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Suman Ghosh's Kadambari talks about the life of a woman who couldn't claim her own identity owing to the era she was born in. Here's why it's a must watch!
Suman Ghosh’s Kadambari talks about the life of a woman who couldn’t claim her own identity owing to the era she was born in. Here’s why it’s a must watch!
“Tomarei kariachi jibaner dhrubatara A samudre ar kabhu habo nako pathahara.”
(I have made you my life’s cynosure, Ne’er again shall I be lost in this ocean.”)
This song was written by Bengal’s Nobel prize winning poet, Rabindranath Tagore. It was published in the year 1880 as a part of his collection of poems titled, ‘Bhagno-hridoy.’ He was merely 19 years old when the poems were published.
In this book, for the first time, a dedication page was included and this song was used. The page indicated that the book was dedicated to a ‘Mrs. Hey…’ A lot of research has gone into deciphering the code name. The main witch from Macbeth is called Heckety and it was later revealed that Rabindranath would call his sister-in-law, Kadambari Devi, this name to ridicule her.
Researchers are almost certain that this ‘Mrs Hey…’ is none other than Kadambari. Director Suman Ghosh’s film ‘Kadambari,’ based on Kadambari Devi’s life, ends with this song.
The film is based on Sunil Gangopadhyay’s “Prothom Alo,” Mallika Sengupta’s “Kobir Bouthan” and Rabindranath Tagore’s writings. It scans the life of Kadambari Devi from the time she entered the Tagore household as a young bride till she killed herself. Kadambari’s suicide was one of the most sensational events in the cultural history of Bengal. It explores the relationship between Rabindranath and Kadambari Devi and the lives of the women in the Tagore household. Rabindranath Tagore was particularly fond of his sister-in-law.
Kadambari Devi was the wife of Jyotirindranath Tagore and Debendranath Tagore’s daughter-in-law. Almost a decade younger than her husband, she married him on July 5th, 1868 at the tender age of 10. At that time, it was customary of girls to get married early and Kadambari was no exception. However, since she was a daughter-in-law of the Tagore household, she did enjoy some privileges like getting educated and riding horses. These were privileges not all women of her generation were allowed to have.
She was the daughter of the Tagore family accountant and this prompted a number of the women of the household to look down upon her. Especially Jnanadanandini Devi, wife of Satyendranath Tagore resented her. Early in her marriage, Kadambari, had to accept that she would never be the ‘ghorer bou’ of the Tagore household.
Kadambari’s brother-in-law, Rabindranath was nearly her age. Jyotirindranath was often busy with his literary nuances, theatre, his hobbies and ship and other businesses. At such times, her only confidante in the massive matrimonial palace became Robi.
Robi, too, found the biggest critique and greatest admirer of his literary endeavours in his notun bouthan. The friendship that blossomed between the two cannot be termed as love. Yet, Kadambari found an emotional anchorage in the friendship, especially given the almost non-existent role of her husband in her life.
Kadambari failed to bear any children from her marriage and was taunted as ‘banja’ by the other women of the household. She found solace in a little girl Urmila, daughter of her sister-in-law. Urmila died an untimely death. She fell down a staircase while Kadambari was asleep. Everyone in the family accused Kadambari for Urmila’s death.
Meanwhile, Kadambari’s growing intimacy with Rabindranath irked other members of the Tagore family. They hastily arranged his marriage, this made Kadambari further lonely. At that time, she desperately sought the much needed solace from her husband, who was supposed to be her partner for life.
But it was at this crucial junction in life, she found out about the existence of another woman in her husband’s life. This ultimately propelled her to take her own life on April 19th, 1884, mere four months after Rabridranath’s wedding to Mrinalini Debi.
What prompted Kadambari to end her life prematurely, at the tender age of twenty-six? By no means is 26 an age to die. Was she seeking something more than friendship from her childhood playmate Rabindranath? Or was the friendship bordering on the fringes of love?
Was it her inability to conceive a child? A child, could perhaps have saved her loveless marriage with Jyotirindranath. She never left any suicide note behind, so we can only speculate her reasons to end her life.
Or was it all these factors together that took a toll on her? Intrigued by the movie, when I searched the web to know more of this woman. The sepia coloured portrait that came up gave me the impression of a lonely, bereft woman.
Kadambari’s life serves as a reminder to all of us of far we have come from the era where women didn’t have any other identity. They were either someone’s wife or mother. It gives us a reminder of the struggles that our mothers went through.
A dysfunctional childless marriage spoilt a woman’s life- a life that could have been on with a brilliant literary career. We are fortunate enough to have been born in the time where we can think of a life outside marriage and kids.
Kadambari reaffirms this fact and that is why, I believe, everyone must watch it.
Picture credits: Still from the movie Kadambari.
An engineer by education, I am a civil servant by profession. A doting mother. An avid reader. I try my hand at writing as and when ideas tussle inside my head. read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Women today don’t want to be in a partnership that complicates their lives further. They need an equal partner with whom they can figure out life as a team, playing by each other’s strengths.
We all are familiar with that one annoying aunty who is more interested in our marital status than in the dessert counter at a wedding. But these aunties have somehow become obsolete now. Now they are replaced by men we have in our lives. Friends, family, and even work colleagues. It’s the men who are worried about why we are not saying yes to one among their clans. What is wrong with us? Aren’t we scared of dying alone? Like them?
A recent interaction with a guy friend of mine turned sour when he lectured me about how I would regret not getting married at the right time. He lectured that every event in our lives needs to be completed within a certain timeframe set by society else we are doomed. I wasn’t angry. I was just disappointed to realize that annoying aunties are rapidly doubling in our society. And they don’t just appear at weddings or family functions anymore. They are everywhere. They are the real pandemic.
Let’s examine this a little closer.
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