Popati Hiranandani's (1924-2007) autobiograpy unfolds the experiences of her personal life trapped in the geo-political debris of pre- and post-Partition India. She traces the agony and ecstasy of her life, the critical junctures of becoming and unbecoming in the life of a Sindhi woman-the two phases of her pre-Partition and post-Partition life are fused by the inconsolabl
Popati Hiranandani's (1924-2007) autobiograpy unfolds the experiences of her personal life trapped in the geo-political debris of pre- and post-Partition India. She traces the agony and ecstasy of her life, the critical junctures of becoming and unbecoming in the life of a Sindhi woman-the two phases of her pre-Partition and post-Partition life are fused by the inconsolable and unmitigated trauma triggered by the loss of home. Through an exegesis of gender relations in colonial and postcolonial India and scrutiny of personal experiences and memories, Hiranandani offers her understanding of the real obstacles that come in women's ways of wielding autonomy over their lives. Hiranandani's short stories posit a fictional account of multifaceted existence of womanhood. Caught in the web of nostalgia, agony, pain of separation, and reunion-both imaginary and real-Hiranandani's protagonists attempt to veil their tears and recount the stories of the lives that remained untold and unheard for a long time. Translated, and with an Introduction, by Jyoti Panjwani, this work traces the migration of the Sindhi community in pre- and post-Partition India. The detailed analysis of the development of Sindhi literature is accompanied by Panjwani's re-contextualizing of Hiranandani's life and work in present-day India.
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Hardcover
,
179 pages
Published
January 1st 2011
by Oxford University Press, USA
Loving this book - reading the history of the place of my childhood - growing up in post partition Sindh I did not learn all of the history that was around me - I saw it and felt it but did not know it.. to read of the places that are so dear to me and to know of the before from someone who had lived in the same places cannot be described. I only wish that I had learnt to read Sindhi so that I could read the original texts..