One of the pioneers who mainstreamed folk theatre in India, Habib Tanvir had a stormy relationship with Englishwoman Jill MacDonald – they did not ever marry – which led to the birth of his elder daughter Anna. During his travels in Europe, Tanvir wrote a series of letters to MacDonald, letters that document his life during this time as much as his love for her, although he largely glossed over the relationship in his memoir.
Decades later, MacDonald revisited the letters – hers are lost, only his remain – along with her grandson Mukti, Anna’s son. This is A Story for Mukti, the saga of a relationship told in letters within a letter.
614 Hotel Ukrain
Moscow, USSR 5.9.57
My dearest Jill,
I have just received the sweetest of all letters from England, the warmest of all letters from a cold country, from the most warm-hearted girl.
I must have written that in haste – “a word about yourself and a lot about Carley” – it does sound funny, it is so enormously rude. Anyway, I am really and truly glad you wrote about yourself at length and with such lyrical, touching intimacy. Frankly I was also delightfully amazed – I have never known myself being able to draw out so much expression from you about matters of heart. Thanks such a lot for what you write you feel for me. Love has such wicked weakness for flattery. It is vicious that your sincerity, instead of sobering me only should make me also feel flattered. Yes it means a lot to me Jill darling and I shall remember your words always.
Jill, it seems to me I have gotten to know you much better in your absence. Ever since I began to receive letters from you after leaving England I have been longing to see you again. I feel certain I shall see you again. I am sad our meeting might be brief. I sometimes play with the hope it might be a bit longer and make all sorts of vague plans to be able to live longer in England. But I know no duration of time would be long enough.
The only consolation is the perpetual feeling that it is so wonderful to know you.
Do my words have a ring of farewell about them? Yes but every letter, every winged word that I throw up in the air for you must have this sad note. Your letters full of depth and richness of feeling have the same quality. But we shall meet before we say goodbye Jill.
I was very glad to hear about your voice and about your confidence. I think it is a good idea to go to Munich. It will be good for you for many reasons I think. I like Germany and Munich.
I get up at 7 am for work and get back at 5 pm. It is a bit much. It is hard to stand on your feet for so long, to see just one pair of lips projected on a screen in a darkened room continuously, to hear the same words and the same voice the whole day, to speak incessantly with feigned emotion before a machine, to laugh a 3 foot laugh then take a 4 inch sigh and rattle off a sentence of 3 foot 4 inch length of celluloid, to weep, shout and love in pre-measured lengths – often without food. This is dubbing work. I am losing weight fast enough. You can imagine. It will be a job for you finding me when I do return. I am expecting to become invisible within a matter of a week. I do hope all this comes to an end soon enough.
Thanks heavens, there was some sort of Jubilee which stirred the postal authorities of England to change their eternal dull stamps into something slightly less dull. Few other countries can beat England in this regard.
You are cheating you know. You may write the most interesting postscript in the world. But a PS is a PS and not another letter. For my second letter you write a PS you silly scoundrelly girl. And by now you will have got my card as well. You would find it indigestible unless you throw it up. Till we meet X
Habib
(PS) I just poured some coffee in my ash tray and dropped the ash of my cigarette into the coffee cup. I have just washed them and now I drink the remains of the precious little coffee in a more conventional way. Love HT
Do send those photos but never mind if you have no space for Carley. Write a lot more about yourself. Yes, I had meant it when I desired the culmination of our emotions in physical union. And I think we would have fared fine. Lots and lots of love from HT
All of this letter moved me very much and still does – so expressive, serious and loving. It reminds me of autumn, with its “dying fall”. What could those PSs have been about – mine, I mean? I simply can’t remember, but I guess I was asking questions to which he responded in his last few lines – questions about love and in what way it could best be expressed. And what we were to do about it.
As a young girl with little experience, I was trying to feel my way, seeking reassurance. Evidently, there had to be a deciding moment in our relationship. How far was it to go? What degree of commitment could I bring to it? And where was he in these matters? We had discussed the future somewhat vaguely before he left for Europe, and had come to no conclusions. But whatever was said, there was always the fear he could go back to India, disappear without trace – the thought of which filled me with apprehension and uncertainty.
Writing these words has encouraged me to think more broadly on the subject of physical love, which of course had been a preoccupation for both of us. I have never believed that men and women are the same in their emotional responses in this respect.
I know, Mukti, that it has become popular today to think there is little difference between the two, but I disagree. Biologically, men and women are certainly different and I believe those differences go very deep. One could say that there is no reason why a man shouldn’t simply walk away from a sexual encounter whatever the outcome, whilst for a woman, there is the chance of her life changing forever. It may well not happen, but the possibility of creating another life is there in the very nature of lovemaking for her, and I don’t believe that the various contraceptives available have allowed women to escape this fact.
Our bodies and our psyches are still finely tuned to bearing children, whether we like it or not. That is what I sensed at a young age, for I certainly took the whole subject seriously. It made me cautious about how to approach such an important area of existence, though I doubt if I’d have been able to put the thoughts into words.
But you are right, Mukti: whatever I was pondering, this was becoming – already was – a love affair by letter. But the letters change in tone too, don’t they, just as feelings change day by day in a love affair – sometimes full of deepest emotion, sometimes quite matter-of-fact. They carry their own life, quite palpably.
Looking back, I can say that despite being aware of many difficulties ahead, it was this letter that persuaded me to pitch into the knowing and the loving of Habib with all my heart, whatever the cost. From time to time life requires you, pushes you, into making a move that may look quite reckless and stupid to others.
The challenge is that of jumping out of the realm of the known, into wherever it takes you. It seems that only a blind sort of faith is there to support you, but the sense of destiny is strong and it is that which gives you the push. I’m sure nearly everyone must recognise such a moment at some point in their lives. It comes as a watershed – and can change everything.
Excerpted with permission from A Story for Mukti: Based on the letters of his grandfather Habib Tanvir, Jill MacDonald, HarperCollins India.