She has published many novels and short stories in English and Malayalam under the name ‘Madhavikutty ’.
<ul><li>Important </li></ul><ul><li>Alphabet of Lust (1977) </li></ul><ul><li>Padmavati the Harlot And other Stories (1992) </li></ul><ul><li>Summer in Calcutta (1965), </li></ul><ul><li>Works </li></ul><ul><li>The Descendants (1967), </li></ul><ul><li>The Old Playhouse and Other Poems (1973), </li></ul><ul><li>The Anamalai Poems (1985), </li></ul><ul><li>Only the Soul Knows How to Sing (1996), </li></ul>
Asian Poetry Prize for her work, Kent Award for English Writing from Asian Countries, Asan World Prize, Ezhuthachan Award, Sahitya Academy Award, Vayalar Award, Kerala Sahitya Academy Award.
Kamala Das is a tale weaver – weaving the rhythm of life into a tale of soul – a poet who loves to be loved in silence. She says, "I wanted to fill my life with as many experiences as I can manage to garner because I do not believe that one can get born again".
Her mother is presumably taken to be motionless and still – 'dead' to say in brief. The destination is worthy of its name too – Cochin – signifying ‘sleep' – clearly signifies that the speaker would soon see her mother to be a denizen of the other world.
Relationship is the nucleus of the poem. It seems love creates an unfading relationship and it wields its brush over at least two souls and assigns a meadow of agony with a river of fecundity. The speaker is carried away by her childhood premonition of losing her mother. A deep sense of never-happened-before isolation creeps into the heart of the speaker. Just to satisfy her economic appetite she is bound for some handsome income. Yet, it cannot cut off the branch of relationship.
Nostalgia smeared in separation appears to be the default setting of the poem. The title scrutinizes every mother lumbers towards the age, 66, with care or without care. But this very mother gets to the same age through the growing eyes of her daughter.
The poetess on way to the airport at Cochin is suddenly struck by the thought that her mother has grown old . Her corpse like ashen face and the green trees racing past the speeding car are a grim reminder that time has flown by. The joyous children playing outside takes her back to the days of her idyllic youth when her mother too was young and energetic .
At the same time the poetess, like every young child, has the fear of loosing her mother. Once again she feels the insecurity of parting from her mother – the mother who has lost the blush of youth and middle age and has become as lustureless as the winter moon .
My Mother At Sixty Six Driving from my parent's home to Cochin last Friday morning
I saw my mother, beside me, doze, open mouthed, her face ashen like that of a corpse and realised with pain that she thought away, and looked but soon put that thought away,