen as an effective weapon for social transformation.
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