Jolah God of Small Things

All That I am:

Elvis Has Entered the Building

Esthapappychachen Kuttappen Peter Mon is my name

AKA

Estha-the-Practical,  Esthappen-Unknown, Estha-the-Accurate

Estha-Half-Dizygotic,

Estha-the-illegitimate,

Estha-the-Compassionate ,

Estha-the-innocent,

Estha-the-boat-captain, Estha-the-ambassador-of-India,

Esther-the-rule-follower,

Esther-the-rule-follower,

Estha-the-rule-breaker,

Any-Estha-thing-can-happen,

Estha-Elvis, Estha-never-alone, Estha-the-loquacious

Name not one man...with so many names

Name now one man

Do you know who I am?

Is it I… It is I

Anyway you want me

Doubletrouble is my game

Now I draw an award I won

Top spot

Excuse my Prer NUN sea ayshun it's not purfect

I live in Ayemenem… Welcome to my world

Evil, Asia, is alive

I have an Ammu… beautiful eyes like black jewels

Not a horror for any boss

Maybe a boy does need his baba

I have a sister

We and us

He and she

Me and her

Definitely a twin expert

Separate, but with joint identities

I love to larf…

I never barf

Small gods laugh a hollow larf…

And skip away cheerfully

I love to write… etirw ot evol I

Backwards, forward, sideways, wardsfor, wardsback, and waysides

No Edges, Borders, Boundaries, Brinks, or Limits

In words, drown I

My favorite pals are dromes, Al Lusion, and Semor dnilap

I am a small thing but I have such a big booming voice…

I don’t sweat the big things.

I want to be an actor.

I will not go unnoticed

Let me wrap a sheet around me…

Draw o Caesar Erase a Coward

Eh tu brute,

Then fall, Caesar

Eh tu Kocha Marie then...

Ha, ha, eh tu is not a swear word

I love to read, dear ot evol I

I love to read books about the jungle

And a tempest,

But only the bridged version

I like to stir the jam when I think… one thought, two thoughts, many thoughts

I love to sing I love to talk... Maybe too much

I am a good boy and do what my elders tell me… jollywellbehaved

Formal greetings, Bow and Kurtzy

Follow the rules… safety first

Excuse me, please, and thank you

I’ll gets lots of treats if I listen and obey

I will never be a mail-show-vine-ist-pig

Looking good in my beige and pointy shoes

And my elvis puff

Some People like to rock

Some People like to roll

But Moonin’ an’ a groonin’ goona satisfy mah soul, less have a pardy.

No worries in the world

Two thoughts

Nothing bad can happen to anyone including me

I don’t have to be prepared…

Things will never change… sound advice for today, tomorrow and forever

Gatsby turned out alright

Go with the flow

Small things need to be said

Leave the big things unsaid

Except I love kuchu thumba…

Velia Thomba even bigger. He’s a big thing.

As much ivory as all the others put together

Kucha Thomba’s name wrang in the air

Was whispered

Was sighed

No horror in sight

I am tired.  It’s ten-to-two It's time to take my afternoon gnap

Life is full of beginnings and no ends, and everything is forever

Things will never change

Little Skyblue Plymouth

Little Skyblue Plymouth

Baby you're much too fast

With tailfins and a chrome bumpered shark smile

A Paradise Pickles car smile

Little Skyblue Plymouth

Race fast safe car

You need a love that is going to last

A princely car

No room to rhumba in a sports car

I wish Baby Kochamma wouldn’t sit between me and Rahel

No more spit bubbles

She’s a party pooper

I didn’t mean to call Rahel a “Refuge stick insect”

But she called me Elvis the Pelvis and did a twisty funny kind of dance

Very upset

Ex-nun begrudging us

Comfort fun and happiness

Satan in her eyes

I’m not Satan

Seye ym ni natas

Dammit I’m mad

In the future, I will read backwards if I want

For the Courtesy of Others, Please Refrain from Singing During the Movie

It is cold in here

The theater Abhilash Talkies

Amen icy cinema

Shhhh! Shhhh! Get out of here. Shut up! Shut up!

But I love to sing

Sing you children… there ain’t nothing like a song

How do you keep a wave in the sand?

Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?

Exit… prime circle lobby

Coming soon posters litter the walls

What’s coming soon?

The refreshment center

Orange to Orange

Lemon to Lemon… almost gone

No Lemon, No Melon

Satin behind the counter… He’s the boss

He wiped the counter with his dirt covered rag

Time stopped
My stomach heaved

The horror, the horror

No more pocketmunny

No more innocence

Back to the sound of music

Clean white children like a pocket of peppermints

The orangedrink lemondrink man could enter any second through the gauze door

Catch a bus and be here

Ammu might offer him a cup of tea or pineapple squash with ice

The horror, the horror

Two new thoughts:

Anything can happen to anyone. It is best to be prepared.

Row, row, row your boat, History is in front of me

We dragged the vallum from the bushes

We put it in the water

Sophie Mol got in

Purloined bread, cakes, and biscuits in her bag

Ammu’s words rang in my head

If it weren’t for you, I would be free.

I should have dumped you in an orphanage the day you were born.

Millstones, Millstones, Millstones

If only she would beg us to come back

Adult remorse drawn onward by Velutha’s oars

Broke the rules and rode.

Really deep… the river could be really dangerous

The river flowed into the heart of darkness

History in sight… a home away from home… looming in the darkness

Translucent lizards, whispers, and the smell of old roses

History reveals itself… heartbreak hotel

A log in the river… calamity

The cargo spilled… and the river accepted its offering

History dog paddling in the darkness

Current events against us

Fishermen fish for fish… one caught Sophie Mol

Sophie Mol where have you gone?

Sophie Mol has became a memory.

One small life…a brief sunbeam... no big thing

Laid out on a chaise longue… shattered like glass

No zebra crossing… no free funeral

Not death… the end of living

Two egg twins: Hansel and Gretel

a dream redreamed

What is going to happen?

Go directly to jail... do not pass go… do not collect two hundred rupees

Jailhouse rock… my hands are shaking and my hands are weak

I am all shook up

Doom mood

Red Rum

Crimes and Punishment: Red Rum

Rum Rum I Murmur

Red Rum

ed rum

d rum

Rum

um

m

Mu

Mur

Mur D

Mur De

Mur De
MURDER
Red Rum sir is Murder
The real story set the record straight
Circular reasoning… shining on

Headline news:

Death encounter

The official version

Paravan charged with Red Rum

The unofficial version

The made up version

Desperado caught in Police Dragnet

Politeness

Obedience

Loyalty

Intelligence

Courtesy

Efficiency

CSI Anamyen… law and disorder

Police are the cartoonplatoon

Noo trace not one cartoon

I sat blue lipped
And dinner plate eyed 
I watched mesmerized by something I that I sensed but didn’t understand
The absence of Caprice and what the policemen did
Cracking an egg to make an omelet
My fear, civiliazion’s fear
I was too young to know
POWERLESS
Save Ammu 
I have been tricked
I hadn't given more than a second of thought 
Before I looked up and said with Rahel
Not together but almost
Save Ammu  

Save us

Save our mother

Something in him smiled

He focused on me… a muddy boy

Dumb mud

Drenched in Coca cola… a dirty dirty feeling

Where did you get it?

Were you playing?

Did you push her in?

The fish have eaten out hers eyes.

Children will do what they are told

The inspector asked the questions,

A clueless Clouseau

Did he do it?

My mouth said yes

Fool fool fool… put the blame on me

Childhood tiptoed out

Silence slid in like a bolt

Someone switched off the light

And Velutha disappeared

It was not my fault… T-R-O-U-B-L-E

Powerless… innocent

Proper punishments… the stuff dreams are made of

Punishments that fit the crime

Not a sinner, sinned against

Only a child… no control

A victim… not a purpletrator

Eh tu Brute

Return to sender: Elvis has Left the Building

I gave a letter to the postman

He put it in his sack

No such person

No such zone

Return to sender: Address unknown

Oh Calcutta, I thought your run will never end

Dammit I’m mad

That’s all I have to say

Live not on evil

No devil lived on

Maybe a boy doesn’t need his Baba

Friends, Romans, countrymen… and Estha

Lend me your tongues

I won’t need mine anymore

The evil that children do lives after them

The good is often interred with their bones

One twin, not both

Siamese twins at birth, separated now

Silence hung in the air like a secret loss

I long for the sound of music

Disillusioned I was wrong

Things can change in a day… or two weeks

A red, tender-mango-shaped secret

Was pickled, sealed, and put away
An uneasy octopus that lived inside me squirted its inky tranquilizer on me
I felt the quietness arrive… It spread and filled my brain like a saturated sponge
Engulfing me in its swampy arms
Suckered stealthy tentacles inching along my skull

Hovering the knolls and dells of my memory

Dislodging old sentences… whisking them off of the top of my tongue

The train pulled out singing and screaming

What now? What next? Where to?

Liar on a rail

It became quiet in my head as the silence was never noisy

I began to blend into the background

Occupying little space in the world

An Estha-shaped hole in the universe

Silence hung in the air like a secret loss

All the small things had been said,

And the BIG things lurked silently inside unsaid...

Ten-to-two, time for another gnap

Estha’s voice has left the building.

A Poetic Voice is Found in Estha’s Silence

For my creative English project, I decided to write a poem whose main theme concerns the loss of innocence in Arundhati Roy’s God of Small Things.  I thoroughly enjoyed writing a found poem for the Heart of Darkness project and decided to create a more extensive work based on the character of Estha in Arundhati Roy’s God of Small Things.  My work, inspired by Arundhati Roy’s unique writing style, Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, and Elvis Presley, is not what would be considered a “pure” found poem because true found poetry takes existing text and refashions and reorders it into a poem.  I believe my work should be considered a pseudo-found poem because I incorporated my own descriptive words and phrases to augment Roy’s prose and added in intertextuality referencing other literary works and popular culture.  Focusing on the two elements of the novel I found to be the most engaging, Roy’s writing style and the theme of loss of innocence, I believe I crafted a poem that stands on its own as a self-contained piece of literature.

God of Small Things was a difficult novel to read, and Roy even states it was a challenging novel to write.  It is difficult to read because its narrative structure intertwines aspects of the past and present and jumps between the two.  The novel begins at the end and ends in the middle, and it does not have a straight linear narrative.  Also, the reader is exposed to many story lines and varying perspectives.  Roy definitely has an eccentric and unique writing style.  I found her use of varied literary devices to be effective in engaging the reader as was her ability to mix factual elements with fictional ones.  Roy uses repetition, flashbacks, flashforwards, imagery, metaphors, varied sentence structures, lists, and other literary devices that I probably do not even recognize.  Finally, the use of nonstandard spelling, grammar, capitalization, and punctuation, along with writing words backwards, splitting words apart, and combining words together, is something that I have never encountered in a novel.

I chose to focus on one character, Estha, during his traumatic two-week period in 1969 and incorporate a linear narrative in contrast to Roy’s nonlinear narrative.  My poem is told from Estha’s perspective and in his voice. The original meaning of Roy’s prose remains intact, and the theme of loss of innocence is placed front and center in the spotlight.  I created a more precise text that flows forward from noise to silence.  The result of my efforts is a poem that provides voice to an otherwise voiceless character.

I chose to direct my attention to the theme of loss of innocence because to me it is one of the most impactful aspects of God of Small Things.  The universal theme concerning loss of innocence can affect people of all cultures, religions, and classes.  Estha tragically evolves from being a naive, talkative, joyful seven-year-old child to a world-weary, silent one in the course of a two week period.  During this short time, he is molested, is complicit in Sophie Mol’s death, betrays Velutha, is sent to live with his estranged father, and is ultimately separated from his previously inseparable twin.  My allusions to Elvis emphasize the loss of innocence because Elvis, at the height of his popularity, was accused of corrupting youthful innocence with his “satanic” songs and dance.  Estha physically tries to run away which leads to more trauma.  The only solution he finds to relieve his pain is to revert into a world of silence.  Estha’s talkative optimism turns into a silent, jaded view of life where children better be prepared because “anything can happen to anyone.”  His painful experiences have a lifelong effect on him turning him into the poster child for PTSD.  

To create my poem, I took some excerpts of GOST, deleted parts, changed some words, altered punctuation, used lines from other works, and added allusions to modern society.  Examples include: Prince’s Little Red Corvette, The Shing, The Pink Panther, Monopoly, and several Elvis Presley songs. During the two-week period, I highlighted six key moments in his dissent into silence and made each one a stanza.  I decided to focus on the literary devices of  palindromes, and semordnilaps (which I italicized) as I believe they add originality to my work.  I am especially proud of expanding upon Roy’s use of lists, intertextuality, allusions, and use of nonstandard grammar and spelling.

I believe I composed a unique creative poem that holds true to Roy’s original text and style and, as an added bonus, I also became an Elvis expert along the way.  My work should be judged as a freestanding piece of literature in the nontraditional style of Arundhati Roy, and, following suit, my grammar, punctuation, and spelling should be judged in her nontraditional style as well.


Close Reading Passage:
“It had been quiet in Estha’s head until Rahel came. But with her she had brought the sound of passing trains, and the light and shade and light and shade that falls on you if you have a window seat. The world, locked out for years, suddenly flooded in, and now Estha couldn’t hear himself for the noise. Trains. Traffic. Music. The stock market. A dam had burst and savage waters swept everything up in a swirling. Comets, violins, parades, loneliness, clouds, beards, bigots, lists, flags, earthquakes, despair were all swept up in a scrambled swirling.” (16)

When Rahel and Estha finally reunite since the time they were kids, the narrator describes swirling of feelings inside Estha.  The narrator equates Estha and Rahel’s reunion to a busy train station.  The sound of passing trains is loud and unsettling, while the light hitting the window seat is serene and enjoyable.  The “bursting dam” is Estha’s stubborn heart, and the “savage waters” are the absent emotions that he was preventing from entering.  “Comets, violins, and parades” are metaphors for pleasant emotions like happiness or excitement, while “clouds, bigots, and earthquakes” are metaphors for melancholy emotions like loneliness or despair.  The contrast between these happy and somber feelings creates a juxtaposition or a “scrambled swirling” in his heart. He is drowning in emotions.

Ammu's Letter: GOST Creative Project and Reflection

There’s a hole in the universe waiting for you

Men there are many, but lovers there are few

My God of small things, you understand

We are prisoners of war the love laws have banned

The river by the factory tarred and dried

There’s only garbage now where Sophie Mol died

The time in Ayenemen is always ten til two

I had two egg twins but you took half with you

Littleangel littledemon

You loved them like a madman

The river by the factory tarred and dried

There’s only garbage now where Sophie Mol died

Polishing firewood like its a brass vase

Moths in tea evaporate

Someday Rahel is going to wear my wedding ring

There’s nothing left to do

I’ve got nothing left to bring

Just the smell of old roses on a breeze

The river by the factory tarred and dried

There’s only garbage now where Sophie Mol died

Finding Meaning in Motifs: GOST Creative Project Reflection

When I set out to write a song based around The God of Small Things, by Arundhati Roy, I found myself without a clear first step. Without a formula providing a definite process on the project rubric, initially, I felt lost. Roy’s prose felt too complex to dissect, so intricate that I felt I could never find a point of entry into the structure and literary devices behind it. Every sentence felt vital, the wealth of writing seemingly impossible to sift through and find an aspect to focus in on.

I skimmed back through the book, searching for ideas within my underlines and margin notes. As I looked, I found that certain phrases and images surfaced regularly, creating links between scenes. I created a list of these motifs as I discovered them - Pappachi’s moth, two egg twins, a Hole in the Universe, Rahel’s toy wristwatch. In an attempt to make sense of this list, I organized the pieces of imagery according to the characters they were associated with. However, I found it difficult to assign any motif to just one character. As I looked back in the novel, I found that the moth was just as often associated with Rahel as Pappachi, the two egg twins mentioned often in conjunction with Ammu rather than just Estha and Rahel, and the Hole in the Universe linked to almost every character at some point.

I decided to do a freewrite exercise to take a step back and search for another perspective on the motifs I had found. When I looked back at my writing, a few central topics presented themselves - cycles of nature, family, hereditary traits, injuries and death. I reached another stopping point here, however, as I once again attempted to organize the imagery into lists, this time based around the topics I had identified in my writing exercise. Using these lists, I surgically separated the phrases into neat verses but still didn’t feel any inspiration for writing music to go with the lyrics.

After several unsatisfying song drafts, I then realized that, when the images are scientifically separated into categories, they lose the meaning that they bring together. Consequently, I realized that one of the most vital and effective aspects of the way Roy addresses these topics lies in the novel’s jumbled and intricate structure. In The God of Small Things, stringent social norms are inherently connected to family dysfunction, which in turn spreads throughout generations. Mirroring the structure of the book, in the lives of the Ipe family, complex order creates chaos.

After I stopped attempting to systematically separate the repeating images, the song came together quickly. I framed it as a letter from Ammu to Velutha, sometime in the days after Sophie Mol’s death, using the images I had collected to show how the topics of social norms, familial dysfunction and trauma in the novel interweave in one microcosmic moment of the book. Because of the open-ended nature of this project, I was free to find my own path to connect to the text, a process that, although frustrating at times, allowed me to gain a greater understanding of the novel from a perspective I may have not otherwise discovered.

TStimmler 19- Velutha

Taylor Stimmler

Mrs. Hume

English II- G Period

12 April 2017

Velutha

“Hey, Ammu I made you a gift.” I hid the little wooden car behind my back. This wasn’t the first time I made Ammu something. I hope she likes it as much as I like her.

“What is it Velutha?” Ammu said her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Here” I handed over the car I made the previous night to Ammu.

‘O Velutha it is amazing, thank you!” Her hand meets mine to take the car. She grasps it for a second. Her palm like a warm, smooth rock untouched by anyone. She looked at me, not as an untouchable, but as an equal. My heart swooned with a new longing for someone I wish I could have for the rest of my life.

“Ammu, I-

I regain consciousness.

I thought for a moment I was a child again, transported to the world that maybe everything was ok. Then I look around and know nothing is ok. I am laying in a pool of my own blood, and I just had a dream after being knocked out.  

Even though I am coming in and out of conscious, I have never had such a clear head. I am nothing more than Vellya Paapen’s son. Why did Ammu like me? An Untouchable. Look where I am at right now. I thought I could become someone after becoming a carpenter. I had a good life working in the factory, seeing Ammu almost every day in the distance. My skilled hands gave me opportunities. It didn’t bother me that my co-workers didn’t want to work with me. I was just happy to be given the opportunity to work where most Untouchables haven’t worked. I will never be able to work at Paradise Pickles and Preserves again. The Touchable Boots have destroyed that with every blow to my body, my once skilled hands broke under the heavy and destructive blow of the Touchables. More importantly, with every blow, they have somehow taken my social standing to something below an Untouchable, if there is even a class below who I already was.

I have to be strong. Ammu and I can figure a way out of this situation. I just need to stay awake. I need to have hope. Our love can get us through anything. All I can think about is those thirteen nights. Her lips, so smooth and assertive. Our little pleasures. Lord Rubbish, the little spider who might outlive me. Those ants crawling around us. Most beloved, the escape from daily life and all focus and attention on Ammu. I wish I could have at least one more night with Ammu. I wish there were a way to have a happy ending.

I wish I could say goodbye to the few I loved. Rahel and Estha, the children I never had but cared for more than anything. I hope they are strong and resilient. Together they can do great things. We all should've run away together. Escaped to a utopia just us four. Ammu and I could have started a new life together.

Why am I in this position? Who knew about Ammu and me? Who broke this once in a lifetime love just because an Untouchable was with someone of a higher class?

I feel my clearness fading. I am dying, The reality has set in. I am not going to get out of this. I am good as dead. In a few minutes I think I will actually be dead. If only I realized my love for Ammu earlier. I guess I always had a small feeling, but now my love for her is like a large and mighty river that makes my heart beat. I love you Ammu. The Touchable Boot lifts up his foot and I know my impending doom.

“Naaley.”

Reflection

Velutha’s murder is the most important event that shook up the lives of all the characters in God of Small Things. For the creative project, I wanted to go more into depth about what was going through his head throughout the book, especially during his beating and eventual death.  In the book, we hear from several characters’ point of views, but we do not ever hear of what is going on in Velutha’s head. Through this project, I have gone back and read passages that involve Velutha and/or talk about him. I went back and forth when I was trying to decide what format I would do this project in. I finally decided that to best talk or share about my new understanding of Velutha was to write. My favorite project up to a point was the Illustrated Historical Fiction Story, so I based my format on that. This time I had less information about what was going on in the character’s head during the scene, so I had a lot more creative freedom. I formatted my story, so it started with a memory to introduce Velutha’s memory with Ammu. I tried to write it, so it was a dream scenario that he wakes up from to realize his situation. He then goes on to talk about Ammu and his thirteen nights together and his love for Estha and Rahel. I wanted to write the story, not as a man’s feelings as he is being beaten but rather his perspective on his love story ending and his life ending too. Velutha to me sounds like a man who would not be consumed in thoughts of pain but rather the reflection on his life.

The God of Small Things Creative Project also gave me a better understanding of the story as a whole. Velutha’s murder was the pivot point of the story. Rahel, Estha, and Ammu are separated due to the events leading up to Velutha’s death. If Velutha and Ammu were never discovered or reported, none of their family relationships would be strained, and they would most likely stay together as a family. Through the examination of Velutha as a character I found that at the beginning of the story, Roy wrote it, so Velutha did not seem like a pivotal character or someone to actually pay attention to. I overlooked some critical details the first time I read some of Velutha’s scenes because I did not think this Untouchable character was going to play a significant role. Through reexamination, I found the original memory that I wrote about, Velutha and Ammu’s relationship as children. I completely overlooked this crucial part of their relationship that I found when I took the time to really understand some of the characters in God of Small Things.

Reflecting on my performance on this project, I am quite proud of the time and effort spent on it. I originally was going to incorporate art and the characters Estha and Rahel in my project, but I discovered I understood these characters pretty well and wanted to focus on a character I don’t know well. This has been one of my easiest projects because I did not procrastinate and split up the work over a series of three weeks. For the future projects, I am going to try to focus on characters I don’t understand as well and ease into the unknown. I am very pleased how my project worked out and am so happy to have a better understanding of Velutha, the god of small things.