Madhavikutty is being read again and again. | Madhavikutty


Amy. Even Malayalees love that name. At a time when white khadar shirts and raised hair are hailed as signs of decency and dignity, a woman is wearing green and chop silk, curly hair, eyes painted on her lips, bracelets on her lips, and a loud grin. Kamala Surayya is a Madhavikutty named Kamala Das. They opened up the life of women and dreamers by throwing ridiculous spears at the hypocrites of Malayalees, especially the middle class. They were like wildflowers that had never been cut. So when the first wave of shock hit, the readers took over. Even today, when I write a note about love and love, Malayalees cannot come to their words. She wrote them in English and Malayalam with the same handwriting. Therefore, the whole world had readers. Who else has so much celebrated writing and life …

But why do we shorten them as the ‘love story’ … Kamala wrote about love. About the love between God and man, about the relationship between mother and child, about the love between grandparents and grandchildren, and about the love of a grandmother, who was enveloped in the darkness of unrequited love. She received from her mother a love as pure as watermelons. The memories of it have always been inside Kamala. The love story extends from the mummy of the summer to the death of her grandmother, from the mummy of the summer to the madrady child minister who has come to realize the Madras girl with the continuation of her relationship. It was Madhavikutty who first taught us that love has no boundaries of caste, creed, nation or nation. Filipinos Gultiano of Injuries and Kim Soong of Malaysian of Sea of ​​Sea have changed the boundaries of love.

It was Madhavikutty who taught a Malayali woman to love her own body. Kamala later wrote that she wiped the baby in the new pool in the winter of Sagittarius, and then wrapped her eyes in a tinsel of white mushroom powder and wrapped it in her hair. They reminded us once again of the gross injustice of giving the bodies of preserved women bodies to be washed and eaten by strangers after death.

Madhavikutty came to the point where the body was thought to be a word that a woman should not utter, even if she had to pronounce it as a word of reproach. When my story number came out, some of the men who openly scoffed at them and secretly cheered for what they were saying were their personal lives, and slowly began to hate their women and their perception of sex and body modes. Madhavikutty reneged on his family ties.

Whenever they got the idea of ​​the family, they ridiculed them. They showed that among those who lead a satisfying marriage, there is a sea that they only know and cannot swim. She wrote in each story that a woman had only silk, bracelets, ornaments, and that she would seek the soul of the poor of spirit. Their women broke the barrier of family ties, put on socks, trousers and sleeves, untied their long hair, and walked to the romance. The women liked to sit on his shoulders and cry, and walk through the endless range of dust as he orgasmed with him. They were a prophet in that sense. Forty or fifty years later, some of today’s women, too, were predicted to celebrate a minority, romance, or genre. Or perhaps it was from the writings of Madhavikutty that our women gained this courage.

kamala – suraiyya-illustration

They also uprooted the hypocrisy of ideal lives. She wrote about the death of Meenakshyamma’s death in the story of Meenakshiyamma’s life in Gandhi’s way. In the regular version of the story, the man who got the job after getting his wife in charge of the job is becoming more comfortable in society. The wife who has been labeled a stray has finally become so convinced that no love other than God is acceptable to her. They also painted the image of the idol in search of the piety of the evil maman, who was lusting at the body.

Madhavikutty himself has written that writing is a sacrifice. The same was true of them. The Malayalee who read them every day and celebrated them has torn their personal lives apart. We glimpse into their private lives again and again, with a microscope between the lines of writing. But despite all the tornadoes, only the sacred shells of love can be found. They have repeatedly sworn that God is their ultimate love. Maybe they saw God in everyone who loved him. Their love was like wildfire. No one who has ever seen that love in spirit has ever been free.

Even after so many years, Madhavikutty is being read again and again. Therefore, the writings are everlasting. I am not in the mood to say that they received a death like that. But there is a rebirth they have dreamed of. In their own words …

If I get another birth, I’ll sleep with the stars every night. I live in a garden full of deer, horses, puppies and peacocks. I will swim in the river until the sun burns and will swell like a manjal. I lay on the bed, spreading out the petals of fragrant flowers and the foliage of the flour. The scent of my body can smell of scented flowers. The smell of black peas in my mouth …

Yes … the most deserving of their alliance are the stars, not the humans on earth. May they forever be the most enchanting odor among the fragrant flowers …

English Summary: Aami was an entrancing notion of the absurdity of romance

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