Rhododendrons by Sreetanwi Chakraborty
Reviewed by
Dr. Navamalati Neog Chakraborty
Former Guest Lecturer
University of
Calcutta
West Bengal, India
Rhododendrons | Novella | Sreetanwi
Chakraborty
Penprints Publication, 2023, pp. 96, INR 200
ISBN: 978-81-956197-9-5
Sreetanwi Chakraborty’s debut novel Rhododendrons is a huge
metaphor about the human condition, spelling out the complex social and mental
turmoil that both men and women face in present times. A novel is a product of
history, and the twenty-first century is reeling under the grip of such realism
that the criteria that judge our present times with earlier centuries are
absolutely different. Our times leave us in a space where men and women, and
even school-going children have to visit psychiatrists, unable to keep their
footing rooted. They all react in diverse ways. Bi-polar, as psychiatrists term
such reactions, affect not only the victim of such a situation; but it also
affects the family visibly. Social factors have always affected the plot of a
novel, for a novel is just a reflection of social mores and ways. The
characters of a novel are however not aware of what is going on, or how he or
she can help himself or herself to remain apart. That is not possible, for the
temper and the tendencies of a given period of time leave behind its mark on
the lives of people. People can neither down-play or ratiocinate; or live in a
world of fantasy. They cannot go on such a drive unmeaningfully, finding
themselves justified about their own behaviour or reactions. They will find at
the end of the day that they have spun sufficient rope to hang themselves. Time
now has grown different, and we can neither press the brakes in life nor start
anew. Rhododendrons is a wonderful novel that makes us think about the
suspense of donning the mask:
“She stood beside rows
of glossy, azure magazine covers, pollen-kissed fairy-tale notebooks lying on
the burnished wooden tabletops across the local coffee shops.” (Chakraborty 16)
Sreenandini…Sreeor Nandini is the heroine of
the novel. She was in love with her college class-mate Baisakh. They were a
perfect made for each other couple, greatly in love, married for twelve years.
They understood each other, lived for each other, finding nothing that they
could seek further. In each other’s arms, there was solace and warmth. But is
life ever perfect? Even the moon has those dark spots. There was the practical
side of life when life has to go on and Baisakh had to look after his work, to
have a better place to live in with his dear wife Sree and not be contented
with the small North Kolkata flat. In the meantime, despite their warm
togetherness, Sree began misunderstanding her husband. The fact that she had
not really turned to a mother ached within her. An abortive bid didn’t help
matters. She thought of a suicide bid too. Every woman seeks this maternal side
to their life, as a fulfillment yardstick.
If the couple would have had openly discussed the matter, things would
have been comforting and problems could have been sorted out.
Sree had to visit Chennai on work related
matters, and it was not really a drive at adultery that made her spend warm,
hot nights with Amudhan in bed…after they had worked the entire day. Sree was
in fact feeling unbalanced and was therefore looking for love, for acceptance,
for a rightful place in Amudhan’s life, for romance that has a strong
respectable base and every other desire that a woman craves. This was a sexual
indulgence alright; but then what was going on in Sree’s mind. Somewhere, she
who was even then so much in love with Baisakh and was drifting away from him
was unable to see her path. In some corner of her being she was visibly hurt
for she had lost a baby. She hadn’t conceived after that and wanted Baisakh closer
but was not prepared to speak out. Was it a deep feeling of being disrespected
as a woman, a visible hurt? Or was it the painful emotions, to which she
herself denied a rightful existence? Somewhere she wanted Baisakh to ask her
further about this creative writing project in Chennai, but when she had
informed him, he only wanted to know when she will return back to Kolkata. That
hurt deep. He was busy with his Nirwan & Associates project but that didn’t
mean that he could be so cold. On his part Baisakh however trusted her wholly.
Between husband and wife, can such a yawning gap come in when they loved each
other so much. Why did he not understand? Why were the two of them unable to
speak to each other without any hesitation. What stood between them? Pride or
reluctance to open up. Sree was already prescribed medication for her
depressive state, and she would skip them at times, the way patients suffering
from depression did. When Baisakh enquired about the same, she felt deeply
wounded as she would have much rather want him to be the old lover he once was.
The novelist has
beautifully brought out the bruised state of mind of a woman and her anger, and
at the same time she gave evidence of how and why the reactions were working.
The title, name and cover, Rhododendrons is highly significant. Sree was
a clever student, a good teacher, loved by one and all. Blazing! Poetry was in
her blood a living impulse and Rabindra sangeet was her energetic vibe, and the
colour of the rhododendrons was always in her breath. During her days as a
college student moving up and down College Street, with the elections in her
blood, together with Baisakh, posters, festoons, banners, slogans were her
boosters. Her losing the election with Baisakh hurt, but she managed to take it
in her stride as Baisakh too was there and concentrated instead on her studies
and passed brilliantly in her exams. She and Baisakh were the ideal couple,
always about…be it the Thanthania Temple, the College campus, singing Tagore’s
songs or mouthing Dickinson:
“College Street, known
as the ‘boipara’ was a potpourri of various sounds, sights and smells all
throughout the days: smell of brown paper-covered old books, freckled, fragile
pages that resonated with the history of English literature, failed
jurisprudence, beleaguered lovers, or the tragic downfall of the Renaissance
hero.” (Chakraborty 28)
It was the ignominy of the hurt she felt,
that had driven her to Amudhan. Amudhan too had a separation, but he was not
that serious or sincere as these pair of lovers Sree and Baisakh. It takes a
lot of understanding to understand the depth of their pain. Amudhan brought
nectar to Sree’s mornings in Chennai, hunger to her nights, and was a
worshipper at her altar. Sree was almost taken in by his amour, but later the
mention of the name of a ‘Shyama’; made her realise that Amudhan had a lot of
room in his life, and she felt greatly humiliated. Sree was left with a yawning
gap, and her mental state was crumbling. No one could make out this fact from
the surface. The rhododendrons were there bright and invitingly beautiful as a
felt sentiment. She made them be the petrichor in her world.
Afroz
occupied her mind’s sphere as the perfect occupant. He was her delirium of
love, and a passion. He became that sentimental chord of love, with his playful
manners and light-hearted charm. Sree’s Afroz was a 52-year-old man to her 37.
Although Baisakh had despite situations not really moved away from her, Sree’s
hurts made it seem so. In her mental dilemma she failed to see things clearly.
The novel ends with her nights spent with Afroz with the background of the
rhododendrons that elevated, inspired, enthralled, heading on and on after that
final moment of achievement. Amidst the pitch darkness she was looking for some
anodyne. She made Afroz that anodyne. Her going to bed and making love was in
her mental sphere a bid to conceive, to conceive the child that had become an
impossibility. She has never learnt to accept her condition. Her womb needed to
be blessed. She herself didn’t realise how deeply she loved Baisakh. Baisakh was her other self. They can neverbe
ever parted. And the fear that the Afroz of her imagination would ever stop
loving her made her condition even worse. Amudhan’s mention of Shyama had
frightened her. Will Baisakh desert her? In her mind she held on to Afroz who
did not exist at all. Her condition had grown pathetic. She needed medical care
and love. The novel is a study in psychology, of a state that is almost
becoming a viral preponderance in both men and women. Times change, ailments
change, and social realities also change, just like how Sreenandini reflects
upon the winters settling in Kolkata:
“Winters in Kolkata had settled like a
half-eaten lollipop in a child’s hand. It was time for the Kashmiri
shawlwallahs to truncate their stay in the city and go back to the amber days
of their Chinar.” (Chakraborty 50)
A very modern-day novel, a tale that could be
anyone’s story, makes one think and develop butterflies in the tummy. The
modern-day rush, ambitions, heaped up desires to climb up the social ladder, to
have an enviably rich life…is the basic reason for people getting unhinged. No
one seems to be contented these days. Something or the other, is there to set
their dreams soaring. Dreams however vanish, as they are never real; never
grounded.Their lies the irony of Rhododendron. The flowers are about
one’s longings and desire, the flowers are beautiful, but they too wither. A
huge symbolic metaphor woven into an excellent debut novel. It is Sreetanwi
Chakraborty’s gift to the readers. Bless her soul.