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Mother Mary Comes to Me

Book by Arundhati Roy · 10 quotes · Feminism, Money, Booker

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Mother Mary Comes to Me Quotes

“The wind picked up and the sea got rougher. I considered giving him a good tight slap and making a run for it. There was nobody on the beach and he didn’t look capable of catching me. He continued with his exegesis based on what he thought was a profound understanding of my character. ‘The thing about women like you is that you will do anything to get what you want. You’ll even sell your body.”

“Every now and then Micky hit me with various money- making schemes. One of the more memorable ones: ‘I say, Orundhuti, I hear you are a famous actress now.’ ‘Not really . . .’ ‘People say you’re a beautiful girl, but I can’t see you. I have cataract in both my eyes and I need surgery. But I have no money.’ Like a fool, I fell for it and gave him the money. He drank himself into a stupor. Once he recovered, I made him an appoint-ment for the surgery and gave the money directly to the surgeon.”

“I knew that if I wrote what I wanted to write, it would be the end of our next flm with Channel 4. But I found it impossible to keep quiet. ‘The Great Indian Rape- Trick’, Parts I and II, were published in Sunday . The second essay ended with these words: Bandit Queen the flm seriously jeopardizes Phoolan Devi’s life. It passes judgments that ought to be passed in Courts of Law. Not in Cinema Halls. The threads that connect Truth to Half- Truths to Lies could very quickly tighten into a noose around Phoolan Devi’s neck. Or put a bullet through her head. Or a knife in her back. While We- the- Audience peep saucer- eyed out of our little lives. Not remotely aware of the fact that our superf-cial sympathy, our ignorance of the facts and our intellectual sloth could grease her way to the gallows. We makes me sick. With that, obviously, I made myself a whole lot of enemies. Phoolan Devi went to court to try to stop the film.”

“The ‘Rape- Trick’ essays did indeed mark the end of Pradip’s and my relationship with our commissioning editor at Channel 4. He reacted like a master whose servant had suddenly jumped up and bitten him. (Which, in a way, was true.) He denounced me publicly with a barrage of invective that made me laugh. He said I wrote like an ‘incontinent drunk trying to piss in a small pot ’. It didn’t strike him that it wasn’t a problem that women tend to have, even if they’re drunk. I had to submit the script he had commissioned me to write or return the advance I had been paid. I wrote it up as a comedy based on the Bandit Queen debate. I wish I still had a copy. One of the characters was an ex- nun who wore a polka- dot habit and ran a sewing centre for raped Christian women. She was the prototype for the character who would come to be called Baby Kochamma in The God of Small Things. I myself appeared in the script as a bitter, twisted feminist of the kind my ex- friend the commissioning editor had made me out to be. He was in it, too, as part of the Holy Feminist Trinity, who were all men. There was also a minor character who had reveries of a motorcyclist who did a circus act inside her spit- bubble.”

“In Kottayam there were deep undercurrents of local tension that they weren’t aware of. The Marxist government in Kerala was unhappy with the book for what it considered to be unacceptable criticism of the party and its legendary leader, E. M. S. Namboodiri -pad, who was the frst Communist chief minister of Kerala. I was an admirer, but not a devotee. The criticism in The God of Small Things had to do with the party’s attitude to caste. I was denounced as anti- communist (though nothing could be further from the truth) and for a while there was some talk of banning the book.”

“Given our remote location, logistics were a nightmare. We were ambushed with new problems almost every hour. We did not have the budget  –  the luxury hotel rooms or great catering or frequent of- days –  to lubricate the bone- on- bone clashes that erupted with sickening regularity. Eventually, civilization broke down in the jungle. The savage spirit of the script spilled of the pages and came to haunt us on the sets. The white crew turned into the truculent jungle- lodge guests, unhappy with the service they were receiving. We became the irreverent staf, doing what we had to, but mocking them behind their backs. Somehow, we held it together and fnished flming. This time, unlike in Annie , there was a diference between how Pradip visualized the flm and how I imagined it. His approach, with the actors as well as the staging, was gentle, realistic, poker- faced. He softened the savagery and the occasional vulgarity of the script. I thought it ought to be enhanced, lifted half an inch of the foor. I wanted it to have a slightly surreal, merciless, metallic quality.”