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ppratz's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
informative
inspiring
tense
medium-paced
4.5
richa087's review
4.0
Baluta is one of the first Dalit autobiographies that follows the life journey of Dagdu (Daya) Pawar, who is a Mahar, from Dhamangaon to Mumbai. Pawar traces the realities of the obnoxious caste system which is deeply entrenched in the Indian society and describes the repercussions it has on the lives of the people forced to live on the fringes of society/community. He describes the 'tasks' that were allotted to his community, the punishment and penance they had to bear, the things they were 'not allowed' to do, the insults they had to endure, the way they learnt to endure those insults without speaking back, the rise of Ambedkar movement, the fault lines in Dalit movement, how politics took a centre stage and led to corruption of the movement, his own shortcomings, his own criticism and his love for reading, which probably saved him.
It is so strange listening to someone's terrible ordeals and not feel it hitting your bones. But maybe he intended it to be like that. Maybe he did not intend it to be documentation of oppressive structures of our society, maybe he did not want this book to be a testament against the evils of caste system. Maybe he just wanted to write about his life, his childhood, his reading, his family, his growing up in village and Taluka schools, his first job, his activism, his life in Mumbai and his heartbreaks. I read one of the other reviews which said the book did not affect the reader in a way it should have or one expected it to hit, maybe because we are so used to reading such atrocities on a daily basis that it will take an earth-shattering event to wake us up from our reverie and take notice. This is a heartbreaking and unsettling feeling for me.
I also noticed that DP does not explicitly condemn any other caste, any other religion, any other community (he does mention which caste was doing what) by targeting his statements at them. He just wonders to himself and in the process, leaves us with questions at what could have happened if things were different and what could not happen because of status quo. This book also feels like a dialogue which he was having with himself, asking himself those questions, coaxing him to confront his meekness and cowardness (in his own words) and also figuring out how he could have acted or behaved at a particular time.
The translation by Jerry Pinto is flawless. He has tried to capture the flavour of the original text with a sprinkling of Marathi words, phrases, idioms, songs and book names. He also has annotated the text wherever necessary to give us more information on the mentioned event/individual.
It is so strange listening to someone's terrible ordeals and not feel it hitting your bones. But maybe he intended it to be like that. Maybe he did not intend it to be documentation of oppressive structures of our society, maybe he did not want this book to be a testament against the evils of caste system. Maybe he just wanted to write about his life, his childhood, his reading, his family, his growing up in village and Taluka schools, his first job, his activism, his life in Mumbai and his heartbreaks. I read one of the other reviews which said the book did not affect the reader in a way it should have or one expected it to hit, maybe because we are so used to reading such atrocities on a daily basis that it will take an earth-shattering event to wake us up from our reverie and take notice. This is a heartbreaking and unsettling feeling for me.
I also noticed that DP does not explicitly condemn any other caste, any other religion, any other community (he does mention which caste was doing what) by targeting his statements at them. He just wonders to himself and in the process, leaves us with questions at what could have happened if things were different and what could not happen because of status quo. This book also feels like a dialogue which he was having with himself, asking himself those questions, coaxing him to confront his meekness and cowardness (in his own words) and also figuring out how he could have acted or behaved at a particular time.
The translation by Jerry Pinto is flawless. He has tried to capture the flavour of the original text with a sprinkling of Marathi words, phrases, idioms, songs and book names. He also has annotated the text wherever necessary to give us more information on the mentioned event/individual.
ameya88's review against another edition
4.0
My main issue with this book (in reality with myself) is that I did not really feel as strongly as this story demanded I should. Or to make myself the 'object' & deflect responsibility - I was not 'impacted' by the book as much as I needed to or should have when I rethink now about some of the horrific things I read.
Two reasons for this in all probability -
1) We have become numbed to reading about the sufferings of fellow human beings around us to the extent that we've already imagined the worst and it would take a lot more to shock me any more. The shock I felt later was not so much about the incidents he has described but more around how blasé he was about them.
2) Pawar's matter-of-fact style of exposition and it's translation kind of normalises this. I almost think I have been conditioned to need a raving Arnab equivalent, frothing at the mouth around the injustice of it all for it to make me feel bad about it.
Nevertheless, it is an eye-opener of a book - which kind of tells us where some of the other less members of our society actually started from and why having discussions on privilege and equality and affirmative action without living these lives is merely lip service. It is brutally honest - when the author talks about himself, his family, the community and how they fell short as well and I truly hope parts of it are mandatory reading in the school textbooks of the future at least.
I'm assuming this was not an easy book to translate given the tonality, and it is evidently jarring in some places but Jerry Pinto is a boon to Marathi literature for making it accessible to new generations and audiences, circumventing the barriers of language. And while there are many, I wish future editions have more footnotes - I had to rely on Wikipedia quite frequently - as we grow further from the era in which this book was written a lot of the characters, political movements, places and incidences will be unfamiliar to newer audiences like myself.
Two reasons for this in all probability -
1) We have become numbed to reading about the sufferings of fellow human beings around us to the extent that we've already imagined the worst and it would take a lot more to shock me any more. The shock I felt later was not so much about the incidents he has described but more around how blasé he was about them.
2) Pawar's matter-of-fact style of exposition and it's translation kind of normalises this. I almost think I have been conditioned to need a raving Arnab equivalent, frothing at the mouth around the injustice of it all for it to make me feel bad about it.
Nevertheless, it is an eye-opener of a book - which kind of tells us where some of the other less members of our society actually started from and why having discussions on privilege and equality and affirmative action without living these lives is merely lip service. It is brutally honest - when the author talks about himself, his family, the community and how they fell short as well and I truly hope parts of it are mandatory reading in the school textbooks of the future at least.
I'm assuming this was not an easy book to translate given the tonality, and it is evidently jarring in some places but Jerry Pinto is a boon to Marathi literature for making it accessible to new generations and audiences, circumventing the barriers of language. And while there are many, I wish future editions have more footnotes - I had to rely on Wikipedia quite frequently - as we grow further from the era in which this book was written a lot of the characters, political movements, places and incidences will be unfamiliar to newer audiences like myself.
joeesomething's review against another edition
dark
emotional
sad
tense
medium-paced
4.0
There was no timetable for the Mahar's work. It was slavery, for he was bound to whatever work had to be done for all twenty-four hours of the day. This was called bigar labour...We were supposed to run in front of the horse of any important person who came into the village, tend his animals, feed and water them and give them medicines. We made the proclamations announcing funerals from village to village. We dragged away the carcasses of dead animals. We chopped firewood. We played music day and night at festivals and welcomed new bridegrooms at the village borders on their wedding days. For all this, what did we get? Baluta, our share of the village harvest. As a child, I would always go with my mother to claim our share.. Each Mahar would carry a coarse blanket. The farmers grumbled as they handed over the grain: "Low-born scum... always first in line to get your share. Do you think this is your father's grain?"
I actually liked the book a lot and gasped at many instances reading the atrocities faced by the Mahars. However, there was some element missing, maybe it's the distracted writing style, maybe it's understanding Daya Pawar or Dagdu as a person. The book is more about his personal life at times than the larger issue, which is okay but then not expected.
What I saw of this Maharki as a child has left its scars. This history will not be erased. Perhaps it will only go when I die. This stain of helplessness on my face? It dates back to that time. However much I scour my face, even to the point of bleeding, it will not be wiped away.
I will still recommend this as a good Dalit non fiction recommendation.
I actually liked the book a lot and gasped at many instances reading the atrocities faced by the Mahars. However, there was some element missing, maybe it's the distracted writing style, maybe it's understanding Daya Pawar or Dagdu as a person. The book is more about his personal life at times than the larger issue, which is okay but then not expected.
What I saw of this Maharki as a child has left its scars. This history will not be erased. Perhaps it will only go when I die. This stain of helplessness on my face? It dates back to that time. However much I scour my face, even to the point of bleeding, it will not be wiped away.
I will still recommend this as a good Dalit non fiction recommendation.
gaaaandaaaalf's review
challenging
informative
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
4.0
This is a translation of the original work from Marathi, and it's a really good translation.
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