Eve's Revenge
- sanchit lamichhane
At the best and worst of times, Ethel Da Costa is a river of words. So it
was just a matter of time that the river embraced the sea and churned up a
book of her poems, Eve's Revenge: Stories of Nemesis. Here we present you
with an interview of the poet, and one of the poems from the collection,
which is scheduled for official release on October 18.
Ethel Da Costa is an acknowledged lifestyle journalist, columnist and
writer, and is presently the Station Director of Radio Mirchi in Panjim.
A book of poems? Poems seem to be no longer 'in'? So why?
Poems are the expression of the soul's inner longing. It has nothing to do
with trends or what's fashionable or not. I don't think Khalil Gibran or
Tagore wrote such heart-wrenching poems because they were 'in' or 'out'.
I've been writing poetry for as long as I can remember. Scribbling notes to
myself in school, or on a flight when I would travel abroad to meet my dad,
or in a bus to college or work. Poems about the world around me, my
observation of so many things that didn't seem right inside and out.
Sometimes, you can look at strangers and understand their souls as well.
You've never met them at all, but they are on their journeys too. My poems
are about observations, contemplations, a hunger for understanding, a deeper
quest that comes from questions frothing up too deep and early in my life.
When the inner eye sees much more than other normal people and your soul
tells you so many stories, you don't know where they come from. You ask
yourself, 'why me'? And then you give in to the flogging. I often felt (and
still do) that I am tapping into some internal flow of thoughts of the
universe that come from things ancient. Like I believe, I had a birth
somewhere in ancient Egypt, then someone told me Romania. I have a strong
affinity with Jewish culture. My daughters have Jewish names, I don't know
where it comes from. I meet people all the time. Some people I bond
instantly with, I am so familiar with them and I've never met them before. I
feel completely at home when I'm travelling abroad.I'm a global hippy. My
collection of poems are voices of the inner spirit and the many dark and
good voices, all wanting to speak at the same time.
The title, Eve's Revenge: Stories of Nemesis, seems angry. Who are you angry
at: men, both men and women, or the ways of the world?
When I was writing these poems, often in the dead of the dark night, I could
feel someone guiding my hand and thoughts. It was not me. Some of the poems
have been so furiously written, sometimes two or three in one go that it
would leave me emotionally drained and then I would be furiously looking for
the dark night to find those voices again. I would look at the work and say,
'Oh God, who is this'?
The collection was bound in files for years. I could not meet eye with them,
till I showed the work to my poet friend, Brian Mendonca. He asked me to
listen to my heart. I had to speak out their voice, even if it was
uncomfortable. The truth is always stark. That's how the team got together:
Victor Rangel, Anant Salkar, Prasad Pankar and Sapna Sardessai. Each working
hard to understand and give birth to Eve. Each caught in the throes of her
passion. We were all possessed by her. I'm truly touched by their
dedication, passion, patience and hard work.
My dad called me the angry young girl of the family. I used to have a
volatile temper till maybe a year ago. Eve is the alter ego I had been
carrying around for years. She helped me survive during some of the most
traumatic years of my life. Eve's Revenge are stories of her struggles and
of the many women and men I've met in my life, journeying through cycles of
inner birth and death. Not necessarily of the body, but the inner spirit.
Sure, Eve is the angry woman. She has been denied her rightful place for
centuries, right through history and religion. Always second best, always as
an after-thought. Nobody really understood the desires of her heart, because
desires lead to the ultimate corruption of the soul? Her one true sin for
curiosity and banishment for life, because she wanted to be God-like. But
doesn't all religion ask us to seek God within ourselves? Was Eve a victim
of her own making? Because she chose to evolve?
I saw her stories in the lives of the women I've met-some good, some bad,
some ugly-all across, cutting boundaries, religions, ethnicities, classes
and circumstances. The compromises they make, the double standards of their
relationships, the masks they wear, their sacrifices and pain. They are
stories of my life too, as I struggled to stay sane when my spirit was
breaking, fighting upfront the hypocrisies of the world and the religious
bigotry. Eve's Revenge is stories of great healing that comes from great
pain. I realise today that so many men are hurting too. And since society
conditions that men don't cry, they hurt alone, inside. They break and
nobody reaches out to them. It is not so much as pain inflicted on the body,
but pain inflicted on the mind. That's the hardest to heal. These are
stories of their triumph. I'm no longer angry, because in this book I have
set Eve's demons to rest. They no longer haunt me now.
You say you had to turn to poetry to not slip into insanity? Did it help?
Sanity is a fine thread that the world pieces together to dictate its
existence. Society makes 'safe' rules, all humans are expected to live by
them and then die by non-existent numbers. My world is the set of values I
create for myself. I live by them, and when they are no longer applicable I
make new ones. I seek constant evolution, because I define my existence by
the things I want to do and how I do them. There is nothing to prove to
anybody, except be honest with the purpose of my Creator. Poetry has been my
constant soul mate in this journey. My scrap books are full of notes pieced
together by a common chain of thoughts: Who am I? What is my purpose here?
This thought began in school, grew so strong in college that my dear
teacher, Nora Govil (she was the mother figure I turned to in my deepest
anguish) never left my side in thought. She once even took me to a shrink to
figure the origins of these thoughts. I lasted two days on his couch and
then he gave up.
Insanity is a state of mind and your connection with existence. You could be
perfectly normal on the outside, but your mind could be elsewhere seeking
the one and only thing like a possessed demon: Truth. Poetry kept my soul
constantly seeking. It's also thanks to Sapna, Illidio, Lester (Weekender,
1992) and Percival Noronha who encouraged me greatly, that I found print
space for my poetry. I've won a couple of poetry competitions, locally and
nationally, which helped me build faith that maybe I could do something more
creative with it. Yes, I'm perfectly sane. Sometimes, too sane for my own
comfort.
So much agony in these poems. Would you have not taken to poetry if you were
happy?
Agony is the fire that tests the spirit, purifies it, and moulds it for
another existence. Like Agony in the Garden. Can you imagine the fear that
must have gripped Jesus when He knew His end was near? That one final test
of commitment to selflessness. Agony is a level higher of existence from
where you initially began. It means your soul is in the throes of childbirth
and I know how excruciating that is.
My life has been a constant test by fire. Nothing has come easy to me. I've
had to fight for it, work so bloody hard for it, break my back for it and
each of these struggles set me free on a higher plane of thought. Ayn Rand
influenced me greatly in my formative years, even as Robsang Lampa kept my
quest for spiritual freedom on a constant lookout. I keep asking myself,
there must be more to this living thing. I want to know it. I want to find
it. So I got deep into spiritual reading and philosophy, works of
thinkers.they were all saying the same things and yet my struggles with this
life kept bringing on the fire tests. I'm not interested in a nine-five
living. I'm interested in how to live it full, happy and content. You must
remember that the poems are a collection of works put together over the last
10 years. This is the journey my spirit has gone through, it sets me free
now. But it has been 10 volatile years of searching, seeking,
disappointments, heart-break, betrayal, rejection and then finding light at
the end of a very dark tunnel. Your own enemy is yourself if your mind turns
against you. It is how you win her back that sets the course of personal
victory. That is the triumph. Nope. I don't think I can write happy poems.
When you dissect every pore of your being and look at it from the outside,
that's poetry.
Loneliness is rampant in the book. Do you feel lonely even while being with
your "soul-mate daughters", Leah Evanka and Lira?
My daughters were the best thing that happened to me. God's complete
acknowledgement that He is with me. They came to me and saved me when I was
deepest in my dark well. Like fireflies. I held on to them, imploring them
to hug my gut so tight inside me and never let go. They are my playmates, my
soul sisters when I felt truly abandoned by the world. Each drop of blood
and tissue tear, stretch mark inflicted on the body during childbirth has
been worth it, I wear them like battle wounds. They are so insightful and
intuitive that their honesty amazes me. My eldest Leah Evanka is the best
friend I aspire for. We talk about everything. My younger one, Lira, is my
twin. She understands me way too much for her 10 years and mothers me like a
guardian, even giving me curfew time when I'm out partying with friends.
They both watch out for me. They constantly fill my life with friendship and
companionship. Through my struggling years, they helped keep my sanity and
spirit together with their unconditional love. I truly must have done
something really good in my past lives to have God be so kind and nurturing
to me.
Death-wish too. Are you suicidal?
Interesting question. Isn't it far more pleasurable constantly resurrecting
and reinventing yourself than letting everything come to an end of your own
will? I once thought I could bring all that pain to an end if I could muster
enough courage to cut my life veins. I sat by the kitchen window praying,
'God, can you help me do this? I so don't want to belong to this world.' I
remember completely breaking down alone sobbing such heart-wrenching screams
to myself that I shudder. I guess I had descended so deep into the well that
all I could see around me was darkness. Intense hurt and pain can do that to
you. Your mind can take you there. Sometimes not of your own free will.
People you care about push you there because it makes them feel safe.your
voice and questions then don't reach out to them. Climbing out of that well
is the task. It has been my hardest test. You lose something of yourself.
You gain something else. A great strength and a sense of purpose. I watched
my father die so suddenly. That is the only one reality that shattered me
because I loved him greatly. It pushed me into the abyss again with new
questions. I then had to climb out of the well all over again and strengthen
myself with this new truth. I miss his quiet, strong presence in my life.
Today, death is as sure as life. I don't wish to live forever, but I wish to
live a great life while I'm alive. I have a great lust for life. Because in
that lies the great triumph of the spirit.
You say, "Woman are their own worst enemies", please explain.
Women are complex species. Eve is so complex, I loved making friends with
her. After sometime, she became me. Just when you think you've figured women
out, they spring a new surprise. I find that strengthening, because women
are givers, they birth the universe. They are also the most misunderstood
because of their strengths and passions. And when things go wrong, they turn
against themselves and their like, because it is easy to deal with your own
kind than to deal with men. In the same breath, women need more
compassionate men with a natural instinct for nurturing and empathy. Men
have their own set of prejudices inbred through years of conditioning. From
their mothers to their wives..how a man treats a woman is a testimony to his
upbringing by his mother. If you find yourself a compassionate, generous
man, consider yourself lucky. I like strong men. I like strong women. I like
passionate men and women. I like women who stand their ground. I like women
who do things from the heart. I like honest women. Women who nurture their
families with love, honesty and independence. I cannot stand manipulative
women who use ego to dictate the lives of their children. These women are
their own worst enemies because they do more harm to themselves and others.
What do you do when you have "new grey hair to deal with"?
I call my mother. That was a year ago and she was laughing at the other end
of the telephone. Like when I had my first wisdom tooth, again a year ago. I
must be getting wise.
You rage at conventions, calling them "monotonous babble"? But then you say
no one's listening to you, what do you do?
It is monotonous babble. The biggest hypocrisies of life are preached from
the pulpit. They teach you guilt. They don't teach you salvation. They tell
you to seek God and then put him in a cage and worship him. Truth is about
freedom. Love is about selflessness. God is finding him in yourself, living
his principles. It is so difficult to turn the other cheek when people run
you down. I find great inspiration in Jesus. The greatest healer,
philosopher, teacher, guide and mentor I could ask for. At one point in my
life, I know He stepped in and carried me on His shoulders, like a father
would his beloved child. I am grateful for the work He has done in my life.
My greatest healing came pouring like a torrential rain down my soul. Oh,
you bet they're listening now.
The loss of a dear one, your Papa in your case. How does one live with the
aftermath realisation that one could have loved them better?
My dad and me were bonded by similarities and temperament. Like every
father, he had his flaws, I could see them and we had our hot-tempered
arguments. He was also the first to make up, if not for my mother to step in
and make us up. I am my father's daughter. I am so proud of him. Just a
simple, honest man. When he was dying, it was the hardest for me to look him
in the eyes and tell him that I loved him greatly without the tears flowing,
because I could do nothing to ease his pain, or heal it. I believe he
understood that he was dying, though we never said a word about it. He would
tell me of his childhood memories of me and why I was dearest to him. He
knew that I had dealt with my own devils with as much courage I could muster
from within and he was proud of it. He was my backbone, a father to my
children, every notch up the ladder was a tribute to him. I felt greatly
lost when my rock sank under my feet and I was at sea for a few years. It
was only last year that I let him go, because I didn't want to hurt him
anymore holding on to him. I feel his peace now and I know I've done him
proud.
"I want a love that shatters me", have you found it?
I am seeking that one true love and believe it is near. A love that is
unconditional and selfless, that loves the spirit more than the body. That
builds and grows with time, understanding, compassion and companionship. I
cannot stand selfish men. I want a love that is about complete honesty,
truth and discovery. There is so much to live and love in this life.
Somebody who talks to my soul and bonds with it. Too many men and women have
illusions of their greatness and after sometime fail to see beyond the
superficial. A love that you would willingly die for. That's the love I
seek.
What next? And thanks for the nerve-jangling spectacular firework of angst,
it is cathartic.
I love fireworks. And the aftermath it leaves behind. From ashes to a new
beginning, that's how it should be for every man and woman.
What next? Some music, more travelling, more journeys yet left untrodden,
another sequel to Eve perhaps. Eve's healing must be a testimony too. In
that lies the true victory of her soul. The mother of all humanity. Anger is
cathartic, but the second coming should be soul freeing as well. I'm already
setting the pace to this. Enjoy.
Madness
(Dedicated to Durga)
There are times when inspiration flutters like wayward children
disappearing with swift quickness
before I capture them into cages of words.
So many questions
ink running wet on an empty page
these cages seem alone without their mad prisoners.
Shadows of the night descend upon the columns of my failing spirit
the pen awaits with impatience
a lover hiding from humanity to
embrace his woman
cages rumble with furious ferocity at my impotence.
Isn't it a crime to keep a poet chained to her thoughts
when mere mortals walk in oblivious bliss
smiling the muscles of their thin wiry mouths in subjugation
'Poor thing'
'Wild thing'
'Is it true she is mad?'
'Why don't they put her to sleep?'
Sin?
blame it on Eve?
why am I writing in fear?
'But the bitch brought it upon herself.'
Running fingers of hot molten wax against raw skin
'Bruise her.'
'Hit her'
'Scar her'
'Draw blood'
'Yeah, let's see some blood.'
I shudder in cold sweat, waiting for the break of dawn.
Sin?
go on
dust me under the carpet
push me into a dark corner with a broomstick
sweep the murky streets of the subconscious
but, why is that hoarse voice screaming the truth?
So many nude souls
so many broken bones
is this what they call judgment day
the split second when the head severs under the guillotine.
Father, I confess
'Poor thing'
'Wild thing'
'Is it true I'm mad?'
'Why don't you put me to sleep?'
A poet writes alone
ears hear silent anguish
it is the walls I face.
Pillows on beds groan
lamenting the burden of guilt carried to sleep
crushing
I taste the bile of bitterness.
Sin?
can you hear the silent shrieking of prison inmates piercing
the mind
pacing a thousand floors
sores on their feet
counting fallen stars at their feet
broken minds
aching fingers
restless hands
hundred voices pushing against the skull
I know them.
I hear them.
I talk to them while you sleep.
I believe every woman has her own price to pay.
(From Eve's Revenge: Stories of Nemesis, published by Printer's Devil, Goa.)
Ethel can be contacted at [EMAIL PROTECTED]
http://www.readseegoa.com/portal/modules.php?name=Home_Block_D&art_type=general&myaction=show&myid=1004
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