In 1868, in the Gokhale family of Jalalpur near Nasik was born a feisty little girl who was named Lakshmibai. At the age of 11, Lakshmibai was married off to 17-year-old Narayan Waman Tilak, and thus began a marriage that would prove to be life-changing. For her husband was not only to go on to be a renowned poet but would also change his religion, converting to Christianity (and becoming one of the most-respected Indian Christians of the early 20th century).
Lakshmibai would see life change from that of a privileged Brahmin woman living in a quiet rural community to that of an invariably poor, often ostracised Christian lost in the dizzying whirl of Mumbai.
All of this Lakshmibai documented in her memoirs, Smritichitre, which she began writing in 1924, and worked on for the next seven years. In 1935, just a year before Lakshmibai passed away, Smritichitre was first published, in the original Marathi. Several editions have been released since.
It is easy to see why this memoir should be so endearing, so inspirational, and so very readable. It brings alive not just the woman, but also the times she lived in, the man she was married to, and the people she interacted with. Lakshmibai does not bother herself with bringing us the larger picture, the socio-political scenario of a volatile time in Indian history; instead, from her own recollections of life during that turbulent time, she brings it even closer to us than most historical accounts can manage.
The customs and traditions, the caste system and its many dos and don’ts. Family ties, community, religion. Servants, livelihoods, the cost of living. Medicine and health. Education. Smritichitre reads rather like you would expect an especially keen-witted and intelligent grandmother—and one, too, who had lived a full and eventful life—to recall her past. Lakshmibai begins her story when she was about seven years old, and then (mostly in chronological order, though there is the very occasional skip to a later date) tells the story of her life and the lives of those around her.
Much of this is anecdotal, but a clear thread ties them together as Lakshmibai and her husband progress in life: their quarrels, his impetuosity (and hers), their mutual teasing, the deep and obvious affection between them.
Through the four parts into which Smritichitre is divided, Lakshmibai goes from being a somewhat protected village girl to a woman confident enough to address the Christian Literary Meet in 1934 at Nagpur. From a light-hearted and spirited girl, she experiences an outbreak of plague to living apart from her Hindu convert husband.
She sees her dear ones die; she becomes family to many with whom she shares no ties of blood. Her story is entertaining, enlightening, witty, and poignant. Through Lakshmibai’s eyes and her delightfully honest, often witty commentary, we see Narayan Waman Tilak: impulsive, deeply committed to the cause, and often beguilingly gullible (“We were in the habit of picking up and carrying on our hips people who could actually walk by themselves”). Lakshmibai laughs at her own mistakes and silliness, and takes pains and rejection in her stride. Most of all, she is immensely readable, and Shanta Gokhale’s translation of her memoirs is a fitting tribute.