Laelia

Mulakkaram or breast tax, an utterly disgusting poll tax chauffeuring a woman’s dignity on the filthy streets of Savarnaism dangerously flourished dating back to the 19th century Kerala. The Kingdom of Travancore levied the tax on breasts; the Nadar breasts, Ezhava breasts, the gendered subaltern breasts, the tickets to cover their dignity, or so to speak, bosoms. A mundu and the bosom for display to the elites, the exception to the Mulakkaram, the women of lower castes abundantly had their rights stripped away just as the cloth. Unless they paid the breast tax, in their understanding, upper garments remained just a cloth, farfetched. Mulakkaram and Talakkaram (head tax for men) were some of the fundamental bodices required to maintain the caste structure and the glorious 1820s where monetary compensations relied heavily on the body parts of the lower caste, irrevocably birthed the ‘fictious’ story of Nangeli, an Ezhava women also subjected to the breast tax. Fact or fiction, historical canon delineates the sacrificial story of Nangeli to be somewhat true, that such a woman existed.

So, who is Nangeli and why do we need to know about her? The answer is less complicated; to cleanse our privileged philosophy of rendering ‘caste does not exist in the modern times’. Even though breast tax was abolished during the Channar Revolt of 1859, the principles of Savarnaism etched into such taxes and practises still persist. Nangeli was an Ezhava woman, a manual labourer, like every other Ezhava women, a subject of the elite stampede. The village officer with a duty to collect the breast tax, at her home was shook to the core one day. Nangeli had cut off her breasts and placed it on a plantain leaf right in front of him. She but survived for a few minutes in her abode, later cremated, into the fire where her husband Chirukandan willingly jumped, rioting with her till his last breath. It has been noted historically that she sacrificed not against the breast tax per se, but against the imposition of taxes on the lower classes.

Nangeli’s Mulakkaram gravelled the system, creating a commotion to the Savarnas and their regiment. I will remember her being the finest example of feminist rioting, a woman so steadfast her sacrifice tore the structure carefully built on the foundations of patriarchy.

-laelia

Hello everyone. I’m Grinlina. Yes, my name is weird, unique and very much uncommon. My achan found these beautiful names for me and my sister (Grinshina) from the most beautiful Russian language with each of our names having certain meanings. My sister’s is more poetic and musical, “Rising Sun” while mine stands for “Jumping Horse”. Hehe funny no?

A little story behind our unique names
My achamma, my father’s amma, Ayya teacher, as everyone so fondly used to call her, was originally named Malathy by her father, my great grandpa, Ayyapan. We are a dalit family from Kerala and that meant, my great grandpa and my achamma when she was still in school, used to work for a huge Nair family back then. Unfortunately, the girl from the that family, who was my achamma’s classmate from school, had the same name, Malathy. “It was horrendous and unacceptable having a name similar to a lower class girl’s identity.” That little girl, (imagine the caste training she went through lol) complained to her family and their head (I don’t exactly remember who, maybe it was her dad or her grandpa) asked my great grandpa to change his daughter’s name or stop sending her to school. Now, my great grandpa wanted his future generation to be well educated, which was a huge matter considering dalit children at the time weren’t allowed to get education. (Forget education, I’ve been educated about numerous situations where my ancestors had to strip their clothes in front of upper castes, same as other dalit families who had to go through it too and much worse) Now, the only option he had in front of him that wouldn’t get my achamma, dismissed from school, was to change her name…

And so, my achamma’s name was changed from Malathy to “Ayya” (അയ്യപ്പൻ്റെ മകൾ – Daughter of Ayyappan). And along with it, changed the identity of my dear, strong, beloved achamma. (If you think about it, “Ayya” indirectly referred to homeless people begging for shelter, money or food… These upper caste people istg) My father says, “Till the day she passed away, she loved and adored her true identity, her real name, Malathy.” There were times during hospital visits, when asked what’s your name, achamma who used to suffer from Alzheimer’s, used to proudly say, “Malathy!”
“Which is why, I will name my children in a way, that no one, not one person, forget changing names to accustom to the caste hierarchy, wouldn’t even be able to pronounce it without asking twice.”

I used to dislike my name so much because nicknames were given, some syllables were removed, and sometimes it all came down to just “grill” hehe… But alaaaas!!! Our names have a family history!!! And a pretty rebellious one at that!!!

Do orchids bloom? Do they bloom naked? Do they smell naked? Do they paint naked? What are naked orchids?

That’ll be me.

Questioning my very existence.
Talents, desires, purpose.
Roots of my imagination, why it happens what happens.
Self declaring unworthy.
Battling the mind and her thoughts
Undesirable, non talented, sans a purpose.
Utterly misplaced and confused.
Changing objectives and no goals.
Void and darkness.
Rat race becoming inhuman.
Job or die a shameful death.
Money or die a poor death.
Husband or die an unloved death.
Marks or die a loser death.

I do not want to die a material death.
I want to die a meaningful death.
I want to live a worthy death.
I want to travel my imagination.
I want to unlearn all unloving things.
I want to rain a Sahara.
I want to woman all patriarchy.
I want to be a cloud nine.
I want to be a metaphor.

People ignores the existence of some.
Somewhere in the future, that ignorance changes to guilt, pain and unbearable love.
It is in that time of life when that ‘some’ becomes ‘someone’.
When it’s dead.

Cut a tree, no big deal
Long for it’s shade, you’re more inhuman.

Celebrations went away at the strike of midnight of the newest year which awaited the future goals for everyone. Cakes were cut, music set the rhythm for happy dances, families united, blossomed love eagerly waited for the new bright year. Little did we know we were slowly descending to a dark and cruel nightmare. And the year is still breathing. What all we witnessed, what all we endured, what all we are yet to suffer is shaking me to the core. Deaths, disasters, human brutality towards it’s own race and others as well, and I might as well not list any further. A year that we all looked forward in existence, stabbed us right in the heart amidst the longing for it. And we, as humans, are overly qualified to just blame other material factors. We put up different views on why this year is wreaking havoc upon us. Some say the year 2020 is at fault, others have a more religious approach to differ, and some others have nothing but an approach directed towards the wrong doings of the human kind. And my opinions very much coincide with the human activities approach. What we have done, what we have been doing, it’s all backstabbing us all in one year. The health concerns that we actively neglected, the oppression of fellow human beings classifying them as unworthy of a ‘white’ life, our very ignorance in the matters of mental health that eventually led the people to doubt their worth and stand, our very choice of destroying our nature and climate and the choice of letting it burn. All these cumulated into one big nightmare that is haunting us this very moment and we don’t know how to wake up from it.

I cannot say anymore because as depressing it is for me, I’ve been a part of the chaos too. I’m one of the reasons the world is in a burning and a confused state. I’m working my way to become a better person and a kind human being. I suggest that we all look deep within ourselves, introspect, know your values, your worth, your talents, your achievements, your faults, your mistakes, your evolving self. I’m trying to do the same. Our 2020 is together fucked. We can do so much better. Let us do better. 🌼

The extreme fear of something, a silly thing to others is not a joke to people who suffer from it. Being a phasmophobic and a thalassophobic , I find day to day living a little difficult and terrifying. At first I thought it would go away over time. But the fear gradually increased without me knowing. I cannot sit peacefully without looking back frequently to make sure there’s no one behind me when I’m alone. I cannot see pictures of the blue and the big sea creatures. And I just cannot stand a horror film however spoof it might be. I just cannot. My spine shivers. And then I thought it would be common. It literally sparked the fear in me to a whole new level when I learned that none of my friends are scared of the things that I’m. Some of em even teased me when I confessed that I sleep with my mother besides me. I need to have a person near me facing my back when I sleep. Alone, my heart starts beating at a fast pace and I start to have panic attacks. Facing my back is to make sure that I’m not facing any paranormal being. (I don’t believe in ghosts but the fear is real)

I’m sure of the fact that I need help. From all sides. Maybe stop teasing about the fears. Maybe a counselling session. Or maybe a pep talk. It really helps. I cannot really openly talk about this to my family. We don’t have these types of fears in our Indian society or so I’ve been told. I’m terrified that I might even hallucinate. And I don’t want that.