Reading Between the Lines Drawn

The July–August issue of Biblio: A Review of Books includes Sharanya Minivannan’s mostly positive review of the anthology Drawing the Line: Indian Women Fight Back, published by Zubaan Books. I was fortunate to be among the first to see this anthology after its publication, and I have read several reviews of it. For the most part, this compilation of Indian women’s graphic stories has received positive feedback. Minivannan also sings many of its praises, but in her critique, I was struck by her failure to read between the lines of Drawing the Line. It’s natural to be hard on the author/artist for not digging deeper, but as readers/critics, perhaps we, too, need to delve a little deeper in our analyses.

My aim is not to pick apart the critique. As I stated, the review is overwhelmingly positive, and the issues that Minivannan highlights are valid points. In particular, as she and other critics note, not a single story in the anthology tackles caste. Perhaps the context of this particular gathering of artists (i.e., well-educated, middle class, English-speaking, city-dwelling women) indicates why this discussion does not take place. I have observed over the years that with the exception of some academics and activists, middle class Indians are not discussing caste. Moreover, as is always the case, those at the top of the social hierarchy and those living in environments where it seems on the surface that caste doesn’t exist have the privilege of pretending that it isn’t an issue. Drawing the Line provides evidence that this privilege exists. That isn’t to say that these artists don’t think about caste, but perhaps due to their socio-economic position, it wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when they were communicated the theme of the workshop that led to this publication. So, perhaps the problem is not that these 14 artists didn’t choose to tackle the issue of caste but that so few people who are privileged to be given a voice think of doing so.

The most striking critique to me—and I suppose to the author, as she highlights the issue several times in her review—is that the graphic stories uniformly depict middle class, urban, cisgender, heterosexual experiences. Again, due to the context of this gathering of artists, it should surprise no one that the works mostly portray the urban, middle class experience. In addition, if you choose a group of cisgender women to participate in a workshop, their stories will likely portray the lives of cisgender women. As in the case of caste, as cisgender people, they have the privilege of not having to think about what it means to live any other way. And in India, when one thinks of the transgender community, the mind likely goes to the hijra one encounters on the road; other trans representations are largely absent. For those of us who are cisgender, we must consciously start to think about the experiences of those who are not. And maybe the 14 artists in question are now doing so thanks to Minivannan’s observation.

As for the absence of queerness from the pages of this anthology, I shook my head and wondered where Minivannan is living. Indeed, this reaction is what prompted me to write this response to her critique. Homosexuality is an actual crime in India, and while queer voices are increasingly emerging in the English language media, homosexuality and bisexuality remain topics that many people avoid discussing. Of course, when you assemble a group of artists, chances are, at least one of them will not identify as heterosexual. It’s both a numbers game and a reflection of the fact that LGBTQ people have a long history of artistic expression. But when asked to contribute to a fairly mainstream publication, how many people would be comfortable outing themselves? Furthermore, is it really their duty to do so? On this point, I think one really does need to read between the lines of Drawing the Line. It is rather unfair to accuse these women of upholding the primacy of heteronormativity, since not all the stories reflect the heterosexual female experience—and I suspect there is a reason for that. When one does not live in an open society, one learns to be discreet. While I absolutely agree with Minivannan’s assertion that queerness is part of the Indian experience, perhaps she could have deduced meaning from the absence of male characters as partners or the grotesque depictions of the male body. True, in Drawing the Line, you will not find the cry, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it!” But even those who live openly as queer people would likely find it difficult to highlight this experience for the eyes of the world. Is this the shortcoming of the artist or the reality of the society in which she lives and the product of the circumstances in which this work evolved? After all, when asked to discuss women’s issues, wouldn’t most of us by default opt for something that we think most women would identify with? Consequently, I would argue that the conspicuous absence of a clear queer voice is an effect of living in a heteronormative world.

While I appreciate Sharanya Minivannan’s review of Drawing the Line, her perspective reflects the very disconnect she seems to identify in the pages of the anthology. I think we would all benefit from digging deeper and noting not only the shortcomings of others but thinking about the bigger picture of why those shortcomings might exist.