Navigating Global Capital’s Insidious Divide: Socio- Economic Desperation and Resistance in ‘Harvest’ https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.13683927

Navigating Global Capital’s Insidious Divide: Socio- Economic Desperation and Resistance in ‘Harvest’

https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.13683927

Author(s): Diksha Bharti & Dr. Supriya

DOI: https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.13683927

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Volume 15 | Issue 4 | August 2024

Pages: 114-123


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The Criterion: An International Journal in English Vol. 15, Issue-IV, August 2024 ISSN: 0976-8165
www.the-criterion.com
https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.10448030
Navigating Global Capital’s Insidious Divide: Socio-Economic Desperation
and Resistance in ‘Harvest’
Diksha Bharti
PhD Scholar,
Department of English,
Ranchi University, Jharkhand.
&
Dr. Supriya
Associate Professor,
Department of English,
Ranchi Women’s College, Jharkhand.
Article History: Submitted-19/07/2024, Revised-14/08/2024, Accepted-22/08/2024, Published-31/08/2024.
Abstract:
This paper critically examines Manjula Padmanabhan’s play, Harvest and her depiction of
the discrimination faced by the urban underprivileged at the hands of the urban privileged. Through
the analysis, the paper aims to highlight that addressing the pervasive socio-economic class divide
in urban India is a primary thematic concern of English plays written by contemporary Indian
women playwrights. The paper also posits that plays like Harvest, where the conflict’s resolution
depends on the decision of the female character, widen the spectrum of perspectives and
storytelling, marking a transformative shift in the world of dramatic literature.
Keywords: contemporary Indian women playwrights, Manjula Padmanabhan, Harvest,
socio-economic class divide, urban underprivileged, women characters, agency.
Introduction
Womanist dramaturgy, within the Indian context, like elsewhere around the world,
essentially works towards unearthing unique experiences of socially and culturally distinct women
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Navigating Global Capital’s Insidious Divide: Socio-Economic Desperation and Resistance in ‘Harvest’
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to raise consciousness and improve social conditions for women (Mukherjee 14). However, it is
also imperative for critics and scholars to recognize that this sole criterion should not be used for
evaluating women’s playwriting. In an interview given to Anita Singh, playwright Poile Sengupta
highlights this flawed presumption about the thematic bubble of women’s playwriting when she
remarks that “[she] ha[s] always felt it unfair that women writers are consistently asked to see the
world through ‘a woman’s eyes’ and to comment on gender politics. “All creative individuals”,
remarks Sengupta, “are artists and craftspersons first” (87). Undoubtedly, there is ample textual
evidence indicating that plays by Indian women dramatists often address broader socio-economic
issues such as class disparity, economic hardship, political dynamics, and cultural conflicts, going
beyond gender politics.
Sengupta’s observation also aligns with that of Tutun Mukherjee, who in her 2005
anthology Staging Resistance: Plays by Women in Translation, observes some other significant
trends in women’s playwriting apart from the obvious women-centric issues. According to her,
Indian women’s playwriting has shown a broad concern with “… exposing hidden aspects of the
past and exploring their consequences for contemporary experience; the re-interpretation of
history, mythology, and older texts; adaptations of folk themes; the propagation as well as
interrogation of ideology; and drama as analysis of culture” (16). Mukherjee’s observation that
these dramatists are not only concerned with women-centric issues but also with a broader cultural
critique is insightful. These dramatists are not only creating stories for the stage with women in
subject position. Going beyond the stage, their plays aim to initiate discussions around socially
and culturally relevant wider issues, with many of these plays also registering possible solutions
that arise from women’s unique experiences. That they address socio-economic issues with a
woman’s consciousness intact, is what makes these narratives special. It is something that one
finds lacking in men’s playwriting. Contemporary Indian women’s playwriting broadens the
thematic and dramaturgic scope to include diverse female experiences within socio-political
issues.
Transcending linguistic boundaries, Mukherjee’s analysis of the major trends in women’s
playwriting can be applied to English–language plays by contemporary Indian women writers. I
propose that Indian women playwrights who write in English use drama to examine the often
understated but widely prevalent class-divide in urban spaces in India. Plays such as Lights Out
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by Manjula Padmanabhan, Name, Place, Animal, Thing by Annie Zaidi and A Pipe Dream in Delhi
by Anuradha Marwah are a few among many such plays by Indian women dramatists whose
underlying motive is to expose the discrimination that the urban underprivileged faces at the hands
of the urban privileged, that is, the upper-middle class.
In the present paper, Manjula Padmanabhan’s play Harvest is analyzed to propose that the
play extends the narrative of class discrimination to a worldwide context, showcasing the biases
and prejudices held by First World citizens towards citizens of the Third World, like India. These
individuals of the Third World are also marginalized within the urban Indian landscape. However,
here their misery ensues from being misunderstood and exploited at the hands of US-based
employers, unlike in other plays where both the exploiter and the exploited are Indians. This
modern manifestation of the East-West dichotomy, shaped by global capitalism, is often labeled
as neo-imperialism or neo-colonialism, yet at its core, it echoes the longstanding disparities
between various social strata in India.
Analysis and Discussion
The story of Harvest (1996) is set in a futuristic Mumbai (Bombay) of 2010. The main
character is Om Prakash, an unemployed slum-dweller in the city, who signs a contract via an
agency, InterPlanta Services, to donate unspecified organs of his body to a wealthy buyer from the
US in exchange for a hefty sum of money. However, as InterPlanta and the organ recipient exert
extreme control over Om and his family, the true implications of the contract become increasingly
murky.
The central issue here is capitalism. John and Jean Comaroff argue that capitalism appeals
to the underprivileged as a “gospel of salvation…that, if rightly harnessed, is invested with the
capacity wholly to transform the universe of the marginalized and the disempowered” (292). Om’s
decision to sign a dubious contract with InterPlanta Services without inquiring into its terms and
conditions or contract duration testifies to Comaroffs’ observation. His mother’s concern about the
contract’s terms falls on deaf ears, for all he knows is that “[they]’ll have more money than…[they]
have names for! Who’d believe there’s so much money in the world?” (Padmanabhan 208). Om’s
vulnerability as an unemployed slum-dweller from a Third World country makes him susceptible
to exploitation by the First World buyer, inviting reflections on the role of global capital in
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deciding the power dynamics between the privileged and the disempowered. According to Sagnika
Chanda, global capital exercises its insidious power by creating hierarchies of various forms, such
as those between “the impoverished but healthy donor body of the Third World and the wealthy
but ailing First World body… the differences between the male and the female body, the aged and
the young body and real and the virtual body” (112).
Critics and scholars discuss this kind of money-governed power-play in a global context
within the label of ‘neo-imperialism’. Neo-imperialism refers to the new forms of cultural
hegemony that the US and other major world powers impose on developing nations, including
many of the Caribbean, Central American, and South-East Asian nations. In their book Post
Colonial Drama: Theory, Practice, Politics (1996), Helen Gilbert and Joanne Tompkins elaborate
on the fundamental distinctions between imperialism and neo-imperialism noting that while neo
imperialism, like imperialism, denotes unequal power relations between cultures or groups, its
methods of operation are typically less formalized than those of imperialism. While the European
empires used military force to keep a tight grip on their colonies, neo-imperialism operates more
clandestinely. It may involve cultural hegemony, economic pressure, and indirect influence (257).
In Harvest, the slum-dwelling Prakash family experiences all these forms of covert
pressures. The promise of wealth that would uplift their living standards forever is the economic
pressure for them. Padmanabhan highlights the intertwined nature of socio-economic exploitation
on local and global levels through this statement of Om where he tells Jaya that he did not have a
choice when he signed up for the organ transplantation program:
I went because I lost my job in the company. And why did I lose it? Because I am a clerk
and nobody needs clerks any more! There are no new jobs now – there’s nothing left for
people like us! Don’t you know that? There’s us – and the street gangs – and the rich. (260-
261)
Om’s lament reflects the dehumanizing aspects of economic pressure and the societal divide it
perpetuates, where the underprivileged face dire decisions without the luxury of choice.
However, the promise of money is not the only means of influence in the play. Their
customer Virgil, a male, also exercises indirect influence upon both Om and his brother Jeetu by
posing as their glamorous American woman customer named Ginni, beguiling and swaying them
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into consensual organ donations. When Interplanta guards come to their home to take away the
donor for the transplants, they seem to pick the wrong brother (Jeetu) ‘by accident’. At this point
Om does not object and remains in hiding till the guards leave their home. In Act III Scene I, when
Jeetu returns, “[i]n the place of his eyes are enormous goggles, created to look like a pair of
imitation eyes” (262). For Jeetu, it is like being “…in a place worse than death…” where there are
only “…[s]cars and slashes against infinite blackness. No stillness, no dimensions. No here, no
there” (264). He is devastated by his state and even thinks of destroying his life. However, after a
while, Jeetu is surprised as the darkness starts to recede, and he excitedly exclaims upon seeing
Ginni fully for the first time. Ginni responds to his excitement with a hint of playfulness in her
voice; “[s]ure you can see… That’s what we gave you eyes for” (266). Jeetu is awestruck with her
beauty and compares her to magic. Ginni seizes this opportune moment to discuss the next steps
in organ transplantation. She demands swift action and support from him to which an entranced
and ever compliant Jeetu responds; “[a]nything you want is fine, Ginni” (269). She then suggests
calling in the InterPlanta guards immediately, and Jeetu agrees without hesitation to follow her
command. All the while, Om keeps interrupting their conversation, trying to make Ginni believe
that he is the actual donor they had signed a contract with, and therefore, the guards must take him
away and not his brother.
The readiness of the brothers to sacrifice their living parts for a figment reaching them
through a Contact Module raises grave concerns about the impact of one’s disadvantaged socio-
economic status on one’s autonomy. The brothers’ background as urban slum dwellers shapes their
perception of Ginni profoundly. Coming from a marginalized community, with limited exposure
to such technology, they view Ginni’s ability to project a video image directly into Jeetu’s mind,
as almost magical. She comes across as a figure of authority and influence. This power dynamic
creates a sense of awe and trust in Ginni, making them less likely to question her motives or the
consequences of their actions. Consequently, their disadvantaged socio-economic position makes
them more vulnerable to manipulation and less able to make informed decisions for their interests
in the face of Ginni’s persuasive tactics.
In organ donation, the donor’s autonomy and understanding should be paramount.
However, Ginni creates a sense of urgency, stating that “time is kind of short, … and [they] really
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have to get a move on” (268), and pressures Jeetu into making decisions without proper time for
consideration, reflecting a potential exploitation of Jeetu’s lower social position and desperation.
Similarly, Ginni’s statement, “That’s what we gave you eyes for,” implies a social hierarchy where
the privileged, like Ginni, approach the underprivileged, like Om and his family, with a patronizing
attitude. However, it is ironic that there is a transaction involved which cannot be called an
exchange of equals. Just on the promise of luxury and comfort for him and his family, Om readily
agrees to donate his organs. They forcefully take away Jeetu’s natural eyes and induce temporary
artificial vision in their place. Nevertheless, Ginni approaches them as a patron, and the whole
family complies. The disparity in their knowledge and power arises from their economic
conditions.

Here, the concept of cultural hegemony becomes a crucial link to understanding how the
power dynamics play out between the dominant and the subordinate groups. Although Antonio
Gramsci gave no precise definition of the term, he discussed its characteristics as “the ‘spontaneous’
consent given by the great masses of the population to the general direction imposed on social life
by the dominant fundamental group; this consent is ‘historically’ caused by the prestige (and
consequent confidence) which the dominant group enjoys because of its position and function in
the world of production” (qtd in Lears 568).
In the play, Virgil (Ginni) embodies this hegemonic control. He dominates every aspect
of the Prakash family’s daily life. From what they can eat to where they go or not go, he surveiles
everything through her agents of InterPlanta and the Contact Module. Ginni can visit Om’s family
anytime without warning. They eat jars of colour-coded pellets given to them by the agents as
food, as directed by Ginni. Their patron believes that their living conditions and eating habits are
too unhygienic, and it may cause her health problems if the donor of organs lives in those
environments or eats those foods. Everyone does as commanded. In Act II of the play, we see the
results of her strategy. Two months have passed, and Om is anxious because they are late for lunch.
“You know how [Ginni] hates it when we’re late to eat” (234), Om says nervously. The contact
module makes the receiver impose a permanent surveillance system in Om’s home. Om and his
family fear Ginni’s anger or losing his contract, so they monitor their actions. In this instance, we
witness the insidious workings of cultural hegemony; the subtle coercion, the internalized
obedience, and the perpetuation of power structures.
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Another poignant illustration of how cultural hegemony functions can be found in the
following dialogue of Om after the agents carry away Jeet for organ transplantation. Om says to
Jaya:
It’s not so easy as you think – remember all those injections I had in the beginning? They
were to change my body so that it could match Ginni’s body perfectly. But now they’ve
taken the wrong pair of eyes – who knows what it’ll do to Ginni. And what about Jeetu’s
infections, all the poisons and germs he’s had circulating inside him – what about them?
Ginni’s scared about catching your cold! What’ll she catc h from Jeetu? (264)

Om’s compliance with the injections which might alter his physical self, once again, echoes
Gramsci’s idea of ‘spontaneous consent’. It is also ironic that Om is not concerned about Jeetu’s
well-being. Instead, he is more worried about the side-effects of a wrong transplantation on their
esteemed First World customer, Ginni. Om’s cold-hearted response invites a reflection upon th
sorry state that consumerism and commodification of human bodies can lead to.
Ethical considerations are often disregarded in a consumerism-driven global society.
Indian cities like Kolkata and Mumbai are major locations for illegal trade in human organs,
particularly kidneys and corneas. These trades are multimillion-dollar trades. Helen Gilbert
situates such illegal acts of organ trading “within a continuum of exploitative cross-cultural
relationships” which began with colonialism (“Postcolonial Plays” 215). The development of such
a rapacious ‘commerce’ “seems to be premised on the general assumption that the bodies of the
poor are worth more as spare parts than as living persons” (215). When Om addresses his brother
Jeetu as “the wrong pair of eyes”, the implication of Gilbert’s remark becomes clear.
However, in women’s playwriting discrimination and exploitation based on socio-
economic divide does not go unchallenged. Women playwrights harness the power of the female
narrative to confront adversities of the external world. In simpler terms, womanist dramaturgy
ensures the portrayal of a woman’s navigation through external challenges. Contrary to the
traditional association of women writers with the exploration of internal conflicts and resolutions
and men with themes of politics and religion that dominate our daily consciousness, women’s
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drama boldly questions this stereotype. Firstly, they deftly raise socio-economic concerns related
to institutions of politics, corruption, religion and so on. Secondly, they incorporate diverse female
experiences into their narratives, which eventually becomes the basis of resolving conflicts.
In the play Harvest, Jaya emerges as a formidable force, challenging the power of the global
capital to create cultural hegemony. At the end of the play, she registers a shift in power dynamics
through a demand that leaves Virgil perturbed. After claiming Jeetu’s body, the American
customer further proposes his wish of artificially inseminating Jaya. He even tries to lure her into
agreeing with him by projecting a false image of Jeetu, with whom Jaya was in love. However,
unlike Jeetu and Om, Jaya sees through the American man’s schemes equating them to madness.
For Virgil, who has successfully changed bodies four times, physical form is irrelevant to
happiness. Jaya, on the other hand, values the authenticity of a tangible existence, emphasizing the
importance of genuine human connection. Therefore, she demands physical intimacy from Virgil
if he truly wants her to bear his child. Sagnika Chanda’s argument that Harvest is “a postcolonial
and posthumanist protest against the ominous future in which man has no place” (114) is realized
in this demand that Jaya puts out to Virgil. That he must be physically intimate with a woman of
the Third World, who lives in an environment which is too polluted for him, is beyond Virgil’s
imagination. He upholds the posthumanist ideology which according to Chanda is characterized
by “the craving for eradication of limitations, imperfections and dispersal of the ‘self’ via
bioscience” (114). Jaya’s demand of his physical self and a threat that she will claim “the only
thing… which is still [her] own: [her] death” (Padmanabhan 289) leaves little option with Virgil.
Jaya asserts that by losing (her life), she wins because Virgil understands victory only in terms of
living and exercising control, and in her death, she will have defeated Virgil, gaining satisfaction
in knowing that he cannot control her decision or claim her body, despite her apparent weakness
and helplessness. Thus, in winning by losing, Jaya registers a shift in the power dynamics and
disrupts the cultural hegemony at the end of the play.
Conclusion
Contemporary Indian women playwrights, particularly those writing in English, have
redefined the scope and impact of their craft by deftly navigating through the complex socio-
economic terrains that divide societies, not only within the urban Indian context but also globally.
Plays like Manjula Padmanabhan’s Harvest depict the realm of global inequity with all its
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discomforting realities and their impact on human relationships, compelling readers and audiences
to reflect on the interconnectedness of local and global class struggles and urging a reevaluation
of our responsibilities within these dynamics. As illustrated with the example of Harvest,
contemporary women’s playwriting offers a more inclusive understanding of dramatic conflict
resolution by intertwining narrative conflicts and their final resolutions with women characters’
experiences and subsequent decisions. Such playwriting marks a transformative shift in dramatic
literature as it broadens the spectrum of stories told on stage.

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and Francis Online, https://doi.org/10.1080/10486800500451070.
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