The title of the book A Patch of Sun, a Patch of Shade by Vidya Nesarikar immediately brought my mind to Mulk Raj Anand’s Two Leaves and a Bud published in 1937. Both stories are set in a plantation – the first for tea in Assam, and the second for coffee at Saklespur in the Coorg region of Karnataka. Both involve children of migrant workers, and they draw their titles from the plucking metaphor. Two leaves and a bud represent the finest standard for fine tea ,while a patch of sun and a patch of shade reflect the life cycle of coffee grown in the estate.
Many decades have passed between Mulk Raj Anand and Vidya Nesarikar. Some things have changed, but many have not. By the mid-1980s, the time period in which Nesarikar’s story is set, Europeans have sold their estates to prosperous Indians. The enactment – though indifferent implementation – of the Plantations Act of 1951 saw an improvement in the wages of workers. Unlike in colonial times, owners, managers and workers now spoke the same language, worshipped the same gods, ate the same delicacies, and their children played the same games.
But some things have not changed. The class divide is so stark and clear, the owner’s family – Kantha Gowda, Nanjamma, and Champa – live in the palatial Murari Champa, while the plantation workers are confined to the lines. At least socially, the twain shall never meet. One must add here that post liberalization, the ubiquitous mobile phone and the right to work and right to food legislations have changed power equations in the workers’ favour, but the possibilities of a fraternal friendship are still not typically within the realm of the real.
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Ownership of a coffee estate – however large and profitable – does not confer immunity from death, disease and despair. If anything, the lives of both mother and daughter of the estate are distraught. The mother has not recovered from the loss of her first-born son, and is embarrassed to have a daughter with vitiligo. Her daughter, who is one of the two protagonists in this 160-page novella, is equally if not more upset with her skin condition of white patches. She hates being mocked and often pitied by family and friends, especially cousins of the same age. While she cannot understand her mother’ grief, she craves for her mother’s affection and attention. She drops school for she can’t bear the taunts , and her playmates – especially the boys – often refuse to let her join the games.
Into her lonely world comes Lalli, the eleven-year-old daughter of migrant workers Dhanappa and Shivamma from the other end of Karnataka. Lalli too is homesick and forlorn, for there are no children in the labour lines – and both parents work from morn to night to pluck as much coffee as they can, for their earnings are linked to the pluckings. Lalli is left to fend for herself, but she learns about the gardens around her by climbing trees, eating fruit, and chatting with the other women who gather around the hand pump to draw water. When she finds Champa, she knows she has found a friend. Lalli teaches Champa new games, and Champa finds a companion in Lalli who doesn’t make fun of her skin condition. The girls come from vastly different worlds, but the estate provides them a setting in which they become very close. Lalli is admitted to the same school St Thomas Convent in Saklespur. On the very first day, Lalli throws a shoe at a boy who was bullying Champa, after which the two friends remain registered for the exams but are asked to study at home. Champa enjoys her reading and is proficient in languages and math. Lalli resents books but knows many things by observation — her understanding of soils and her knowledge of trees, fruits, animals, and culture show how invested she is in her immediate environment.
The class asymmetry between the two friends is implicit. But Vidya leaves it for her readers to uncover this deep divide. She talks about the places they live in and their individual families, but she focuses more on their friendship. Both girls discuss the difficulties and challenges with the setting of the menstrual cycle, and wish this would afflict the boys as well. As the coffee season runs its course, they learn things about themselves and about the world they are growing into. Their unlikely bond is tested as Champa’s skin condition begins improving. and it becomes unclear whether her impossible friendship with Lalli will survive the coffee season. Although Dhanappa and Shivamma believe that the girls’ friendship is akin to that of the legendary Krishna and Sudama – the king who relishes the grain brought by his poor friend – the realm of the real in these times has different moralities in hesitating to confront the privilege of their birth.
What is best about this book is its setting in interior Karnataka, and the narrative is interspersed with conversations and folksongs in the Kannada script (with translation) in the book. The games the girls play and the food they eat are all in Kannada, and it is rare to have a plantation story with teenage Indian girls as protagonists.
What are the takeaways? Young Adult (YA) books will have many a happy moment, but not necessarily a happy ending. The desh-kaal settings of space and time in Coorg can teach the English-Medium-Types many a thing about what hinterland Karnataka was like a few decades ago: when power supply was erratic and landlines worked sparingly. The stories from India’s ancient traditions continue to find resonance in the lives of people across classes and communities in the country. And last , but not the least, while this may be classified as a YA book, it is equally meaningful and pleasurable for adults. Congratulations to Vidya for sharing the world of Murari Champa and the labour lines with us, and letting us know that we still have a long way to go as a nation to usher in equity for those who are the bottom of the pyramid.
