After the hidden things are written

“My Story” means the story of Kamala Das. Kamala Das is the author of more than thirty novels and three collections of poems. She writes novels in Malayalam and poems in English, but most of her works have been translated into different languages. It is an autobiographical book – My Story. My Story means the story of Kamala Das. I felt surprised while reading it, especially because it not only expresses the experiences and thoughts of life but also reveals various aspects of her sexual life that are often hidden.
“My mother did not have the slightest love” – she opens up about her parents’ relationship – “Their relationship was uneven. But because of my mother’s cowardice, relatives and friends were having the illusion that everything was going well… ”
Kamala Das’ mother was herself a poetess, of her time. While Kamala Das, the daughter of a famous family, was telling her story, such stories were also mentioned that in a way, an earthquake did not occur in the inner city of ‘Hippocrates’. The author has not only written about her parents' relationship, but also about her friends who are homosexual - who are related to the author. She has not only written about what she has seen, the secret relationship of the master at school, the love of a girl in a boarding school for another girl, she has also written about a fifteen-year-old girl named Annie, who used to write love letters in her own name and show them to Kamala Das. One day, a boy came to sleep in her bed the night before, biting and wounding her, making up a false story. This is another story, she has also written about a man from Kamala Das's own family who pinched her sensitive parts of her body. Many men entered Kamala Das's life, but when it came to life, she did not find any. She had only one man as a husband, but she writes about her husband - "Only one thing keeps playing in my mind, to love someone. Alas! If someone had …’’

Kamaladas was married to a man who also had a homosexual relationship. In fact, Kamaladas is a ‘cool woman’, she writes – क्ष मश्म लयत पलयाध धजबत कभगब मिभकश्चजभलात, लयत जबखशलन भहाउभचश्वलाबम श्त भहाउभलाबम श्त भहावलाबम श्त भहाभ In this process, all the men who came are described in their relationship. Similarly, she writes in one place – “We had a neighbor. He was middle-aged but strong. I often went to his house with my husband. He used to feed us Umama. He also gave us everything to drink. We called him Uncle. Sometimes he would also teach me Sanskrit. But his accent would make me laugh a lot. Once I fell ill. I got sick with asthma. He came to our house. He massaged my leg, which was hurting. While massaging, he made me laugh by telling me the funny stories of his office colleagues. He never called me by my name. I don’t know why, but he used to call me Savitri. He was interested in religious scriptures. When my husband’s relatives started talking about his and my relationship, I suddenly felt disgusted with that middle-aged man. It should have been about those low-quality things.’’

Similarly, in another place, he writes – In the first summer after coming to Calcutta, an acquaintance came from Bombay. He invited me to the hotel where he was staying for breakfast. He was an educated man and was a sensible man. My weakness was that I found it unpleasant to talk about subjects other than literature. So it was fun to talk about literature with him. But suddenly, when I told him what had happened, he placed his hand on my thigh. I thought that he must have done this without realizing it. But he started kissing me and moving his hand lower and lower. I was shocked. What was going to happen? It is true that many men have loved me, but none of them had expressed their sexual desire in this way. I had always received such love – the kind a man gives to his sister. But the behavior of that man surprised me. Later, it became his habit – to play his palm on my thigh during conversation. He kept on stroking my long black hair. I gradually started to love him. One day he tried to hug me and kiss me. I did not resist. When he left me, I asked him, “Do you love me?”

I told my husband about this, and he warned me to stay away from such men.”

She wrote her autobiography while she was in the hospital bed. First, she wrote a weekly serial for a magazine, and later it was published as a book. This story was published as a book only later. She was becoming increasingly isolated from her relatives, that is, she had very few relatives, and as these autobiographical stories were serialized in magazines, they gradually decreased until by the time the last part of the story was published, there was not a single relative left.

When writing about “My Story,” the author mostly wrote about her sexual life. This does not mean that the autobiography contains only sexual matters. Her life story