Editorial (April 2004):
Author As Narrator: Crossing The Gender Barriers:
In October 2002, I interviewed one of our renowned female writers, Turaga Janakirani. During the
interview, Janakirani made an interesting comment: Men cannot write like women [mogavaaLLu
aaDavaaLLalaa raayaleru.] I understood her statement as saying men cannot write fiction with a
female protagonist as narrator.
I must admit I was haunted by the question ever since—whether a writer can successfully create a
narrator of the opposite gender. In this age of gender barrier and numerous controversies, maybe, I
am adding one more facet to the fray. By default, authors are skilled in creating a wide variety of
characters and, implicitly, they understand human psyche. If this premise is accepted, then the
authors must be capable of creating protagonists of opposite gender, technically speaking.
There are two stories in this issue: “Wilted Lotus” [kamalina kamalam], written by M. Ramakoti, a
renowned male writer, and is narrated by a female, uneducated but intelligent nonetheless. The
story, narrated by the narrator in the first person and embedded in a heart to heart conversation
between two female friends, portrayed a potent issue of naivety and betrayal—an illiterate but
intelligent wife and an educated but hypocritical husband. I think Ramakoti has succeeded in creating
the nuance with flair. Then the next question is why did the author choose to create a female
narrator? What did he accomplish additionally in doing so?
In the second story, “kaasiratnam vine,” by Malathi, the story opens with a young, educated male
narrating it in the first person. The core story however was narrated by an old man, tatha, and his
language conforms to the storytelling technique of oral tradition (The Telugu original shows this
aspect better than the translation). I don’t remember why I chose to make the narrator a male.
Possibly, it was a comment on the worldly wisdom, or rather lack of it, of the educated males in the
1960’s era. It’s not unusual for authors to choose a narrator to distance themselves from the narrator
in order to express a point of view that’s different from their own; and, choosing a narrator from the
opposite gender could distance them further.
Another story, “My Sister: A Classy Lady,” [hundaa], was written by Chaganti Tulasi, a female writer of
repute, and with a male character as the narrator. Unlike in "kaasiratnam vine", in this story, the
narrator’s humility and his admiration for the moral courage of his sister are predominant factors.
Once again, the question is: What is the author’s message? Is it possible that only a female writer
could perceive the finer qualities of smartness and sacrifice of women? By using a male narrator, did
the author achieve additional depth or breadth?
At this writing, two more stories came to my mind. They are not so much about creating a narrator
from the opposite gender but creating powerful characters of the opposite gender. Raavi Sastry
wrote a story, “Man – Woman” [mogavaaDu-aaDamanishi], a story of a young man coming of age.
The young man goes to the city in search of a job. While he was waiting at a bus stop, a young
woman asks him to drop a letter in the nearby mailbox. He, quite taken by her beauty and her
English, jumps to her rescue and obliges her gleefully. She shows her appreciation with a kiss which
throws him off one more time. In the evening, when his uncle called him “kurraaDaa!” [You, boy], he
retorts, “Don’t call me kurraaDaa!” I remember seeing a translation of this story under the title,
“Thank you, Mohini” (can’t recall where). This story, in juxtaposition with another story, “tanuu –
neerajaa,” written by a famous female writer, Malati Chendur, may offer another angle to our
discussion. The story, Himself/I and Neeraja, [tanu – Neeraja] was narrated by a male character,
“tanu” in the story.
Here a brief note on the term, tanu, is necessary. The term tanu is a pronoun, third person, singular,
common for male and female, and is unique to Telugu language. In grammar, the term acts like a
third person, singular, with verb ending conforming to speaker’s gender, male or female. In fiction, it
is implied that the story is being narrated from the perspective of that person, male or female.
Recently, I was discussing this term with Saradapurna, editor of brAhmi, and her article, raagicembu
[Copper pot] in September 2003 issue. The two-page narrative is the narrator’s lyrical response to a
copper pot as a metaphor for friendship and a reflection on her life on a foreign soil. Saradapurna
mentioned that she switched from “I” to “tanu” towards the end by way of distancing herself—creating
a new “I” on a new ground. That’s one example of how the term behaves in our language.
In the story, “tanu – Neerajaa,” the narrator is a self-absorbed male, who wanted to marry Neeraja
but his pride gets in his way to ask her to marry him; Neeraja understood his position and decided to
marry another man, Raghu. In a note to tanu, she explains to him that she decided to marry Raghu
since Raghu needed her; he was like a “baby sheep lost in the dark.” Only after losing her, tanu
realizes what a grave mistake he had made. The story is significant for two reasons. The story is
narrated from the standpoint of the narrator, a male, tanu. Secondly, by giving him no name and by
referring to him only as tanu, the male protagonist was reduced to a nonentity. This is obvious from
the female protagonist’s choice of another man, Raghu, as her husband.
Are female authors creating less than heroic characters when they portray characters of the opposite
gender? If so, why? Male writers, Ramakoti and Raavi Sastry, on the other hand, created strong
female characters. Please, don’t take this is as my conclusion. I am only throwing a few questions to
think about.
We can stretch the point and examine also the husband-wife teams who have been writing under
female pseudonyms [e.g. Beenadevi and Vasundhara] and raise a similar question: Is there a specific
element that could be identified as her contribution and/or his contribution? The stories, “A Piece of
Ribbon,” [Beenadevi] and “Diary,” [Vasundhara] are cases in point.
Satya Pappu, a critical reader, mentioned that Sripada Subrahmanya Sastry delineated female
characters with superb insight, probably, because he was raised by his mother and thus had a
chance to observe female psyche at close quarters. One of his stories, “Moments Before Boarding
the Plane,” is an example of his talent. This however seem to address the issue from a slightly
different perspective—an author’s aptitude to study individuals as humans irrespective of his/her
gender.
“Heavenly Bliss” [Vennela pandina vela] by Poranki Dakshnamurthy, depicts the crumbling rural life in
the face of devastating natural disasters. While the entire village decides to leave, there can still be
one or two beings that feel a strong bond to the soil; only the glowing moonlight can comprehend
such deep set emotions in the animate souls.
“Good Fortune” [adrushta rekha] by Illindala Saraswatidevi, was about a mute girl regaining her
voice. The story could be an inspiration even to those who are not physically muted but muted by
social conditions. The author, Illindala Saraswatidevi, was one of our pioneer female writers from
1930’s. The story showcases the narrative technique and the progressive views of Telugu women
writers.
The last three stories project three different aspects of rehashing our old values in modern times.
“Partially Opened Door,” [sagam tericina talupu] by Papineni Sivasankar, registers a strong protest
against our penchant to be caught up in the fast-changing, success-oriented civilization that’s
sweeping the nation. The narrator finds solace in his village, in the lake and the cooing of birds on its
shores. The story seem to tell the reader to stop for a second and take a good, hard look at our
current way of life which seem to be heading for disaster.
“Progress Or Retreat?” [payanam – palaayanam] by Vivina Murthy, illustrates the conflicting pulls in
two different directions the educated couples are grappling with in modern times. In that, we have to
ask ourselves if successful family life and success in the society are at loggerheads! Are people
becoming commodities in our culture? The question is universal.
Turaga Janakirani is one of our renowned writers and eloquent speaker. Her interview in this issue
speaks of her strong views on social conditions and fiction in the mid 20th century Andhra Pradesh.
A final note: All the writers in this issue are noted writers, extending over a period of 50 to 60 years. I
sincerely hope the readers will enjoy this anthology.
Acknowledgement: The current issue is designed by Satya Pappu, a soft engineer by profession.
Thank you, Satya garu, for the charming get up.
(N.M. April 2004)