‘Tribute To Papa and other poems’ by Mamta Kalia appeared in 1970 from Writers Workshop Calcutta in the same way as the many other starters and beginners were given a chance to write and publish and the same is correct with regard to this practitioner of verse. But when it appeared, there were not many takers of it. Whatever our constructive criticism, the lens of it, the discerning eyes with which we see, it is now a text and testament, like the one written in the footsteps of Sylvia Plath’s Daddy as for candid expression and confessional slant.

Addressing the papa, she says it all, about the new time and the new age, the new mood and the new mentality and above all the generation gap she wishes to talk about and under the cover of it, lies a womanly psyche hit by the Electra complex, the growing of age, on being educated and independent of ideas and thinking. The image of the papa acts as a catalyst too as she wants to grow under as well as wants to do away with.

Let us see what she says in her poem, Tribute to Papa, how does she say it? Whose psyche is this? Whose persona? Who is speaking through the lines?

Mamta Kalia is her papa’s girl, and the poem is an image of her papa, a portrayal of his character. She wants to be smart, but she is not. She tries to walk ahead, but under the shadow of her papa. She wants to dislodge and dismantle the things taught to her, but is unable to shake off, this is but a hidden fact. Apart from all this, she is bold enough to disown the image of her papa to go her way independently. 

Her English is not so good but one gets accustomed to that after reading her and just by addressing him, drawing his character and putting her convent mood and temperament, she likes to peddle the things, but hers is a modern idiomatic expression too side by side. After all, she is a successful daughter of an unsuccessful papa. We do not know if Kalia is modern or not, but she has at least talked about modernity and feminism.

She is a modern girl who wants to be modern. Why hear him all the time? Why look to him for all the lessons to be learnt in life? If this is, when will she grow up? The second thing is that she cannot grow in such a mentality. This you do, this you do not, cannot help her go. The papa’s world is a world of his own, a type in which she cannot adjust. An ideal man, a model man, she can never be, and this is not her dream which she has nurtured and nourished for so long. She wants to live freely, independently. She has not to be a sadhu. She is not still an angel. She is a woman professional and ambitious. She has not to become a Rani Lakshmibai and she can never. She is Mamta, Mamta Kalia. She is not Miss Clean too. She is not even a great woman. God knows, what it is greatness! What it is in greatness! Who are but great?

Who is but sacred and religious, say you? None. And so is her papa as she has come to understand with time. Here character changes, role changes it, what not? Here post-truth evaluation is done. Who is clean, papa? Cleanliness comes from our within. Who is holy? Holiness is a thing of the heart. And if you fail to do anything, it does not mean that you will spend hours and hours in the temple praying. Too much of devotion too is not good as it cannot turn one into a holy man.

Why can the girl not talk of love? Why can’t she enter into a love-relationship? Such an Indian mentality has harmed us more than its service. What is the girl doing? Who is she in love with? 
This is but a patriarchal mindset. Why does she smile after seeing the boys? Why does she not remain input? Does she exchange love letters or not? He keeps a watch over all the activities of hers falling short of a spy, is it not? Old mentality, Indian mentality, gender-based concept, we like it not at all.

Who cares for you, Papa? 
Who cares for your clean thoughts, clean words, clean teeth?
Who wants to be an angel like you?
Who wants it?

You are an unsuccessful man, Papa.
Couldn’t wangle a cosy place in the world.
You’ve always lived a life of limited dreams.

I wish you had guts, Papa,
To smuggle eighty thousand watches at a stroke,
And I’d proudly say, “My father’s in import-export business, you know.”
I’d be proud of you then.

But you’ve always wanted to be a model man,
A sort of an ideal man,
When you can’t think of doing anything,
You start praying,
Spending useless hours at the temple.

You want me to be like you, Papa,
Or like Rani Lakshmibai.
You’re not sure what greatness is,
But you want me to be great.

I give two donkey-claps for your greatness.
And three for Rani Lakshmibai.

These days I am seriously thinking of disowning you, Papa,
You and your sacredness.
What if I start calling you Mr Kapur, Lower Division Clerk, Accounts Section?

Everything about you clashes with nearly everything about me.
You suspect I am having a love-affair these days,
But you’re too shy to have it confirmed.
What if my tummy starts showing gradually
And I refuse to have cueretted?

But I’ll be careful, Papa,
Or I know you’ll at once think of suicide.

Tribute to Papa is the title poem, the first one to start the collection and is interlinked with the whole series of poetry centering round this and other psychic expressions. The other poems too tell of liberties and the flights of imagination the feminist persona seems to revel in rather than be restricted and tabooed. Our old, obsolete Indian mentality of restricting the movement of a daughter is not good, we need to take care of, but not to restrict her. The same papa suspects her of having an affair and if she elopes with, he may commit suicide. The girl cannot choose her partner.  She is not free to speak her mind and heart. The authoress is frank and bold to express her mind and heart.