1.

An Introduction
Kamala Das

I don't know politics but I know the names

Of those in power, and can repeat them like
Days of week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru.
I am Indian, very brown, born in Malabar,
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.
Don't write in English, they said, English is
Not your mother-tongue. Why not leave
Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,
Every one of you? Why not let me speak in
Any language I like? The language I speak,
Becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses
All mine, mine alone.
It is half English, half Indian, funny perhaps, but it is honest,
It is as human as I am human, don't
You see? It voices my joys, my longings, my
Hopes, and it is useful to me as cawing
Is to crows or roaring to the lions, it
Is human speech, the speech of the mind that is
Here and not there, a mind that sees and hears and
Is aware. Not the deaf, blind speech
Of trees in storm or of monsoon clouds or of rain or the
Incoherent mutterings of the blazing
Funeral pyre. I was child, and later they
Told me I grew, for I became tall, my limbs
Swelled and one or two places sprouted hair.
When I asked for love, not knowing what else to ask
For, he drew a youth of sixteen into the
Bedroom and closed the door, He did not beat me
But my sad woman-body felt so beaten.
The weight of my breasts and womb crushed me.
I shrank pitifully.
Then … I wore a shirt and my
Brother's trousers, cut my hair short and ignored
My womanliness. Dress in sarees, be girl
Be wife, they said. Be embroiderer, be cook,
Be a quarreller with servants. Fit in. Oh,
Belong, cried the categorizers. Don't sit

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On walls or peep in through our lace-draped windows.
Be Amy, or be Kamala. Or, better
Still, be Madhavikutty. It is time to
Choose a name, a role. Don't play pretending games.
Don't play at schizophrenia or be a
Nympho. Don't cry embarrassingly loud when
Jilted in love … I met a man, loved him. Call
Him not by any name, he is every man
Who wants. a woman, just as I am every
Woman who seeks love. In him . . . the hungry haste
Of rivers, in me . . . the oceans' tireless
Waiting. Who are you, I ask each and everyone,
The answer is, it is I. Anywhere and,
Everywhere, I see the one who calls himself I
In this world, he is tightly packed like the
Sword in its sheath. It is I who drink lonely
Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns,
It is I who laugh, it is I who make love
And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying
With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner,
I am saint. I am the beloved and the
Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no
Aches which are not yours. I too call myself I.

The poem An Introduction is an autobiographical verse of Kamala Das that throws light on the
life of a woman in the patriarchal society. The poem can be divided into five parts for better
understanding.

Male dominance in politics:

I don’t know politics but I know the names

Of those in power, and can repeat them like
Days of week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru.

The poet starts explaining by saying that she doesn’t know politics yet she is well aware of the
politicians of her country from Nehru to the ones of her own times. And as the politics of India
has always remained in fewer hands (of males) she has memorized the names of all the
politicians like the days of the week or the names of the month.

The lines depict how the males have been ruling the country without giving this right to the
women. Moreover, the rulers are fewer in numbers because democracy exists only in words. In

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reality, the rule of the country remains in the hands of some people only who have assumed
themselves to be the permanent rulers.

Woman:

“Iam Indian, very brown, born in Malabar,

I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one”.

Now the poet comes towards her own life experience. She says that she is an Indian and brown
in color (as compared to the British). She is born in Malabar. She can speak three languages,
write in two and dreams in one of the dreams have a universal language. In these lines, she
explains her Indianness.

Like most of the citizens of India, she is also capable of speaking three languages and writing in
two probably English and her native language. She says that she dreams in one because the
world of dreams is common to all. In this world, every individual, male or female, uses the same
universal language.

These lines can be interpreted in another way as well. The poet perhaps tries to show her ability
in the educational sphere which is no access to most of the women. She says that she speaks
three languages and is also capable of writing in two. In addition, is also dreams of any man of
the world. She probably compares herself to the man of the world trying to show that she is no
lesser than him.

She possesses all those qualities and abilities that make him superior. Hence, though she is a
woman, she is no lesser than him in terms of ability, passion, and creativeness. Moreover, in the
world of dreams, she is equally an individual as the man is and so she wants this status in the real
world as well.

Linguistic hegemony:

“Don’t write in English, they said, English is

Not your mother-tongue. Why not leave
Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,
Every one of you? Why not let me speak in
Any language I like”?

Being well familiar with the English she uses this language in her writings. However, this habit
of her is not liked by her friends, relatives, and critics. They all condemn her for writing in
English; according to them English is the language of the colonists. She asks them why they
criticise her. Why she is not given liberty to write in whatever language she desires.

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In these lines, she exposes the jealous nature of her nears and dears who cannot endure her skills.
This makes them criticise her. Having no logical reason to put restrictions on her writing in
English, they try to tell her that the language she writes in, is the language of Colonists and thus
she should avoid using it. However, she asks them how a language can be owned by a particular
community. It belongs to every person who uses it and thus she should not be stopped from using
it.

“The language I speak,

Becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses
All mine, mine alone.
It is half English, half Indian, funny perhaps, but it is honest,
It is as human as I am human, don’t
You see”?
The language in which she writes is her own along with all its imperfections and strangeness.
The language is, though not fully English yet she considers it to be honest because like her as her
language is also imperfect like her which a quite normal thing is.

In these lines, she shows her ownership of the English and also the freedom of using it. She is
imperfect but this makes her a human. Thus she should not be scolded for her mistakes or
shortcoming. But she wonders why the society ignores the mistakes or even blunders of men and
questions the mistakes of women although the fact is that every person in the world is imperfect.

“It voices my joys, my longings, my

Hopes, and it is useful to me as cawing
Is to crows or roaring to the lions, it
Is human speech, the speech of the mind that is
Here and not there, a mind that sees and hears and
Is aware. Not the deaf, blind speech
Of trees in storm or of monsoon clouds or of rain or the
Incoherent mutterings of the blazing
Funeral pyre”.
The language expresses her joys, grief, and hopes. For he, it is like cawing is to crows and
roaring is to lions i.e. it is an integral part of her expression. She further says that her speech (in
English) is the speech of humans that minds can understand and not strange and queer like the
sound of trees in the storms or of monsoon clouds or of rain or of dead as these voices cannot be
understood.

Married life for woman:

I was child, and later they

Told me I grew, for I became tall, my limbs
Swelled and one or two places sprouted hair.
When I asked for love, not knowing what else to ask

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For, he drew a youth of sixteen into the
Bedroom and closed the door
She moves towards her married life. She was a child although the size of her body grew up i.e.
she entered the stage of puberty yet her soul was immature. As she was still a child (after
marriage) she asked for love. However, her husband quenched his own lust on the bed. The poet
here not only describes her married life but tries to narrate the story of every woman in her
country. Her grievances and sorrows are the grievances and sorrows of every woman of her
country.

The young girls of her country are forced to marry old men without having their consent. They
are so young at the time of their marriage that they cannot accept that they have grown up.
However as their parts of the body including the genitals grow up, they have to accept that they
are mature now and thus are bound into the nuptial alliance. The girl after being married desires
that her husband should show compassion to her and love her. But instead, she is drawn to the
bed and made to endure the pains of sex that she is not willing to do.

He did not beat me

But my sad woman-body felt so beaten.
The weight of my breasts and womb crushed me.
I shrank Pitifully.
She says that she was not beaten by him yet her womanly body felt to be beaten and wounded
and thus she got tired of it (her body). Her genitals seem to her some burden that have crushed
her. She starts hating her female body because it is her body that has given her so much pain.

Then … I wore a shirt and my

Brother’s trousers, cut my hair short and ignored
My womanliness. Dress in sarees, be girl
Be wife, they said. Be embroiderer, be cook,
Be a quarreller with servants. Fit in. Oh,
Belong, cried the categorizers. Don’t sit
On walls or peep in through our lace-draped windows.
Be Amy, or be Kamala. Or, better
Still, be Madhavikutty. It is time to
Choose a name, a role. Don’t play pretending games.
Don’t play at schizophrenia or be a
Nympho. Don’t cry embarrassingly loud when
Jilted in love …
To avoid its load, she tries to become a tomboy by adopting the attire of males. But it is not
allowed by her in-laws. They started taunting her. She was commanded to dress in sarees, be a
girl, wife, embroiderer, cook, quarreller with servants etc. She was asked not to hide her real self.
Her in-laws even commanded to remain silent and endure her unachieved love.

The lines expose the condition of a woman in the house of her in-laws. She is forced to give up
her frankness and attain the nature of a daughter-in-law. She is forced to do everything that her
in-laws desire her to do. She has to accomplish all the tasks though she is not willing to do so.

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Still, she is taunted, scolded as well as abused. She is even advised not express her grief if she is
troubled by her married life.

Identifying herself:

I met a man, loved him. Call

Him not by any name, he is every man
Who wants. a woman, just as I am every
Woman who seeks love. In him . . . the hungry haste
Of rivers, in me . . . the oceans’ tireless
Waiting. Who are you, I ask each and everyone,
The answer is, it is I. Anywhere and,
Everywhere, I see the one who calls himself I
In this world, he is tightly packed like the
Sword in its sheath. It is I who drink lonely
Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns,
It is I who laugh, it is I who make love
And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying
With a rattle in my throat.
She meets a man (whose name she does not mention). The man is, according to her, the
everyman who desires a woman (to quench his lust) as a woman desires love from a man. When
she asks him about his identity, his answer is ‘I’.

This ‘I’ or the ‘male-ego’ gives him liberty to do whatever he likes. He can drink at midnight,
laugh, and satisfy his lust. However, he feels ashamed after losing a woman due to his own
shortcomings and also this ego of ‘I’ dies when the person dies and thus his end is no different
than the end of the woman.

‘I am sinner,
I am saint. I am the beloved and the
Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no
Aches which are not yours. I too call myself I”.
Hence like him, she can also attribute the title of ‘I’ to herself. Like men, she is also sinner and
saint, beloved and betrayed. Her joys and pains are no different than those of men. Hence she
emancipates herself to the level of ‘I’.

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