Review of The Other Half of the Coconut, edited by K. Srilata

In today’s Tamil Nadu, most political debates about the Self-Respect Movement centre around ‘Periyar’ E.V. Ramasamy. This is not surprising: unrestrained and uncompromisingly principled, he often made provocative remarks that are easy fodder for politicians. It is perhaps because of his towering presence that much of the movement, including questions of gender, is still interpreted largely through Periyar’s lens.

This is why The Other Half of the Coconut: Women Writing Self-Respect History (first published in 2003 and then in 2025), edited by K. Srilata, is important. The two-part book shifts focus from Periyar to a chorus of women who contributed to shaping the intellectual life of the movement. “Such a mapping is crucial… if we wish to understand the complexities of women’s agency during the movement,” writes Srilata in the preface to the first edition.

The essays have been translated from original speeches and writings in the Tamil, which were published between 1928 and 1936 in Self-Respect journals such as Kudi Arasu, Puratchi, and Kumaran. Together they form what the journalist Caitlin Moran described as a “massive patchwork quilt” — they carry different perspectives and highlight myriad issues, but all the writers stay focused on the movement.

Self-respect was at the heart of the ideology of the movement, and Periyar considered it a precondition for the empowerment of non-Brahmins. The first part of the collection comprises stories, treatises, and essays by women who articulate what self-respect means to them. The first piece, ‘What is in store for us?’, is about a Brahmin woman, written by Miss and Mrs Kamalakshi. Her name captures her predicament: she is married, but does not live with her husband because her dowry has still not been paid. At first, placing this text upfront seemed odd to me — why foreground a Brahmin woman’s story in an anthology against Brahminism? But that seems to be the intention: to underscore how Brahminical patriarchy, as the scholar Uma Chakravarti put it, pushed even some Brahmins into the fold of the movement.

While Kamalakshi’s voice is sad, Trichi Neelavathi’s is fiery. In ‘Womenfolk and Self-Respect principles’, she argues that women, mired in superstition and blind belief, can attain self-respect only through education. Her anger is all the more pronounced in ‘Rituals’, where she declares: “The Brahmin and no one else is responsible for the growth of rituals. I ask every one of you to courageously challenge these meaningless rituals.”

Rituals and rigid beliefs contribute to the terrible plight of widows — a theme across several essays, including ‘Pankajam’s tragic death’ and Alhaj Subako’s essay on Muslim widows. The second underscores how discriminatory practices cut across religion. She writes: “Muslims may pat themselves on the back for being progressive in their attitudes towards widows, but they are merely deceiving themselves.”

Several of these writings capture the regressive beliefs of the time. But many others highlight practices that sadly dominate headlines today too. Mu. Maragathavalliyar urges women to have their meals without waiting for their husbands to finish, and not to eat from soiled leaves. In another essay, she asks why Adi-Dravidars are treated inferior to animals — they are not allowed to draw water from common wells, or use the village pond; the women are not even allowed to wear a blouse. And Jayasekari speaks of the unfairness of women bearing the burden of housework.

The second section, The Dasis’ Wicked Snares, contains excerpts from the 1936 classical work by Moovalur A. Ramamrithammal. Srilata notes that while the novel is not overtly “feminist”, depicting the devadasi’s life as “one of moral depravity and deceit”, it offers “fascinating insights into their lives and demonstrates the creative use of the Self-Respect platform to campaign for the abolition of the devadasi system”. The story of two dasi sisters, Kantha and Ganavathi, combines Moovalur’s propagandist abolitionist agenda with a literary narrative that brings their experiences vividly to life.

While the anthology captures the concerns and schisms within the women’s movement, some essays revisit similar arguments and issues, which can feel repetitive. Dialogues such as — “Pankajam! To think that you should face such a fate!” cried Visalakshi. “Akka! Wasn’t it only yesterday when I, feeling indebted to that useless God, performed the panchamrita palabhisekam!” — may for some read like staged exchanges, but the translation simply remains faithful to the theatrical quality of writing of that period.

What I enjoyed is the diversity of forms in the book: journal articles, speeches, short stories, and essays. As a result, the tone also differs. Some essays are highly stylised, some are matter-of-fact, and a few sharply polemical.

Srilata says it is unclear how much women’s lives changed immediately after the Self-Respect Movement. But this does not diminish the anthology’s value — it is a much-needed addition to the canon of Self-Respect history.

The Other Half of the Coconut: Women Writing Self-Respect History

Edited by K. Srilata

Zubaan

₹525

radhika.s@thehindu.co.in

Published – March 06, 2026 06:30 am IST