Women who write themselves: The quiet strength of Tamil writer Imayam’s female protagonists

It has been three decades since Imayam made his literary debut with Koveru Kazhuthaigal. The novel was a groundbreaking work in Tamil literature, bringing attention to the lives of Puthirai Vannar community, a subsect of Dalits. Since then, Imayam’s raw and empathetic portrayal of social issues, grounded in realism, set him apart as a significant voice in contemporary Tamil literature.

In the Tamil literary landscape, Imayam stands out as a writer whose works capture the unseen yet powerful dimensions of women’s lives. His literary universe is populated by women who may seem ordinary at first glance but reveal extraordinary depth when viewed more closely. They are not heroines of folklore or figures who perform grand acts of rebellion. Instead, they are everyday women whose resilience, self-determination, and quiet strength defy the crushing weight of caste, gender, and social oppression.

Women of agency

Imayam does not romanticise their struggles. The women in his stories endure unimaginable hardship, but they retain a dignity that commands respect. Their extraordinariness is found not in the feats they perform but in their ability to persist, to carve out moments of personal agency even in the most constrained circumstances. It is this delicate yet profound empowerment that lies at the heart of Imayam’s storytelling.

At the heart of his first novel Koveru Kazhuthaigal (translated as Beasts of Burden by Lakshmi Holmstorm) is Arokkyam, a washerwoman from the Puthirai Vannaar (washerfolk) community, a subgroup considered among the lowest even within the Dalit community. Arokkyam’s life, filled with daily indignities and relentless toil, offers a window into the lives of countless women whose stories rarely find a voice in mainstream discourse.

Arokkyam’s reflections – “Is there a single person in this town whose pollution I have not cleaned?” – deeply resonate with the reader as a reminder of how undervalued women like her are in society. Despite this, Arokkyam remains a figure of immense strength. Her determination to care for her family, even when the community she serves disrespects her, speaks to the resilience of women forced to navigate both gender and caste oppression.

Arokkyam’s experiences reflect the invisible labour of countless women who sustain the communities around them. Imayam elevates her voice, making her the central figure in a narrative that critiques the structures of caste, gender, and class. Through her story, Imayam gives agency and visibility to a woman who, in most societies, would remain on the margins. Her struggles are emblematic of the silent but profound resistance of women like her, whose very survival becomes an act of defiance against the systems that seek to oppress them.

Arokkyam’s daughter, Mary, represents the next generation of women in marginalized communities who must contend with the same, if not greater, layers of oppression. As a young woman, Mary endures constant bullying, sexual harassment, and the looming threat of violence, particularly from Chadayan, an elder from her village. Her mother’s struggles are passed down to her, and Mary’s story underscores the generational transmission of suffering that many women of her ilk face.

Through Mary’s narrative, Imayam examines the intersection of caste and gender in perpetuating cycles of exploitation. Mary’s fear and helplessness shed light on the constant vulnerability of women in such communities, yet like her mother, she embodies a quiet strength. Her ability to survive in a hostile environment speaks volumes about the resilience of women whose bodies and autonomy are constantly under siege.

Poongothai, the protagonist of the short story “Saavu Soru”, is another woman who asserts her agency, even when it might cost her everything. Her determination to search for her daughter, who has been disowned by the family after she eloped, encapsulates the fierce maternal instinct that transcends all fear. Fully aware that her husband and sons will kill her if they discover her actions, Poongothai remains resolute.

Nagamma, the central figure of Paniyaramma, mirrors Poongothai’s resolve in her own way. For years, she has silently harboured feelings for Kannan Chetty, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. When he finally asks to spend a day with her, Nagamma is fifty years old, and her patience has come full circle. Like Poongothai, Nagamma is prepared to face the consequences of her choices, even if death is the outcome.

Writing their own destinies

Both women, though vastly different in their circumstances, share a common thread – when they make decisions about their lives, they do so with the full knowledge of the risks involved. This fearlessness, even in the face of death, distinguishes them from women in traditional narratives who often succumb to societal pressures. In Imayam’s world, women like Poongothai and Nagamma are defined by their ability to write their own destinies, even when their autonomy comes at the ultimate cost.

Imayam’s exploration of female sexual autonomy is another key theme in his works. Shanta, a construction labourer, calmly rejects the advances of her powerful employer, Selvakumar, asserting her right to make choices about her own body. Her calm but firm stance in the face of Selvakumar’s advances is a powerful reminder of the quiet strength that many women must summon to protect themselves from exploitation.

Rani, the protagonist of Rani’s Love, offers a nuanced exploration of female desire. Unlike Shanta, Rani has a long history with Rajan, and her declaration of love for him is not met with the same calm acceptance. Rajan, though thrilled by the possibility of a future with Rani, becomes increasingly uncomfortable as her words challenge the traditional norms of male-female relationships. Rani’s ability to speak openly about her desires, even in the face of Rajan’s discomfort, marks her as another woman who defies societal expectations and asserts her sexual autonomy.

Imayam’s Sahitya Akademy-winning novel Sellatha Panam tells the story of a woman who faces violence at the hands of the man she loved and married. The couple have two children, but the woman sets herself on fire over a family dispute. The novel doesn’t just explore the incompatibility in their marriage but also portrays life in a burn ward in a hospital like Pondicherry’s JIPMER. It depicts how flesh falls from burnt bodies, the meticulous care of the staff, the outpouring of emotions, and the myriad stories behind such decisions. “Why is it that we rarely hear of a man setting himself on fire, even if he chooses to die by suicide? Why is it always a woman? Sometimes, I am stunned by the decisions women make. In this novel, Revathi, the protagonist, has no explanation for why she is in love with this man,” Imayam once told me in an interview.

The women in Imayam’s stories may not wield swords or lead revolutions, but they are revolutionary in their own way. They are women who, despite the overwhelming weight of societal oppression, find ways to assert their autonomy. Whether through Poongothai’s quest to save her daughter, Arokkyam’s quiet endurance, or Shanta’s calm refusal to be exploited, these women represent the countless real women whose stories are rarely told.

“I write the stories of those who live with me in my family, my neighbourhood, my street, my village. I write the stories they told me, the stories I see, the stories I have heard, the stories I live,” Imayam had said. His women are not characters crafted for the sake of plot; they are real women, whose voices may be silenced but whose strength and resilience cannot be erased.

Through his writing, Imayam offers a platform for these women to write their own stories. They are women who do not wait for others to define them; they seize moments of agency, however fleeting, and in doing so, they carve out spaces of dignity in a world determined to deny them. These are the women who write themselves – ordinary women made extraordinary by their will to survive and thrive.