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    Panty
    Panty
    Panty
    Ebook95 pages54 minutes

    Panty

    By Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay

    2.5/5

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    About this ebook

    A woman arrives alone in Kolkata, taking refuge in a deserted apartment while she waits to undergo an unspecified surgery. In this disorienting city, everything seems new and strange: the pavement-dwellers outside her block, the collective displays of religiosity, the power cuts and alarming acts of arson. Her sense of identity already shaken, when she finds a stained pair of leopard print panties in the otherwise-empty wardrobe she begins to fantasise about their former owner, whose imagined life comes to blur with and overlap her own.

    Pairing manic energy with dark eroticism, Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay's writing has a surreal, feverish quality, slipping between fluid subjects with great stylistic daring. Credited with being 'the woman who reintroduced hardcore sexuality into Bengali literature', Bandyopadhyay is neither superficial nor sensationalistic, equally concerned with debates on religion and nationhood as with gender and sexuality.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTilted Axis Press
    Release dateJun 6, 2016
    ISBN9781911284017
    Panty
    Author

    Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay

    Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay is the author of Panty, Abandon and The Yogini. She has written nine novels and over fifty short stories since her controversial debut Shankini was first published in Bengali in 2006. Also a newspaper columnist and film critic, Sangeeta is based in Kolkata.

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    2.5/5

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    • 2/5
      A collection of stream-of-consciousness vignettes (though whose consciousness we are observing is not always clear), the story behind 'Panty' often struggles to emerge, which is a shame as there were parts of this tale that I found rather absorbing. The rest - and especially the wooden dialogue - did not work for me.

    Book preview

    Panty - Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay

    Panty, by Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay. Translated by Arunava Sinha.

    Panty

    Title Page: Panty, by Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay. Translated by Arunava Sinha. Published by Tilted Axis Press in 2016.Translation of Bengali word, 'mōn'. In the ontology that English-reading people have acquired through their books, the heart and the mind are binary – neither word can be used to refer to the other. In indian languages, however, this word (mōn in Bangla, man in Hindi) represents neither the heart nor the mind exclusively. It takes a position, contextually to the rest of the text, on a continuum between the heart and the mind, between emotion and reason, between feeling and knowing. Arunava Sinha.

    ‘Ask me no more.’

    ‘But I wanted to know whose lips those were in the darkness.’

    ‘Those lips in the darkness belonged to the kiss.’

    ‘But he didn’t kiss me.’

    ‘He didn’t?’

    ‘No, he raced away towards deserted Park Street.’

    ‘But I tasted blood on my tongue.’

    ‘Not blood, it was my favourite rum-ball.’

    ‘Not my favourite taste – I always loved the first drops of water drawn from a freshly dug well.’

    ‘But that water was drawn on a January night, when I was deep in sleep, dreaming. The dream ended after fourteen years.’

    ‘Where did that dream of mine end?’

    ‘Beside an earthen pot, on the pavement in front of a teashop. The pot lay there among the broken sherds of many others, lonely. In that spot so dense with rhododendrons it was almost a wood. Although each of the trees had a car parked beneath it.’

    ‘It was raining when the dream ended. So the dream turned into mud. Melting, it flowed to the earthen pot. There was a slatted drain cover close by. A feeble stream of rainwater washed the dream down the drain.’

    ‘That stream came from the city. It contained thousands of newspaper clippings, innumerable stories and novels, a multitude of plays and travelogues. And each of the travelogues ended up in the drain. Who knows whether that isn’t where the journey actually begins.’

    ‘I was about to pass by, ignoring this stream. But, at that precise moment, a woman about my age leapt from the roof of a building. She writhed briefly after the impact, then died. A man came running down the stairs. Screaming, What have you done, what have you done, didn’t you even think of the child? the man flung himself on the woman.’

    ‘At once I made the death my own. This is my death, I said. I seemed to have rid myself of a weight I had borne some seven or eight months, and the foot I set down on the pavement felt completely new.’

    29

    I entered the apartment at eleven at night, unlocking three padlocks in succession. The flat took up the entire first floor of a tall apartment building. I paused for a few moments after entering, trying to make out my surroundings in the light coming in from the passage outside. I found the switchboard near my left hand. Stepping forward, I turned on all the switches. One after the other. And not a single light came on. But I could tell that a fan had started whirring overhead. Once my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I found myself standing at one end of a hall. The main road below me had begun to quieten down. The light from the street lamps filtered into the dark hall through large windows, creating an unfocused chiaroscuro that came to my aid. Advancing in this hazy glow, I realised that there were doors running down both sides of the hall. On a whim I turned towards an open door on the left.

    The room I entered was a large bedroom, with an ensuite. This time, too, I succeeded in locating the switchboard. I swiftly flicked all the switches on. Still not a single light came on. But this time, too, the ceiling fan began to rotate. I tried to understand the layout of the room. It wasn’t empty like the hall; rather, it was crowded with furniture. I found myself standing before a mirror stretching across the wall. The reflection didn’t seem to be mine, exactly, but of another, shadowy figure. I touched my hair. Eerily, the reflection did not. I paid no attention. Setting my bag down on the floor, I returned to the hall.

    Closing the main door, fumbling at the switch­board until I succeeded in turning the fan off, I went back to the bedroom. I was very tired. The train had arrived seven hours later than scheduled. I’d had to scramble for a taxi to get to the flat and collect the key. He’d been waiting for me here since the afternoon. On calling the station and learning that the train was running late, he’d gone back home for a while, then returned to the flat later in the day. Handing me the key, he expressed his regret that all the restaurants in his club were closed at this late hour; otherwise, he would have taken me to dinner. Thanking him, I told him that I had bought myself a slice of cake at the station. He seemed relieved to hear this, and dropped me off at the gate of the high-rise.

    Even in the darkness, I could sense another door on the opposite side of the hall. I went forward and opened it. A cold, moist wind instantly swept into the room. The taxi driver had told me it had drizzled all day.

    I stepped out onto the balcony. There were several tall buildings in front of me. Fourteen storeys, sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one – going up would be no problem, but if the building caught fire you’d be trapped, unable to climb down. I hurriedly retreated into the room. All I needed was a shower. Fumbling for the towel in my bag, I pulled it out and went into the bathroom. My eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness. I undressed in the light from the street lamps and turned the shower on. A phone began to ring somewhere close by. It kept ringing, no one answered.

    Wringing my hair dry, I returned to the room wrapped in the towel and lay down on the bed, feeling the fresh, soft bedclothes against my body. I was cold but I didn’t have the strength even to switch the fan off or shut the balcony door. I remained in bed. I remained awake.

    Awake, I saw dawn break. I saw colours. The bedclothes were a light blue. The pillow was a light blue. Three of the walls were off-white, while the fourth was a somewhat incongruous brown. As the darkness lifted, the wardrobe, the couch, the mirror – all became visible one by one. An ancient, radiant sunlight fell on my bed now. Which meant there was no rain any more. The towel had come loose long ago. As I lay there, the sun rose on my nakedness. By the time I got out of bed, the day was well advanced. I checked out the kitchen. There were plenty of pots

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