Kamala Das, a prominent Indian poet and writer, crafted a legacy of profound quotes that delve into the intricacies of human emotions and relationships. Her words, such as “I am Indian, very brown, born in Malabar, I speak three languages, write in two, dream in one,” and “Don’t write in English, they said, English is not your mother-tongue. Why not leave me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins?” echo her exploration of identity, feminism, and the struggle for self-expression. Das’ quotes are a raw portrayal of her inner world, touching on themes of love, womanhood, and societal norms. With candid authenticity, she challenges societal expectations and invites readers to embrace their complexities and embrace their true selves.
Kamala Das Quotes
I am two, but my other self is not in me, but in you.
Don’t write in English, they said, English is not your mother-tongue. Why not leave me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins, any language I like? The language I speak, becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses all mine, mine alone.
My memory of men is never lit by two lights, if both lights have swept the same corridor.
Tell me, tell me, friend, who is the one whom you carry in your heart? Nowhere, nowhere, friend, nowhere in the world.
In love, you lose yourself; you are not there anymore.
There is no fear of God in me, nor does God’s love warm my heart. I am at your feet, it is you who made me.
The body is the hero and the mind the heroine.
I was taught by my father that reading was a sort of prayer, a study in solitude.
I have become my own version of an optimist. If I can’t make it through one door, I’ll go through another door – or I’ll make a door. Something terrific will come no matter how dark the present.
I wanted to walk straight on through the red grass and over the edge of the world, which could not be very far away.
The weight of my breasts and womb crushed me. I shrank pitifully.
Language is a curse from your fathers. We want no part in it.
Pity us, the blighted ones, we have grown up in a culture where sex is denied.
No other theme obsesses me as a writer – as a woman – as love.
I am sinner, I am saint. I am the beloved and the betrayed.
Ache of marriage, where a husband and a wife are enemies, belonging to a different camp.
The old year went, taking with it your letters. The new year came, bringing you, your letters.
I know I am ugly, I have pock-marked legs and my mouth is wide, but there is beauty in my blood.
In love, as in the street games, one feels the need for a partner.
My body too longs for your touch. Oh my friend, I too yearn for your love!
Like a snake I love the cold and the silence.
A blank paper is like a friend, who patiently listens to the sorrows of a broken heart.
Madras does not mean everything to me; neither does Kerala.
The great world ended for me in an unkempt room.
An equality of the soul, and I shall go down with you hand in hand.
I need your brute presence.
To please you, the hot blood of youth has cooled in my veins.
The rain on my windowpane is not the tapping of your fingers, but my weeping, my weeping.
Men have told me I have too much to say. Still, I want to live.
Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.
We each have a destiny.
Though I must bear the blame for being like this.
My life began with the smell of a barber’s powder.
A life that has touched no other life, that probably never knew itself alive.
I must end, now. There is no more.
No attachment. You taught me that. Love and love alone does not hurt.
Don’t ask me who I am; I am living by my moments.
Don’t call me an angel. I am nobody’s angel.
I built walls so high that no one could climb.
I am being split open by various women.