Vinai, Maya, and S.M. Mithuna. “A Comparative Study of Hunger and Satiation of Hunger in the Literary Works of M.T. Vasudevan Nair and Perumal Murugan.” Global Performance Studies, vol. 6, nos. 1–2, 2023, https://doi.org/10.33303/gpsv6n1-2a140
Hunger and satiation of hunger is a theme that pervades both individual and collective memory. The expression of hunger often transcends from an intensely personal and private sphere to the public domain in various literary and artistic endeavours. In India, tales related to hunger have been found in epics like the Ramayana and Mahabharata and different Sthalapuranas,[1] According to the Purusharthas, a human being is duty-bound to satiate the hunger of not only his family but the hunger of the eco-system (birds, animals, wandering ascetics) around one to attain moksha[2] or redemption from the cycle of birth and death. Additionally, the intricacies of caste politics are found to be occupying a significant narrative space in Indian food memories.[3] This essay explores the contrasting ideas of ‘hunger’ and ‘satiation’. It seeks to argue that such memories are experienced not just by the physical lack of food but also by the denial of relationships, resources and a sense of security. We focus on the contrasting ideas of hunger and satiation as figured in the memories of child narrators in M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s novels Naalukettu (The Four-pillared House, 2008), Asuravithu (The Demon Seed, 2000), his short story Karikitakam (Monsoon, 2000), and Perumal Murugan’s Amma (Mother, 2019).
We begin our essay with a temple legend of Kerala, the southwestern state of India. There are countless accounts in the temple legends of Kerala reflecting how ideologies of difference are related to the politics of hunger. The inability to satiate hunger of a particular underprivileged or subaltern community becomes the reason for divine intervention, and the deity is vested with the power to punish the privileged individual or group.[4] One of the most famous instances of this is the Thiruvonam festival legend of the Parthasarathy temple in Aranmula, located in the Pathanamthitta district of Kerala. For several centuries, the honour of hosting the feast for the presiding deity of the Parthasarathy temple on the occasion of Thiruvonam rested with the five Brahmin families[5] from the nearby Katoor region. The legend states that a day before the feast, there was a customary distribution of a portion of paddy (rice) to the marginalized and the underprivileged families. This distribution of food resources, conceived as an act of charity, happened in the household of these brahmins the day preceding Thiruvonam. Expecting this act of customary generosity, an older woman from the nearby Naranganam village comes with great hope to receive her share or tip of paddy. Unfortunately, despite her waiting the whole day, no one pays heed to her, and she dies of cold and hunger. Her death evokes a series of misfortunes in the host family, which is prophesied to be the result of the cruelty meted out to her. After much deliberation, a divine intervention occurs whereby a divine order falls on the male members of the family to undergo strict fasting (without food and water) on this celebratory day, condemning their indifference towards the woman’s pleas out of hunger. This further led to an obligatory custom of providing everyone visiting the temple on the Thiruvonam[6] day with a sumptuous meal irrespective of their caste, class, and gender. This tale became popularized through the oral tradition and has been embedded in the collective consciousness of the community. To this day, this customary ritual is regularly carried out by the male members of the family. They ritually observe fasting throughout the Thiruvonam day as an expiation of the heinous crime committed centuries ago.
Apart from the ‘feminization of hunger’ (Van Houten 116), what profoundly interests us in this temple legend is the reason behind this deprivation of food despite the availability of resources. The question that captures our attention is that if the woman had belonged to an upper caste family, would she have been denied food or would her hunger remain unsatiated? The inference that governs our understanding of this situation is that: food was denied to the lower caste woman not because of the lack of resources but because of the fact that she lacked an agency to elicit or claim the resources. Historically, the process by which certain castes established their dominance over others is linked to power dynamics within the agrarian social framework. The involvement of different caste groups in agricultural production determines the societal hierarchy in terms of land ownership and physical labour. Therefore, the unbalanced relationship between caste and food is at the foundation of Kerala society. The involvement of different caste groups in agricultural production determines the societal hierarchy in terms of land ownership and physical labour. Therefore, the unbalanced relationship between caste and food is at the foundation of Kerala society. In pre-independence Kerala, caste dynamics operated in a full-fledged manner in terms of the accession and distribution of resources which varied according to the caste one was born into. It was customary for the agricultural labourers belonging to the lower caste (called verumpattakarr) to offer their harvest to the jenmis. The jenmis then redistributed a share of the produce, called kazhcha, to the lower caste labourer, which was often insufficient for their sustenance. The renowned social leader E.M.S. Namboodiripad, calls the social dynamics of Kerala jenmi naduvazhi medhavitvam, a unique power dynamic in which the social, economic, and administrative domination by upper castes led to a social, cultural, political, and economic backwardness of the overwhelming majority (111). Until the early 20th century, tharavads of aristocratic Nair families wielded tremendous power and enjoyed exclusive land rights. The hundred years spanning from the mid-19th century to the mid-20th century saw many changes in the family structure of a Nair household.
We understand that the horrors of hunger in the subaltern lives connect with a land’s legends and development history. The question of why women’s lives are predominantly narrated in relation to cooking and satiation reveal deep-rooted gendering in upper caste families. Our exploration deals with hunger in both these contexts, M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s work being located mostly in upper caste (not necessarily upper class) Nair households of Kerala and Perumal Murugan’s work locating dearth at the centre of subaltern childhood experience. We use the above mentioned literary texts to infer the presence of hunger and satiation in agrarian households of the post-independence period (the 1950s to 1980s). Supplementing our arguments, we have incorporated memories of individuals who have experienced the same, as shared with us in person.
We have chosen three different sources to elaborate on hunger and satiation as all three deal with the common aspect of hunger. The experience of hunger through literary fiction as Newmann suggests is significant as authors in their literary works use special literary techniques to represent their “ideas in an aesthetically condensed form” (335), whereas we have incorporated lived experiences in the essay because of its potential to expose the memory processes of the speaker, helping the reader to decipher the unspoken thoughts, feelings, and perceptions of hunger. It helped us to explore the trajectory of food shortage, its causes and its significance in the lives of people belonging to the generation of the 1950s. This juxtaposition of different sources has helped our understanding of the variation in collective consciousness of hunger depending on the social milieu which led to such situations of deprivation and satiety.
M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s Naalukettu (The Four-pillared House) explores the story of a declining matrilineal household (referred to as tharavad in Malayalam) and the economic complexities in the life of Appunni, a young boy whose mother was expelled from the tharavad (typically an upper caste/class household) years previously for her act of defiance. Asuravithu (The Demon Seed) deals with the story of Govindankutty, the youngest member of a Nair[7] household. The novel focuses on the disintegration of the feudal system and its failure to satisfy its members’ gastronomical and emotional needs. Perumal Murugan’s Amma (Mother) is a memoir penned as a tribute to his mother. It also gives the readers a snapshot of the simple and uncomplicated lives, cuisines, and relationships of the people belonging to the Goundar community of the Kongu region.
The protagonists in all three narratives reflect the plight of innumerable school-going children who faced hunger and starvation during the two decades, the 1940s and 50s, when food insecurity existed as an alarming condition throughout India, including the state of Kerala. This food shortage was rampant due to land re-distribution, famines, and epidemics. The scarcity of food and material comforts has been etched and embedded in the collective consciousness of an entire generation which is re-lived and exhibited through artworks, stories, poems, and memoirs. In Asuravithu, the protagonist Govindankutty represents hunger emotively and describes how it tormented him as a school-going child during a rainy season:
By the time I walked the four miles to school, I would begin to feel hungry. By the fourth period, hunger would be raging inside me like a fire. And that was the moment when the fragrance of a dish being seasoned with mustard and chillies would waft in from restaurant on the other side of the wall…. Most of the children jumped over the wall into Marar’s restaurant when the bell rang…. Rangan from Kalladathoor, Sivadasan from Kuttippalam, Vilakathra Govindan and I, we were the four who went there only to drink water. By afternoon my hunger would have died down. I would no longer want to eat…. It was while going back that I would begin to feel hunger again. I would walk along wondering what curry there would be at home. (97)
Unni in Karkidakam and Appuni in Nalukettu are provided mainly with kanji or rice gruel. This is often remembered with distaste and by itself was an ordeal for them to consume the gruel. Furthermore, the food prepared by Appunni’s mother did not seem to arouse his gastronomic senses either. When he returned from school, he would swallow the kanji in the covered bowl hanging in the uri (rope) in the kitchen in one gulp. It is this dearth of a decent meal that gets translated as an obsession with food in the later years. Asuravithu also echoes a similar scenario where the kanji occasionally did not even have rice grains. It was mere water on which children like Unni had to subsist on. The thought of consuming just the drained water from kanji invokes a nauseous reaction from Unni in Asuravithu. Here, the aesthetic experience of food involves what Jean Pierre Poulain describes as an “emotive dynamism” (212). Certain foods generate feelings of pleasure, while others provoke negative sensations and emotions in the consumer. In this manner, the description of hunger, salivation and lack of satiation ensure the deeply affective nature of Unni and Appuni’s memories.
Aditya Balasubramanyan observes that the “cry of distress” from Travancore during the Second World War resulted from the problem of food unavailability and concentration of resources “among certain sections of the population” (2). In contextualizing Kerala’s development experience over several decades post-independence, Govindan Parayil details on the adverse circumstances in Kerala before the advent of responsible governance and social upliftment schemes (6). Although the State Government introduced various alternatives for rice during the shortage (Priya), rice remained in the public consciousness as their staple food. Any substitute was looked down upon by the people and deemed “inappropriate”. Reliance on substitute foods introduced by the government became reason for embarrassment for school-going children as it displayed the family’s economic fragility and downtrodden status in public. There are several examples from the state of Kerala, especially from people who have experienced and outlived hunger in the 1950s and 1960s when there was an acute food shortage. And this memory of hunger which has been etched in individual memory comes forth unconsciously in multiple ways.
A lot of actual incidents in the lives of people who spent their childhood during the 1940s and 1950s correlate with this experience of lack. A recollection of it comes from one of our parents who has spent his childhood during the 1950s in Kerala. He mentions how during his school days their family (consisting of five children) lacked the privilege of taking sufficient “rice” to school in their lunch box. Therefore, his mother used to dexterously pack (in fact, hide) smashed tapioca with a topping of rice available in the house.[8] Although in the contemporary era, tapioca is regarded as the most popular state dish and cultural icon of Kerala, during those times, taking tapioca to school was considered undignified. It was associated with people lacking proper economic resources.
However, an alarming question that needs deliberation here is that in a state like Kerala, which is famous for its tubers, wide variety of plantains, and seafood, why do households having its own backyard garden and vegetables have to struggle in this manner? Caroline and Filippo Osella point out how “everyone in Kerala is within the easy reach of the coast—fresh fish which is delivered daily throughout the State and is a core item in most diets” (172). The inability of the members of the tharavad to deploy these items in their cuisine and their refusal of alternate food resources led to inadequate nutrition of its members. This reiterates the simultaneous receding of upper caste control on agricultural food production and the undiminished fetish for rice. Realization of the gradual disintegration of the feudal system in Kerala as a result of land redistribution policies of the government took time to sink into the upper-class mindset of the family. One of the major reasons for rice shortage during the 1940s and 1950s was the gradual disintegration of the feudal system in Kerala and the consequent loss of control over agricultural produce obtained from landholdings (Thomas 2). The lack of sufficient labour force in the lengthy process involved in extracting rice from chunks of paddy and the subsequent process of refining it also contributed to the diminished availability of rice.
Several researchers on food and famine have posited how depictions of the Great Hunger were often “dominated by female imagery,” and scant scholarly attention has been paid to “the involvement of women in other ways (e.g., as landowners, as relief-givers, and lawbreakers, or as providers for the family)” (Kinealy et al 9). Likewise, in M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s works, women are assigned a range of stereotypical roles reflecting passive victimhood. They are found whining over the lack of resources, blaming each other for their misfortunes and getting involved in fights. Thus women are depicted as undergoing perennial suffering and domestic marginalization and they are tropes who act as “signifiers of dearth and hunger” (Kinealy et al 9). David Sutton highlights how “food becomes a key mediator of social relationships, a symbol of identity and a marker of difference whether defined by gender, class, race or ethnicity” (159).
Under the influence of discourses of colonial modernity, the Nair household which upheld the privileges of women in the family, including the right to choose a partner and inalienable property rights, started becoming more and more patriarchal. The influential members of the tharavad with English educations and government jobs now preferred to wean themselves away from the autocracy of the karnavar, the eldest male member of the family who governed the day-to-day activities of the tharavad, and settle separately as individual household units and fend for themselves. Feminist theorist G. Arunima highlights how the Nairs “achieved a new self and individual identity in their transition to modernity-the pity was that it hinged rejection of the women centered “otherness of their matrilineal past” (195). In Nalukettu, the ‘dearth’ of food becomes a conduit for exposing the huge chasm between the social empowerment bestowed by the matrilineal communities on women and the reality. The distribution of food and resources varied highly on account of gender. According to the norms of the tharavad, the karnavar was to be served first, followed by men and boys, and finally the girls. While the women almost starved, the karnavar had the privilege of consuming fried eggs and fish and also being served food according to his convenience in the upper storey of the house.
Furthermore, a gendered division of work is discernible in terms of food preparation. In the Vadakepatt household, cooking was seen as an engagement of women who had very limited resources. In The Naalukettu, Meenakshi Edathi is assigned the task of cooking for all the members of the household from dawn to dusk without any respite. Women in the clan, like Kunjukutty, Appunni’s aunt, refused to share the work as they brought in resources from their husband’s homes. Indian scriptures and Ayurvedic tradition often emphasize on the positivity of mind and cleanliness of the body (Gordon) to promote the overall health and welfare of the family. Considering the time spent on cooking and other allied activities as an important determinant of women’s psychosocial distress (Farmer and Cotter 1) is an emerging perspective in cultural food studies. The compulsive nature of domestic work within the tharavad that resulted in disinterested food preparation marks the paradox in women’s relation with the activity. It can be noticed that in both Asuravithu and Naalukettu, thoughts of lack, anxiety, and anger regarding sustenance in meager resources govern the thoughts of both Meenakshi Edathi (sister Meenakshi) and Appuni’s mother while cooking food, and the same thoughts invariably get transferred to food consumers like Unni and Appuni. The women of both novels are never seen to be serving food to the children with peace or contentment. Here, the lack of food and the internal dissensions within their relationships foreground such memories, repeatedly making them part of the embodied experiences. This is a resultant factor of both the lived experiences of an individual and the deeply entrenched structural inequalities. Throughout the novel, women lack visibility in terms of food consumption while they strive to be providers for the male members and children of the family.
The performance of hunger emerges variously in different contexts. Although within closed doors, the members of the tharavad whined and fought for resources which involved a lot of ‘gastro-politics’ (Appadurai 494), implying definite conflict or competition arising through the medium of social transactions around food. The spectacle which was enacted in front of guests or ‘outsiders’ was completely different from the reality. Asuravithu reflects the false pride of Unni’s mother who compromised her son’s meals to feed one more guest who had come unexpectedly from her husband’s tharavad. It also becomes very interesting to note the pre-eminence given to the male relatives who arrived unexpectedly from her husband’s family who “are ranked higher and accorded precedence in the serving and eating of food” (Appadurai 498). Thus, Unni’s hunger couldn’t be demonstrated nor its unsavory pangs performed publicly because of the fear of lowering the family status.
Hunger often became a tool to fight the autocratic forces and display anger. During the nationalist movement from the late 19th century onwards, one could discern multiple performances of hunger in the form of hunger strikes heralded by leaders like Gandhi, Bhagat Singh, and Jatin Das. In medieval Kerala, Paṭṭiṇi was an institutionalized hunger strike, a weapon utilized by the Nambūtiri Brāhmins of Kerala for the redressal of grievances against the offender. In literary productions, too, the denial of food shows the self-pride of both Appunni and Govindankutty who remain undaunted despite adverse circumstances. It depicts resistance and their relentless attitude towards the autocratic forces prevalent within the family. Even when offered a ‘decent’ meal, they are unable to relish it or accept it wholeheartedly as it hurts their self-image and self-pride. In Nalukettu, when Appuni is invited to have lunch at his mother’s tharavad, the denial of his identity as a family member by the karnavar makes him abandon the food delicacies and go back home hungry despite the affectionate persuasions by other relatives. This symbolizes defiance and anger against the erstwhile family ideologies and practices. Thus, concealed deep within the pangs of hunger was the pain of being bereft from one’s own clan, security of the tharavad, and social identity. Hunger, with respect to Govindankutty, is a compulsion as a result of scarcity of resources, whereas for Appunni, self-inflicted hunger emerges as a residue of his tragic circumstances. Appuni, Unni, and Govindankutty repress, silence, and digress from painful memories that are inexorably associated with food and hunger. Hunger or lack of physical food is indicative of convoluted and fractured self-identities and deeply troubled relationships. On the other hand, Perumal Murugan’s memories focus on peasant food consumed by the people in the rural peripheries. These memories do not emphasize “spectacle and disguise” as depicted in Nalukettu, Karkidakam and Asuravithu (Appadurai 4). The ideologies and transfer of food culture in the Kongu culture of Perumal Murugan gratify the senses and evoke a sense of abundance. Murugan’s memories of abundance is created and transmitted to the readers through powerful mnemonic cues like ‘smells and sights’ (Hotzman 373).
Perumal Murugan was born in the Nammakkal district of Tamil Nadu, a part of South India and a neighbouring state to Kerala. He is an acclaimed writer and chronicler of food. His works serve as a confluence of vivid and detailed experiences of food of the Kongu region. Murugan’s narrative illuminates the colors, odors, and tastes associated with different dishes of the Kongu region. Through Amma (“mother”), the present work under discussion, Murugan renders an intense reading experience of the pride and dignity of its farming communities for their local cuisine. Like M.T. Vasudevan Nair, Murugan uses food as a lens to explore cultural traditions, conflicts, and social hierarchies. Murugan’s representations of food often become a powerful tool for creating a sense of abundance in his novels. Although works like One Part Woman (2010) and Seasons of the Palm (2000) feature pangs of hunger, we have chosen to focus on the underexplored aspects of food philosophy and satiation, as found predominantly in Murugan’s work Amma (2019). Brief phases of hunger due to food shortage were commonplace amongst these agrarian communities of the Kongu region. However, the kind of insecurities, attitudes, and coping strategies adopted to encounter hunger varied greatly from the scenario in M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s works. In a personal interview with us, Murugan recollects how the failure of rains led to a rice famine, making it very much difficult for them to have proper meals. He adds:
We were all sent to school because of the lunch program back then in my childhood. I was perennially hungry. We would keep searching for food all day long to pacify our hunger. On several occasions we roamed highlands, engaged in digging grounds, fetched and ate the groundnuts. Sometimes we thrived on the fleshy parts of palms. When nothing was available, we would just sip water and fixed the two meals. We were similar in our way of living to wandering birds and animals who worked tirelessly in search of food. (Murugan)
Millet formed a staple diet of Tamil Nadu since rice was unavailable throughout the season. Although bland, the manner in which Amma prepares millets reflects her creative abilities and zest to make the best out of the limited resources. In Amma, Murugan reminisces and relishes the different spices that Amma used for seasoning these millets and the manner in which these millets magically acquired a divine taste with the fresh vegetables grown in Amma’s garden. This reflects the intellect and resourcefulness put in by Amma to make the bland meal nutritious and fulfilling for the family members. For example, the memory of the modest beans dish prepared by Amma triggered a wide range of emotions in Murugan, which connected him to his family tradition through the shared culinary taste transferred down through Amma’s cooking.
During Murugan’s youth, going to government ration shops to buy wheat was a common practice and was not considered a social ignominy. Those were days when scarcity was etched in the collective consciousness of the entire community members. Unlike M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s protagonists, individuals relied on each other and fostered inter-dependence to stay afloat during difficult times without bothering much about their family pride or caste honour. Many a time, it was these reciprocal exchanges of food in times of need that harnessed and maintained communal harmony. To Amma, outgrowing the hunger of her children became the raison d’être rather than preserving the family honour. She empowered herself to satiate their hunger. And very often, the dearth in Amma’s kitchen was in relation to obliging the narrator’s request for a second helping. Amma’s kitchen saw an unsteady supply of food during all the seasons, and it was not specific to any particular season like Appunni’s household in Nalukettu. However, in the case of Appunni, the yearning was not for an additional helping of the available food, but for food itself.
Caste was another factor which functioned as a barrier in the procurement and consumption of food to satiate hunger in M.T. Vasudevan’s Nair’s works. The privilege of belonging to an upper caste Nair community barred them from the consumption of certain food items. Moreover, their close contact with the Brahmin community (who functioned as priests within the caste structure) further intensified their ideological distinction between pure and impure foods. Such a barrier is absent in the characters of Perumal Murugan’s novels, and they are free to consume anything that they wish to satiate their hunger. Murugan’s response to our queries in the interview further reinforced this culinary choice: “Searching the ground, eating bird’s eggs, eating wild fruits, eating what is available from palm trees” (Murugan) implies that what mattered was quenching hunger rather than taste. In fact, the offerings made to village Gods were not governed by the Guna theory (satvic, rajasic or Tamasic food) followed by the dominant groups. Perumal Murugan opines: “In our village, the folkgods include vegetarian samis [food] as well as non-vegetarian samis”. The food offered to God is called “papadipu”, and the preparation of food is according to the deity’s preferences. For example, for Mariamman, one mashes both pongal and banana to make papadipu. Whereas for Muniyappan, pongal rice is mixed with blood and curry pieces made of the sacrificed goat and chicken (Vinai and Shabin 2). Thus such a lack of hard-wired food categorization for consumers (both the humans and divine) invariably opened up more food choices and chances to satiate their hunger.
Perumal Murugan records his mother’s culinary skills, thereby concurring that food made by one and consumed by another is intrinsically connected to the emotions and experiences shared by both. In India, attaching women to food heritage and the kitchen space plays a significant role in determining their gendered cultural identity. Indian scriptures have extolled women who could sustain the agni (fire) in the kitchen. In M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s works, spending much of their day and night in the kitchen metaphorized women’s subjugation and oppression., In contrast with this, Perumal Murugan’s works present women possessing control over kitchen space and domestic cuisine, wielding tremendous power. Here, the mother held maximum power in the household because of the power vested in her to “gather, control, and distribute” resources. Despite the reality of scarcity, the fire in their kitchen remained unextinguished, signifying longing and hope for abundance. Food thus becomes a metaphor for both materiality and power, and hence anyone who could continue the sustenance of agni (fire) in the kitchen—whether it was the actual process of cooking or gathering of resources essential for the process of cooking—harnessed power and wielded authority.
Murugan’s mother also occupied a lot of roles outside the private sphere. Along with being associated with cooking, she is involved in the production, conservation, and distribution of resources. In other words, there is no authoritative male figure like the karnavar, who controls production and distribution in Naalukettu or Asuravithu, thereby subverting the theory of the feminization of hunger. The way Murugan remembers, shares, and represents his culinary experiences testifies to the fact that the mother is truly valued as the Annapurna, the remover of the scarcity of food, due to her sincere attempts to satiate their hunger. Exemplary characters like Amma challenge established cultural images of the feminization of famine and starvation, which is rooted in victimization and suffering, and thereby promote alternative, heroic female figures that are in charge of crisis management and foster hunger relief (Steiner 34).
In ancient Indian and Ayurvedic traditions, food preparations, rituals, and consumption patterns were considered integral to the maintenance of mental and physical health, and major factors leading to the deterioration of the same. Members belonging to each caste and religion had culinary ideologies peculiar to their clan, and a collective belief was invoked in the members through various social occasions like festivals, birth, death, and marriage ceremonies. Murugan’s household was managed with local resources that was readily available in their fields. Although the food cooked was sufficient and delicious, it was a little short of what one could comfortably term as satiating. This dearth was often abridged by the peculiar food principles and philosophies crafted by Amma, which governed the mental satiation of the family members.
Amma teaches both her sons that ‘abundance’ couldn’t be invoked and retained through rituals or worship of a particular deity. She held that abundance is not an abstract concept; rather, it can be evoked, transacted, and appropriated by physical labour. As David Sutton points out, the idealized aspects of the past, including memories of food, are what are best recalled (169). Murugan’s reminiscences link such memories of place and culture as well, signifying the intricate ties of beliefs and divinity associated with land and the food generated out of it. In his recounting, we can see Amma compensating and blurring the impossibility of grand food memories in her children’s retrospections with symbolic connections between dearth and the emotions of the Earth goddess. Amma convinces her innocent kids that “Bhooma Devi will give in abundance. She won’t deceive you. If you merely sit around doing nothing and staring at the land, she will only slap you across the face” (111). In Murugan’s taste memories, although the mother doesn’t offer any spectacular or exotic food, whatever she offers them is served with love, reverence, and gratitude. Hence, the outcome generated by the consumption of it gets rippled and finally manifested as ‘satisfaction’. Here, Amma cultivates the qualities of perseverance and persistence in them, also training them to resist being affected by the natural conflict between internal urges of taste pleasures and external dearth.
These memories “unite very different levels of experience”, and this wholeness powerfully evokes the entire childhood time with Amma (Sutton 178). Interestingly, the stoic acceptance of dearth traversed their gastronomic experiences to transcend every sphere of their lives. Amma was clear with her stand that: “The food will taste good only if there’s just enough of it. It will taste even better if there’s a little less” (Murugan 11). In the online interview with us, the author Perumal Murugan delineates Amma’s idea of overcoming any situation by cultivating simple eating habits. He articulates that even the simple salted rice flour pulp felt delicious for them. Amma taught him to approach hunger casually and take its pangs with a pinch of salt. It was not represented as an unending misery or something that would cast a perennial gloom on the entire family, as in the fictional world of M.T. Vasudevan Nair. Amma’s words of chastisement that “Oruvela Pattini Kedanta Usura Poiruma?” (“Would a short experience of hunger take your life?”, Murugan), helped him to endure hunger and never lose hope in life. At this juncture, we could perceive the intersection of intricate trajectories of universal hunger and satiation with the aura of hope and a sense of contentment in the author’s childhood memories.
In M.T. Vasudevan Nair’s novels, hunger becomes a trope for the feudal system’s fall, matrilineal structures’ collapse, social neglect, and gender-based marginalization. In Nalukettu, Karkidakam, and The Demon Seed, memories of food scarcity are affixed to a particular season and discontinuity with the matrilineal clan (Sutton 31). Thus, gustatory experiences and the consequent creation of memory are crucial to evoking cultural mnemonics and validating various identity negotiations. Perumal Murugan’s memoir is imbued with emotion, nostalgia, and commemoration of Amma’s achievement, which nevertheless has shaped his culinary preferences and identity. Additionally, this essay has delineated how caste assumes a crucial role in the satiation of hunger and how, in the narrative, the protagonist belonging to the lower castes has more flexibility to consume what he wishes without being dictated by notions of pure and impure foods. The contrasting roles that the mothers occupied in both the novels and the methods they incorporate in mitigating hunger and creating a feeling of dearth or self-sufficiency (of food) amongst children are perceivable. This essay also comes to an ontological inference that memories of ‘abundance’ and ‘dearth’ of food are created not just by the physical lack of it but also by the ideologies, patterns of consumption and support system provided by the family.
We are extremely thankful to author Perumal Murugan for answering our queries regarding hunger in his novels, particularly for this essay.
[1] Sthalapurana refers to a religious account that provides description of the historical significance of a Hindu temple, or the sacredness of the region. According to Hindu scriptures, purusharthas refer to the core goal of a human life, namely dharma (moral values), artha (economic values), kama (psychological values like pleasure and love), and moksha (spiritual values like liberation).
[2] In various schools of Indian philosophical thoughts, the term moksha refers to a liberation of a human being from the cycle of birth and death.
[3] Kerala has a history of divisions and sub-divisions with respect to caste-structure.
[4] Here by hegemonic group, we imply to the dominant upper caste Namboodiri community.
[5] Belonging to the place Aranmula in the district of Pathanamthita in Kerala.
[6] Thiruvonam marks the beginning of the rice harvest festivities and celebrated in Kerala with great gusto.
[7] One of the upper caste groups of Kerala. For more information, please see Thulaseedharan.
[8] Here, the reference is to author Maya Vinai’s father, Pavithralal Narayanan.
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