Thursday, July 31, 2008

Nanditha

Maglin:- നന്ദിതയുടെ കവിതകള്‍ - വളരെ നിരാശ തന്ന ഒരു വായന, അതാണ്‌ ഒറ്റവാക്യത്തില്‍ പറയാന്‍ പറ്റുക. കവിത എന്നതിനെക്കാള്‍ ഡയറിക്കുറിപ്പുകള്‍ എന്നു പറയുന്നതാവും ശരി. വികാരങ്ങളെ ബിംബങ്ങളാക്കി മാറ്റിയ ഡയറിക്കുറിപ്പ്‌. ചെറിയ കാര്യങ്ങളില്‍ പോലും, നിരാശപ്പെടുന്ന, എന്തിനും മരണം മാത്രമാണ്‌ ഉത്തരം എന്നു കരുതുന്ന വികാരങ്ങള്‍. ഒന്നിലും ഉറക്കാത്ത, വ്യക്തമായ ഒരു നയവും ഇല്ലാത്ത ചിന്തകള്‍, സ്നേഹം തിരിച്ചറിയാതെ, അതിനെ തേടിയലുയുന്ന ഒരു മനസ്സ്‌...ഇടക്ക്‌ എപ്പോഴോ സ്വയം പഴിക്കുന്ന നന്ദിത, ഉടനെ തന്നെ, മറ്റുള്ളവര്‍ തന്നെ സ്നേഹിക്കുന്നില്ല എന്നു പരിഭവിക്കുന്നു...സ്വയം അറിയാതെ, ചുറ്റുമുള്ള സ്നേഹം മനസ്സിലാക്കാതെ, ഡിപ്രഷന്റെ മൂര്‍ധന്യത്തില്‍ മരണത്തിനു കീഴ്‌പ്പെട്ട ഒരു മനോരോഗി ഇതാണ്‌ എനിക്കു കിട്ടിയ ചിത്രം... അന്തര്‍മുഖത കാരണം, ആരും അതു മനസ്സിലാക്കാതെ പോയി....

4 comments:

rajesh m rajan said...

Nandhitha
” My Mask too fine and serene,
My smile ugly, words worthless
The mask is torn to pieces
Still I wear a self conscious laugh ”


These lines are still reverberating in my ears. I know that my words are not enough powerful to write about Nandhitha. I agree all her works are diary notes only. But, consider age nd power of thoughts.. She left the world because something that she had missed in her journey of life. She left the world because she never wanted to wear the mask. The lines in her poems were fresh and pure as it was not written for the public. The dreams, hopes and the feeling of loss melted into her pen and something still remains strange. I was surprised by these poems and more by the poet.

Magu said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Magu said...

Rajesh, Sorry for this late response(and you know why). Nandita didn’t miss anything in life.

There are lots of writers who have committed suicide. Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Rajalekshmi, Reetika Vazirani (just to list few women writers). Keeping Reetika aside (not sure whether its suicide or murder), all these writers, if you examine them closely, I mean their work – they all had sorrow, a sort of spiritual longing reflected in their writing. It is not because; they missed something in their journey. Its because, they tried to bring in the spirit of life into their writing. And in that process, they feel this spiritual isolation, which at times unbearable and bleeds. Literary creation is a painful process – there is pain in writing, there is pain if not writing, and there is pain even after writing. Imagination as you may know is a sort of spiritual light, that starts just beyond your conscious mind and extends far into the infinite horizon. The process becomes so painful when the writer wants to bring out this spiritual light out of that dark sub-conscious world to the reader with all its complexity and purity. And these class of writers who are basically loners, felt a spiritual isolation due to the above said fact. They felt their imaginary world and its experiences as if their own world and experiences and this increased their grief.

Lets take the case of Virginia Woolf. What was she lacking? Remember she was daughter of Sir Lesley Stephen. She was married to her friend turned husband Leonard Woolf. He was a very loving husband and as she herself has written in her journal, that her married life was the most happiest period in her life and was grateful to him till last moment. But she was clinically reported to have mental breakdown (bi-polar disorder) and have made several attempts before she succeeded by drowning. (Though there is childhood abuse experience that’s linked to her illness). (You should read her biography; I may be able to get you one. She is my all time favorite women author. )

Plath also, is reported to have clinical disorder, and had several attempts before she made it with gas leak. And she started to have this illness before she married.

Rajalekshmi also has to be counted along with others for the imagination process (not on her writing) and taking her life.

So dont be surprised :)

kabeer said...

A GOOD OLD FRIEND IN FAROOK COLLAGE, PERHAPS MORE THAN THAT..
AND A GOOD PILLION RIDER BEHIND MY RD…PERHAPS, MORE THAN THAT..
BUT, CAME TO KNOW VERY LATE…
AND FEEL TERRIBLY SORRY FOR HER PARENTS OUT LIVED HER.
WHENEVER I PASS THROUGH KALPETTA, AND SEE THEIR HOME,
I FEEL NUMB