WBCHSE | Class 12 English Project | A Project Report on Indianisation of the Writings of Some English Writers
Title INDIANISATION OF A WRITING IN ENGLISH
JANAKI Indianization of Charlotte Brontes "Jano Eyre'
Dressed in the wedding finery I had one long last look at the mirror. Thomfield Villa was luminous with the bulbs that lit up the semi-darkness. The red banarasi sparked and smiled while my veil, though mended looked almost all right. My dreams were coming true. And then heard an ominous sound coming from the room above. It broke my reverie. A look of tright passed across my face. What was that? I recalled the days of my childhood. There were few shortcomings being an eight year old orphan girl. First, you can easily be defeated through physical strength and second, living off the mercy of relations strip you of your basic rights to live comfortably. If only my parents had not passed away succumbing to typhoid! lived at my uncle's bungalow in Kolkata. It was big and had many rooms. Uncle and aunty had three children Raja, Radharani and Ganga. Aunty had been a Bengali filmstar in her days of youth and so couldn't come away from that part of herself. She pampered her children and neglected me-as I was the outsider, the permanent guest eating into their food and money. My only confidante was Shanti kaki,
the domestic help of our Chaudhury Mansion. She sometimes stole into my room to regale me with wonderful stories of demons and fairies. I found them both scary and entertaining When uncle passed away in 1989 my life changed for the worst. was shifted to the servants' quarter and was made to dress either in old frocks or tom skirts and tops, I was Instructed to help Shanti kaki with the household chores and was given such quantity of food that would only keep me alive. Aunty had to dress down from her elegant dhakal's to taant which irked her even more. For the society she was living a widow's life of simplicity but I knew that she was nothing but a hypocrite, a liar. The winter chill had gently set in and I could feel it on my tragile bones. But I was to be given no woollen clothes bill aunty's children discarded any. On one such November attemoon, propped against the
Read More : Class 12 English Project - Changing the Background/Time/Social Context of a Play.
window sill, I was deeply engrossed in the big book of birds. How lovely the pictures were! It described them minutely and explained when they migrated. Oh, how I longed to be a bird and fly away from there! As I was engrossed in my thoughts and imagining my life as a little bird, suddenly felt a punch on my head. I hastily turned back to find Raja standing with his mischievous eyes glaring at me. He spoke very rudely to me and snatched away the book from my hands. I was in tears. But he did not sympathise with me. Instead he called me a filth as my parents were the same. Now, I could not take that. I gathered all my strength and did the unimaginable-1 retaliated.
pushed him down on the ground and started hitting him with all my strength. I noticed that his cheeks had begun to bleed but I did not stop. Suddenly heard a thundering voice above my head. It was aunty, in a white saree, with her voice quivering and eyes burning in rage. At that very moment she resembled one of the 'daayeen's' of Shanti kaki's stories. She took me by my hair and pushed me aside to rescue her son. Raja was so shocked by the entire incident that he could hardly stand up. He was in a semi-conscious state yet managed to put the blame on me saying that it was all my fault. No sooner did aunty hear those words than she started hollering curses at me. Being a yesteryear's movie star she ended up being very dramatic with unbridled excitement and a tinge of sentimentality. Her arms made rapid gestures while her eyes remained foxed on me. Finally when she saw that was unmoved by the whole display, she ordered Bansi, another domestic help, to lock me up in uncle's room.
Uncle had passed away in his sleep in this very room a year back Since then, the children of the house were very frightened to visit the room all by themselves. There was a tumour in the servants quarter that ghost haunted the room Uniks the other rooms of the mansion, the electric supply to that room had been terminated after uncle's death remained unused and dark with its windows draped in red curtains Athought was otherwise very courageous, I was still a chid 1 could not bear the thought of being confided for one whole long day and night in that room. I shocked and cried and begged Bansi not to do that but this only tightened his grip on my arm as he dragged me across the room. I could hear the room getting jocked from outside. Aunty ordered the servants of the house not to respond to my yells or screams for help Nobody in the house was to offer me either food or water.
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I tumed to look at the room closely. The dwindling twilight was playing its tricks on the walls The room was silent- uncannily sleet. I could hear nothing but my dying sob. My mind was flooded with the images of ghosts and supernatural which scared me even more I took a I could not take it any more. I screamed until I tainted. of a pale girl.
I woke up to find myself on my bed with Or Bawas checking my pulse. I was weak and my mouth was dry, Imumbled for water, Dr Biswas gently lifted my head and helped me drink it. He had a look of worry on his face and with knitted eyebrows he wrote something on my prescription, Aunty was standing outside the room as it was against her honour to step into a room beneath her social class. She was tanning herse with the end of her sari- not because it was hot but because she was growing impatient Dr Biswas stepped outside the room and sold my aunt that I needed a change of weather to improve my bone suggestion did not go down well with my aunt as she broke down into another of her theatrical performance. She weeped and sobbed to illustrate her weak financial status. The generous dab of imported make-up however betrayed her words. Nevertheless, taken in by the act I could hear Dr Biswas offering suggestions to move me to a boarding school in the hill station. He knew of some inexpensive ones who would accommodate female orphans like me. My aunt stopped sobbing and though out of sight, I could feel her eyes twinkling with the thought of relief, could hear no further as sleep had come over me. But deep inside my heart I was elated. would be free from Chaudhury Mansion at last. I promised never to return to my despicable aunt and her family.
The boarding school-St Lawrence- was set inside the picturesque landscape of Darjeeling, it was a remote place with hardly any proper access to the heart of the town. One needed to board a private car run by locals in order to commute. The interiors of the school was very different from Chaudhury Mansion. The walls towered high up the sky and resembled the description of the lonely mansions in the horror stories. The plasters were coming off while a foul stench was the only odour could come across. Despite the cool weather, the rooms insido were very hot and uncomfortable. There were hardly any windows that would allow fresh air to come in. An air of doom prevailed all over when I was greeted by the fellow students in the large dining hall. I saw a girl feeding on a slice of fruit cake and water. That was dinner. The girls there wore simple frocks with their hair neatly tied in plaits. Nobody spoke a word till the teacher-in charge introduced me to the girts-This is Janaki Sen, previous resident of Kolkata is now a part of, our school. She was a very bad child. So bad that nobody wanted her. Not her parents, not her aunt. Do not be friends with her." I was taken aback by what the teacher-in-charge, Mr Edward Rodericks, said about me. Later I learned
that he was good friends with my aunt. So that was the reason of his saying so I tried my very best to adjust to the rules of St Lawrence but found the overall atmosphere very oppressive. I cried myself to sleep as nobody dared to talk to me. There was only one kind teacher in the school, Miss Temple, who encouraged me to do well in class. The rest either caned me or publicly
humiliated me I ran outside the class. But one day discovered a ray of hope in this dark tunnel. A gin almost my age, took seat beside me at the dinner table. She inroduced herself as Helen Andrews. She was very polite to me and asked if all that was said by Mr Rodericks was true. narrated my side of the story to her and she was amused to know how feisty was. She, on the other hand, was devout Christian believing in the wrongs that the school did to us. was both shocked and appalled at the thought. To me God was a benevolent force, punishing the bad and rewarding the good. I believed very firmly that had been very good and had never transgressed. My aunt and her wicked son needed to be punished. But there they were living in comfort while I was rotting away the better part of my life. Still could not offend the only friend that I had and so I decided to keep quiet.
The winter of 1994 was a terrible one. The temperature had dipped so low that many girls in St Lawrence had fallen ill. One of them was Helen. We were asked not to get too close to the sick girls as the fever was contagious. For many days I did not see Helen, I was sad as was eating all by myself again. Then one day Theard a few girls discussing Helen in the dining hall. They said that she was critical and would not survive her illness. I swallowed a lump down my throat. My heart was beating rapidly, I could not bear the thought of my 'only' friend dying. I ran to the nursing wing of our school, and seeing nobody there, sneaked into the room where Heilen was. I saw that my friend had turned white and thin. Sensing my presence, she slowly opened her eyes. I could not control my grief and continued sobbing. She smiled feebly at me and told me that finally she was happy as she was going to the inn of God. She then urged me to come close. I sat beside my friend and embraced her for one last time. My friend did not get to see the dawn of the following day. Yet again I was left alone in this world-with no care and love.
It was the year 2000. had spent eight years in St Lawrence and had completed my graduation in English over correspondence. With the growing popularity of computers had learnt its basic operation too A few of my teachers believed that nobody would marry me as my complexion was dark. Moreover, also did not have adequate wealth or family to boast of. I applied for numerous jobs in and around Darjeeling but never received a favourable reply. So, decided to look for a job as a private tutor elsewhere, perhaps outside Bengal. I wanted to try out my luck and see the world. I had not stopped dreaming even though life always kept snatching away love and happiness from me.
One day I came by a job application in of age and would be paid handsomely in waited anxiously for their reply. After from a certain Mrs D'souza and she Villa to begin my services from the bags and bid Darjeeling adieu. A to begin. I couldn't care much I certainly would not allow those
Mumbai is the land where movies and magic. But I had not a few classics in my regional me at the station. It was a fancy my disappointment, Thornfield of the city, but it was a good I was surprised how silence was My restless soul was dampened by On this lonely journey my mind kaki used to teach me the difference boisterous and loud, always in control weak and in need of support. Women wife. To Shanti kaki that was the ultimate truth.
Mumbai, had to tutor a girl of about eight years return. I emailed my resume to them and a few days I received a positive reply invited me to come over to Thornfield 13 day of June, 2000, 1 packed my new chapter of my life was about about my marriage and looks but aspects to define my life.
dreams come to life. A land of eyed the latest ones apart from language. A car was waiting for Fiat driven by a chauffeur. To Villa was not located in the heart twenty kilometres away from it. beginning to be a part of my life. the tranquility of the countryside. suddenly floated back to how Santi between men and women. Men are of things while women were docile, should be coy and raised to become a Perhaps was the weird one as I felt differently.
I was brought back to the present when the driver announced that we have reached our destination. I was taken by surprise where our car stopped in front of a grand villa. It was huge, set in the middle of stretches and stretches of green, it was a perfect foil to the din and commotion of the city. I could see a young face looking at me arrive from the window. Perhaps this was the girl I was to tutor. I was warmly greeted inside by Mrs D'souza, the caretaker of the Thornfield Villa. The owner was a certain Mr. Satyanarayan Mehra. As was toured around the palatial space, the girl that I had seen at the window came down to meet me. I could see a limp in her walk and she stuttered to introduce herself. She was Alisha Malhotra.
Bom prematurely she had a defect in her leg and had a problem in speaking property. She was undergoing various treatments and hence could not attend the regular schools. So her guardian decided to for should get home-schooling. She had been adopted by Mr Mohra a few years back. instantly took to her for (could see in her eyes a longing for a mother figure.
The room where was put up was completely different from that of St Lawrence's. Fumished exquisite the room also had a computer with internet connection. I had my very own television that had over a hundred channels. I was amazed at how little I knew about such things. The room offered a view to the full estate. But there was only one problem that Mrs D'souza had cautioned me against-frequent par cuts. When I opened my e-mail account, I found one from Ganga Chaudhury. The name struck a familiar chord. She was my aunt's daughter-my aunt who had not spoken to me for years and had sever ties with me. I learnt from that e-mail that Raja had taken to drugs and Radharani had eloped with an in Nepal. Aunt was nursing a poor health. Ganga had joined politics and wanted me to help her camo Darjeeling. I logged off as I wanted to do nothing with the people who had gifted me a troubled childhood.
would not allow the past to meddle in my present. That night something strange happened to me, I saw a dream of a crying child. I was so troubled by the distress of the child in the dream that woke up to drink a glass of water. Suddenly heard strange sounds in the room above me. I thought that it must be Mrs D'souza but didn't quite understand why she should be moving around that late at night. The next morning when enquired about it of Mrs D'souza, she avoided the question altogether saying that the room above me was empty and was under lock and key. was surprised but thought that perhaps it was due to my long, exhausting journey to the villa-that might have imagined the whole event.
Meanwhile, grew quite close to Alisha who was a very bright student. At times, she shared with me her memories of her mother, which found very touching, still did not understand why Mr Mehra had adopted her when he stayed away from home most of the time. Thoughts of Thornfield Villa consumed me most of the time. I thought about Alisha, Mrs D'souza who
was very forthcoming at times and sometimes very suspicious, Mr Mehra, who led a life of splendour in the
city yet had a private life here, and of course the noise that heard from the room above. What was in the One night, as was about to retire for the day, I heard a loud crash outside. rushed to my window to see a black car that had collided against the nearest tree. The driver was visibly in an inebriated state. In a drunken slur he called for Mrs D'souza. Mrs D'souza slept early and perhaps could not have heard him. I decided to help the stranger out all by myself. walked up to a man who could barely stand on his foot. dressed in an elegant party suit with a gold chain hanging down his neck. He seemed to be in his thirties and looked quite handsome otherwise. By the time helped the man on his feet, saw Mrs D'souza running towards us without slippers. She addressed the man as Mr Mehra and helped him enter the villa room? Why was it locked? The next morning found Mr Mehra waiting for me in the dining room, looking quite sober and upbeat. He did not remember me from the last night but apologised for the inconvenience he had caused. I looked quite a contrast to his expensive taste in fashion in my simple cotton sari. He offered me a cup of tea and we talked about the progress of Alisha. He confided that he had a long affair with her mother and after her death he could not abandon their love child. Hence Alisha bore both his and her mother's sumame as the society would not respect an illegitimate child. I was surprised how easily he took me into his confidence and told something that the society considered as a taboo. The more spoke to him, the more was intrigued. One day I saw him entering the gates of the villa with a lady friend from town. She was dressed like the Bollywood actresses in a tight top and skirt. She wore a beautiful hat which protected her pretty face from the harsh rays of the sun. They walked arm in arm. I could feel a sudden burning pain in my heart. When Mr Mohra introduced Sushila Mirchandani to me, she shook my fingers with a look of disdain. could see her analysing my plain looks, my starched sari and my ordinary chappals. I could hear her passing nasty remarks about my poor taste in clothes. I was more offended that Mr Mehra said nothing. He only looked at me with sad eyes, pleading me to bear with the entire charade. The Mirchandanis were to make a big investment into Mr Mehra's business. Hence to appease Sushila was a must. She was invited to stay in the villa for a week. But unbearable to see the growing closeness between the two, I decided to visit my ailing aunt in Kolkata. Anything was better than this.
Kolkata was a long forgotten place to me. It had developed by leaps and bounds over the passage of years. The tram was a passe now. The swanky Metro Stations and the increase in the number of buses filled me with surprise. I took the Metro to my aunt's place which looked old and uncared for. Shanti Kaki In her old and wrinkled face still recognised me. My aunt lay in her bed, motionless staring at the ceiling fan above her. Her son's sudden death had wrecked her. She slowly turned her eyes towards me when i touched her feet. She was only a shadow of her former self. Shanti kaki gave me a letter which was dated three years back. It was from my father's brother, Mr Surya Sen. He was a wealthy man with no family and wanted me to come and live with him. I was confused why that letter had not been posted to me. Shanti Kad said that my aunt did not want me to get the letter. I looked at her and loathed her all over again.
My aunt passed away after a few days. When returned to Thomfield Villa, it was abuzz with the rumours Mr Mehra tying the knot with Sushila. I was filled with agony all over again. As soon as entered the house, saw Mr Mehra waiting very anxiously, Sushila was nowhere in sight. Mr Mehra took me to the lawn and explained to me that the rumours were false. He could never marry Sushila because she did not love Alisha. He also added that he had missed me in my absence and wanted me to be his wife. I was quite taken aback by the bluntness of the proposal. He needed a wife to take care of his foster child. It was to be a marriage of convenience. But wanted to marry him for love. So, accepted the proposal Alisha was very excited to hear the news while Mrs D'souza looked disturbed. She said that was making the most horrid decision of my life. It upset me but had made up my mind. Marriage was what women apparently were destined for. I recalled Shanti Kaki's words on marriage. Mr Mehra bought for me the red banarasi and my veil. A wedding pandal was to be set up outside the house. The villa was resounding with the notes of "Shehnais. We wore to be married in a few days. That night I heard the noise again. This time it was the sound of someone crying. As there had been a power cut once again I could hear everything clearly. And then heard footsteps outside my door with someone unlocking my door knob, Scared beyond my wits, hid under my bed, I saw someone approching my cupboard, fiddling with my clothes. And then heard someone tearing something and hurriedly leaving my room. When I finally rose to my foot, the lights were back. Somebody had torn my veil into two. The next day was my wedding- the day when my dreams would come alive, the day would get my family, Mr Mehra looked a little worried but brushed away my concerns. I saw a few strangers in the hall but did not find the time to seek their introduction. A marriage is the most important day of a woman's life and I could allow nothing to ruin it. As I had one long last look into the mirror dressed in my wedding finery, could hear the strange noise once again. But I decided to disregard it. It was all my imagination. The reality was that I was to spend my life with Mr Mehra, As I walked down to the hall, ready to be ushered into the pandal by Mrs D'souza I heard a loud argument from the adjacent room. I saw the two strangers again. One of them was a lawyer. He said that Mr Mehra could not marry me. Hearing this, I walked into the room demanding an explanation for what he had said. He said that Mr Mehra had been married five years back to an Assamese woman named Barkha Gomes. However she was a woman of unsound mental health. Mr Mehra had kept her locked in a room where she was undergoing medical treatment under private care,
The other man introduced himself as Mr Roger Gomes, elder brother of Barkha. He said that he was a close friend of uncle Surya Sen and came in immediately when got the news of my marriage to Mr Mehra. I was crestfallen. Mr Mehra didn't say anything and sat quietly on the sofa, looking towards the ground. Under no circumstances could I marry Mr Mehra. I know that a lot of my honour was at stake. People would hit me back with merciless jabs for having returned from the altar. Such was the case of our society even after being educated. But I had to take a quick decision. I had to leave Thomfield Villa.
The very next morning left the villa and came to Kolkata with the little money that I had. While going out I could hear Alisha's loud cries but what I couldn't hear was Mr Mehra's voice. wanted him to stop me from leaving, and come up with an explanation for all that was taking place. But he did not. rented a small place with the kind help of Mr Bhowmick who also offered me a post of a school teacher in one of the local schools. Although the pay was not good, it allowed me some time to myself when I could think of my life ahead. I was an educated woman. I had to surmount the pain. One day as I was checking my mails on the internet, I came across one from Alisha. She said that her father had taken to drinking as he was very upset with my departure. She wanted me to come back. I didn't reply to the e-mail.
After a few days a strange news caught my eyes in the newspaper. Thornfield Villa was on fire. The fire had been started by a 'Mad Woman' who had also jumped to her death from the root of the mansion. Mr Mehra had survived with fatal injuries. I felt guilty for not having returned to Thomfield Villa. I did not know if Alisha was safe. I had to go back and see if everything was all right.
I took the next train to Mumbai, When I arrived at Thornfield Villa,I went to servants quarter where a man named Samuel informed me how Aisha had been saved by t while the latter died battling the flames. Mr Mehra had lost his vision and was admitted to the hospital. When I reached the hospital, after a lot of enquiry found Alisha. She broke into tears: me. She took me to Mr Mehra's room. He was sitting on his bert, with his eyes bandaged went cost him and gently put my hand over his hand. With a faint smile he inqard it was me, and befor even answer him, he said that he remembered the touch and knew that would retum for me teid me hand more firmly and promised him that everything would be fine. I took over the autiness of Mr and with the help of his trusted aides, the company was back on its feet in no time. Ater a ew years net Mr Mehra. looked back on Shanti Kak's words and smiled to mysalt, Dank, amach and noumy heirloom, yet I was Mrs Janaki Sen Mehra.
Methodology: At first I went through some Victorian novels suggested by my teacher. The Charlotte Bronte's "Jane Eyre" as my topic for this project. Next, with the help of my teacher I underne some parts of the story which did not seem common to Indian setting. Theater of the story. Before submitting the final draft for evaluation consulted my teacher to beter my project Bibliography: Book: Jane Eyre: Charlotte Bronte. Penguin India
Conclusion: Things I have learnt
- how to explore the socio-cultural elements of a specific country in a composition.
- the way the characters behave in a particular socio-cultural scenario.
- how a story should be set in an Indian backdrop.
- people across cultures share similar emotions.
- skills of writing can be improved.