Mannu Bhandari was an extraordinary woman. She stood tall in the generation of writers that came of age after Independence.
A fine short story writer and novelist, she challenged the male-dominated world of her time with courage and conviction; and one can see glimmers of the woman she would become right from her growing-up years in Ajmer.
As a college student during the tumultuous time just before 1947, Bhandari was totally caught up in the patriotic whirl of prabhat pheris, hartaals, protests and processions. She clashed with her father, who couldn’t stomach the idea of his daughter marching with boys in the streets, raising slogans and giving rousing speeches.
But when, as Bhanadari said, the fire for azaadi burned bright and there was lava, not blood, coursing through her veins, who could stop her?
She displayed similar grit when she went ahead and married fellow Hindi writer Rajendra Yadav despite her father’s opposition. She met Yadav in Calcutta, where she had gone to study further, and where, after her MA, she got a job teaching Hindi in a school, Ballygunge Shiksha Sadan. Her friendship with Yadav owed much to their shared literary background.
‘Main Haar Gayi’, Mannu Bhandari, Radhakrishna Prakashan.
Always an avid reader, Bhandari wrote her first short story, Main Haar Gayi, just like that. Buoyed by its publication in 1957 in ‘Kahani’ magazine, she quickly followed it up with more stories, such as Shamshan, Abhineta and others. Many of her early stories are based on characters she knew in Brahmpuri, the Ajmer mohalla where she grew up.
On his part, Yadav had started writing even earlier; his first novel Pret Bolte Hain (later re-titled Sara Akash) was published in 1951. The young couple moved to Delhi in 1964, sensing that there were better opportunities for Hindi writers there than in Calcutta. But after nine happy years at Ballygunge Shiksha Sadan, Bhandari was apprehensive about the move.
She needn’t have worried. She got a job as a lecturer in Delhi University’s Miranda House, but more importantly, scaled dizzying heights of popularity and success as a writer over the next several years. She continued writing short stories, moved on to novels, and dabbled in scriptwriting.
Her short stories – there are over 50 of them – span a wide range, but at their best, they capture middle and lower middle class life in small towns and cities with a rare sensitivity. Take Ret ki Deewar, in which engineering student Ravi feels the pressure of rescuing his family from crippling money problems. Or Ekhane Akash Nayi, where Calcutta girl Lekha travels to her husband’s family away from the city and discovers simmering tensions and stifled dreams.
Bhandari also wrote of women straining and breaking free of social restrictions, or struggling to live within their confines. In Ek Kamzor Ladki ki Kahani, Roop is unable to assert herself at crucial moments of her life. But in Deewar, Bachche Aur Barsaat, a bold young woman walks out on her overbearing, insensitive husband.
Also read: Mannu Bhandari’s Short Stories Explored the Inner Worlds of Women in India’s Cities, Small Towns
Bhandari was part of the Nayi Kahani movement, launched in the mid-50s by the great trio of Rajendra Yadav, Mohan Rakesh and Kamleshwar, who used the short story format to address the life experiences and anxieties of the post-Independence generation. All three men were enormously talented and had egos to match. But Bhandari was not overawed by any of them.
She was good friends with Mohan Rakesh; even when Yadav had a falling out with him, she continued their friendship. “Don’t I have my own independent identity?” she asked Rakesh.
‘Ek Inch Muskan’, Rajendra Yadav and Mannu Bhandari, Rajpal & Sons (Rajpal Publishing).
Bhandari’s marriage with Yadav eventually ended – after more than 30 years – but she generously acknowledged that he was a loyal cheerleader and champion of her writing. They even authored a novel together – Ek Inch Muskan, the story of a writer, Amar, and the two women in his life, Amala and Ranjana.
Yadav wrote the Amar chapters and Bhandari the ones with Amala and Ranjana’s point of view. It’s probably the only such experimental husband-wife collaboration in Hindi literature.
By 1970, four of Bhandari’s short story collections had been published and she was yearning to write a novel. There was an idea brewing in her head – the emotional story of a nine-year-old boy Bunty, whose parents had decided to separate. But now she had a daughter of her own, Rachana, affectionately called Tinku (who was coincidentally also nine at that time), a busy job and no time.
So she decided to take up a room in the Miranda House hostel for a month and work on her book. There was a moment when she felt her daughter was missing her and she should go home. But it was Yadav who dissuaded her and insisted that she complete her novel.
Aapka Bunty was initially serialised in ‘Dharamyug’ magazine and won Bhandari a massive following. Stacks of readers’ letters began arriving at her house every day till one day the postman asked her if she’d opened an office at home!
The novel triggered a great deal of discussion, but Bhandari was always regretful that the debate centred around Bunty and few people reacted to the dilemma of the modern young mother Shakun, caught between motherhood and her own ambitions.
Bhandari’s winning streak continued – in 1974, Basu Chatterjee released Rajnigandha, based on her short story, Yehi Sach Hai, about an independent-minded young research scholar, Deepa, who must choose between a devoted suitor and an old flame. The film became a bona fide hit, celebrating a silver jubilee.
A still from the film ‘Rajnigandha’.
Later, Bhandari rewrote Saratchandra’s story, Swami, for Chatterjee, who had become a close family friend by then. Though the film did well, Bhandari vehemently disagreed with Chatterjee’s ending, where he made Mini (the heroine) fall at her husband’s feet. Bhandari’s reasoning was that the same effect could have been achieved if Mini’s husband had taken her in his arms instead.
Chatterjee also roped her in to be a writer on his Doordarshan serial Rajni, about a crusading housewife, and the show became something of a sensation after the telecast of an episode on taxi drivers, which was written by Bhandari.
In 1979 Bhandari published an outright political novel, Mahabhoj, which she wrote after reading about the terrifying 1977 anti-Dalit Belchi massacre in Bihar. The novel was picked up by theatre director Amal Allana for the National School of Drama, which was going through a golden period of its own, with actors like Manohar Singh, Surekha Sikri, Uttara Baokar and Raghuvir Yadav on its rolls – all of whom became part of the Mahabhoj cast.
The play opened in 1982 and ran to full houses, getting rave reviews. Bhandari had worked on the stage adaptation herself and found she had a knack for it. There’s little doubt she would have shone as a playwright too if she’d put her mind to it.
So much success could have turned anyone’s head. But incredibly, Mannu Bhandari continued to remain self-effacing, self-aware, level-headed.
There was not a trace of arrogance in her; indeed she had a remarkable talent for forging deep friendships with all sorts of people throughout her life – be it fellow writers, colleagues, students, or friends of friends.
In later years, she slipped into poor health and her death on Monday, after a long illness, leaves behind a huge void. But it also leaves a lasting literary legacy – of a hugely gifted writer, who chronicled the times she lived in with honesty and beauty. A truly extraordinary woman.
Poonam Saxena is a journalist and translator. She has translated Dharamvir Bharati’s Gunahon ka Devta from Hindi to English (Chander & Sudha) and also Rahi Masoom Raza’s Scene 75. Her latest book is The Greatest Hindi Stories Ever Told, where she has selected and translated 25 stories. She is also the co-author of film director Karan Johar’s memoir, An Unsuitable Boy.
