How we cite our quotes: (Chapter. Paragraph)
Quote #4
Nowadays, well-educated natives are of opinion that when their womenfolk travel—and they visit a good deal—it is better to take them quickly by rail in a properly screened compartment; and that custom is spreading. But there are always those of the old rock who hold by the use of their forefathers; and, above all, there are always the old women—more conservative than the men—who toward the end of their days go on a pilgrimage. They, being withered and undesirable, do not, under certain circumstances, object to unveiling. After their long seclusion, during which they have always been in business touch with a thousand outside interests, they love the bustle and stir of the open road, the gatherings at the shrines, and the infinite possibilities of gossip with like-minded dowagers. Very often it suits a longsuffering family that a strong-tongued, iron-willed old lady should disport herself about India in this fashion; for certainly pilgrimage is grateful to the Gods. (4.38)
(We can't help but notice the subtle distance that the narrator places between himself and the local people of India in this passage: he talks about "their womenfolk" rather than just women.)
When the narrator talks about this practice of keeping wealthy, elite women hidden from public view, he is talking about purdah. We find it interesting that in the narrator's description of this practice, it relaxes as these well-born women get older. Once they grow "withered and undesirable," they have the freedom to go on pilgrimages around the country in a way that they don't as young women. So this raises the question: isn't it better to be an old woman than a young one in this novel? Certainly, the Kulu woman is a much more distinctive character than any of the other women in the book.
Quote #5
'I did not thieve. Besides, I am just now disciple of a very holy man. He is sitting outside. We saw two men come with flags, making the place ready. That is always so in a dream, or on account of a—a—prophecy. So I knew it was come true. I saw the Red Bull on the green field, and my father he said: "Nine hundred pukka devils and the Colonel riding on a horse will look after you when you find the Red Bull!" I did not know what to do when I saw the Bull, but I went away and I came again when it was dark. I wanted to see the Bull again, and I saw the Bull again with the—the Sahibs praying to it. I think the Bull shall help me. The holy man said so too. He is sitting outside. Will you hurt him, if I call him a shout now?' (5.95)
Throughout the first four chapters of Kim, the biggest marker of Kim's speech is how fluent it is. He knows how to talk to everybody, from the Amritzar girl whom he cons for some extra money to the Old Man Who Fought in '57, who tells his whole life story to Kim.
But now that Kim has arrived at his father's regiment, suddenly his speech patterns have gotten less skillful. He hesitates over the English word "prophecy," and his sentences become very simple and repetitive. Now that Kim is entering this new culture of the white elite in India, his unfamiliarity with this life and its manners is making his speech less fluent and assured than it is at any other point in the novel.
Quote #6
There is no city—except Bombay, the queen of all—more beautiful in her garish style than Lucknow, whether you see her from the bridge over the river, or from the top of the Imambara looking down on the gilt umbrellas of the Chutter Munzil, and the trees in which the town is bedded. Kings have adorned her with fantastic buildings, endowed her with charities, crammed her with pensioners, and drenched her with blood. She is the centre of all idleness, intrigue, and luxury, and shares with Delhi the claim to talk the only pure Urdu. (7.49)
The way that Kipling introduces each of the cities of this novel makes them sound like characters in their own right. Here, Lucknow is beautiful in her "garish" style, meaning that the city is showy and almost too bright. This implies that Lucknow is not a tasteful city, even though it is a rich and beautiful one. "She" is filled with luxury and idleness, again suggesting that Lucknow is gorgeous, but not exactly productive or businesslike. And of course, Kipling keeps referring to the city as "she," which makes Lucknow sound even more human—and even more romantic and attractive.
Of course, considering the fact that the British are dominating the land of India at this point in history, Kipling's decision to call India's cities "she," and to treat the land as a person, strikes us kind of creepy. Do you usually think of cities as people, with specific gender identities? Are we the only ones who find Kipling's description of Lucknow a tad unsettling?