Prose | Address following Sahitya Academy Award by Mercy Margaret

It began like a small drop of water, with one small step. Today, the journey has brought me to stand before such an august gathering of people in this city. It´s like a movie reel running before my eyes. 

To stand in front of you today, with a heart filled with immense pleasure, is the result of several sleepless nights of effort and sacrifice.

First of all, let me extend my most humble greetings to all those who are present here. I also extend my heartfelt gratitude to the jury of the Kendra Sahitya Academy for honouring me with this award and for encouraging several poets like me.

Although it has been about six months since this award was announced I still keep receiving congratulations and words of appreciation. People often ask how I feel about the award. When they inquire about these things, I notice an enormous love in their eyes. I even notice that they search for happiness in my eyes. Almost for a week after the announcement was made, there was a flood of phone calls and messages on Facebook and Whatsapp leaving me almost breathless with happiness.

The fact that I had earned so many well-wishers made me feel happier than the award itself. In fact, it's the poetry that has endeared me to all. This award brought me even closer to them more than ever.

That´s indeed showering with love, the love which made most of them feel as if they had won this award themselves. What can I give them back in exchange except love? I am indebted to God for having brought me onto this earth with a purpose. I am indebted to my parents who made me kneel down and pray for my books and education when I was small. There have been several people who have instilled in me a sense of determination and values to uphold in life. I don´t really know how to express my gratitude to them. My gratitude to my teachers who put up with my naughtiness affectionately and filled my hands with well-lit burning words.  To Mark Zuckerberg for offering a wonderful platform like Facebook.  My heartfelt gratitude to my companion, friend and husband who is there in every step I take as my first critic and guide always encouraging me to produce quality writing. It´s my duty to thank everybody that has been a source of encouragement and inspiration in my life.

Having been born in a Christian family with no background of any literary discourse at home this comes as a surprise even to me. It´s not to say that I have made a great achievement, nor does this award will change anything in my attitude towards life. I consider it as an acknowledgement for planting another sapling in my literary garden.  It has only a humbling effect on me. Undoubtedly, it´s an important literary break for me. It has become an obligation now to learn more and more. To have more caring people around.

Nowadays, it´s difficult to find love and affection among people. Nobody seems to have time to listen to the other. There used to be a sort of companionship once. All human relations have become commercial today. Instead of coming closer to one another we are drifting apart. Distances between people have become longer and words have become scarce.

A Marxist will wage a long-time revolution. A middle-class girl after concluding two major journeys of her life –one before marriage and the other after marriage, will embark upon an eternal journey of companionship and turbulence. A sailor will embark upon his prolonged journey towards an unseen edge of the water. A scientist convinced that life is an endless evolution will drown himself in an interminable search. One defines life as a struggle, another as survival and yet another as a journey or an eternal quest, but everyone will keep moving. But they come back as if they have been reminded of something.

The pleasure of reaching the goal together, in one single leap, laying hands on one another´s shoulder or running over the puddles amidst peels and laughter, a childhood we left behind, a life, a language, a feeling –they all transform into a nostalgia.

In childhood, the puddles formed by the first showers of rain on the muddy streets used to greet us warmly as if they were meeting us after a long gap. We used to look at ourselves in the same puddles wondering how we looked when we laughed. It was great fun.

Haven´t we laid roads with coal-tar topping to run our cars? Where can you find those puddles now? 

Where are the puddles that remind us today how we looked like when we laughed at our own reflections in them? Where are the puddles that remind us with a heap of words that we are human beings?

What we left behind while walking is our own life, our own language. It´s the word that tells us that a human being is still alive. So long as the words flow like a stream, we remain alive. But we are abandoning the words. We are losing people. 

The society has grown. Humanity has entered into our melancholy. From the larval stage, our ideas and thoughts have undergone a metamorphosis. We wanted to fly. Without even knowing where we were taking off, we traversed almost an infinity. But did we ever stop to observe there was not one puddle to be seen on this journey? We have left the very human element of observation in our lives. When machine becomes a man and man becomes a machine, language slips into oblivion. When language becomes oblivious, feelings become obsolete. We have no time to lay hands on one another´s shoulders and leap together. Today, there are no puddles where words ooze eternally, words of warmth that existed among friends. 

If we combine several brief journeys it becomes one long journey. An odyssey. Every small trip is a turning. Every turning is a lesson in life.

Modern life has conspired to wipe us out physically, psychologically and politically. If we are not alert, we can disappear from the crowd, from the context or even from our very own self. That´s why when we see the burning lives of people, ever vanishing human element, when we see the resources for building this world draining out rapidly when we see human strife and tragedy the pressure on our heart mounts. Pen and paper become our companions to help us combat this pressure, to relieve us from its clutches. In times of crisis, of desperation and of lifelessness, poetry pats you on your back to bring you back to life.

Nowadays, people live for themselves. “Me and my family”. The society is a conglomeration of many such families. We know everything. We know how to maneuver on the thin line between good and bad. When I stumble on that line, the poet in me wakes up. It´s not to scribble something to change the society. I walk with many such “Me and Mine-s” in the society with shades of victory and with the shrieks of a wounded heart imprinted on the palm of my hand. That´s what is reflected in my poetry. You will see many such instances taking poetic form in my forthcoming collection too.

Initially, there used to be an enclosure around me. I saw people being apprehensive of touching my writings and thoughts. I was then a plant called ´Touch Her Not´. There were people who were skeptical about reading my words, my writings. My name reveals my identity. It reveals my community. Therefore, they were far from being receptive. It took a lot of time for a lot of people to accept me as a poet.

Although I started to write when I was in the Intermediate second year, I wasn´t really sure, whether it was poetry or not. With the restrictions of having been born in a Christian family and with no literary background, I had no idea what to read. Then, when I was in degree the second year –that was in 2002, I won a prize in an essay-writing contest organized by Vishalandhra Publications, a prestigious Telugu language publishing house. I was given books worth three thousand rupees. By then, Sri Sri, Dr.C.Narayana Reddy and Tilak were already part of my syllabus. I ordered their books and read them. A little later, Facebook became a platform for me. I opened my Facebook account in 2009. I began to post whatever I thought was good to post there. Surprisingly, I received a great deal of response there. I met several poets on Facebook. I sought their recommendations about books related to poetry and read. That urge to read poetry finally brought me here. Slowly, my poems have been translated into English, Hindi, Malayalam, Tamil, Odiya and Kannada languages and published. I have been accorded the opportunity of reading my poetry at various state, national and international poetry conclaves. I recited my poetry at Festival of Letters –New Harvest of Young Writers´ Meet organized by the Kendra Sahitya Academy. At the South India Writers´ Meet, I not only recited my poetry but presented a paper too. I started ´Poetry Hall´ on Facebook. I organize poetry workshops at Ravindra Bharathi in Hyderabad and train enthusiastic students in writing poetry. It has been one journey so far. A kind of transit. Now it´s time to discover new horizons. To begin a new journey.

This award is certainly a source of encouragement to continue my literary career. I hope this will turn out to be a Guru who will pat on my back and remind me constantly to write with responsibility.

My heartfelt gratitude to all of you.

TSC Interviews | Dr. Pasunoori Ravinder

Short story writer from Telangana, Dr Ravinder Pasunoori had won the Sahitya Akademi Yuva Puraskar in 2015 for his collection of stories titled ‘Out of Coverage Area’ in the Telugu language category. Chandramohan S. interviews him for TSC.

Dr. Pasunoori Ravinder
Photo Credits: Chandramohan S.

CS: You have brought glory to Dalit literature. Congratulations! Could you spell out your evolution as a writer?

PR: ‘Hunger makes one learn everything’ is a prominent saying in Telugu. In my case, self-respect has made me a writer.  I am born in a Dalit caste where pain, happiness and everything is expressed artistically. Many of our family members are already artists prior to me such as singers, drama artists and so on. Especially my mother is a folk singer. The area where I was born and brought up is full of left-wing movements. As I was born in such an environment, the movements helped me to turn into artist, poet and writer. A lot of valuable Dalit literature came out condemning the Karamchedu, and Chunduru massacre on Telugu land. That not only influenced literary world but social movements as well.  Like this, by 90s, it played a philosophical role for the youth like me to turn into a writer.

Initially, like others I also tried to write from class angle. But it did not seem so satisfying.  Mainly, I did not find my life in the literature that I studied. So, I thought of writing about myself. The thought of writing about Dalits like me, turned me into a writer.  

CS: Your stories are written in the local Telangana dialect. Can you tell me more about it?

PR: As there is caste domination in the society, likewise there is caste authority in the literature. Mainly there is caste to language; that is Pandit’s language. They decided to set only that language as standard in literature. That is why we had to bear the language which is not ours. So I did not like it. So I thought to write in the language of mine only and (I am ) writing as such.  I decided to write in the language that my Dalit mother speaks at home, which has not undergone any domination and influence. In such manner, Telangana Dalit (Madiga) language appeared in my stories. In a way, this is a kind of protest for self-respect. This is the reason that my stories have attracted general Dalit and Bahujan readers than mainstream scholars. 

CS: The title of your short story collection is "Out of coverage area". It sounds profound and poetic.

PR: In fact, it's the modern -era telephone terminology. The idea was that the present generation will understand easily if such a title is given. I thought  the concerns of today's Dalits should reflect in it. That is why, ‘out of coverage area’ seemed to be the right title. In fact, those who live outside villages are Dalits only.  We all are living in out of coverage area itself. Hence many critics appraised that it is the correct title.    

CS: Do you consider yourself a Dalit writer? What are the specifics of the subjectivity of  a "Dalit Writer" in your opinion? 

PR: Those who wish to write about Dalits’ life from the perspective of the Dalits and their well-being can only become Dalit writers. Many among Dalits, for the appreciation of mainstream, leave their lives and bring out liberal writings. In the same way, non-Dalits also write about the life of Dalits in superficial manner.

This does not come under the range of Dalit literature. Dalits writing about Dalits will only become Dalit literature.   

In this context, Dalit writer means those who can be fully dedicated to Dalit class. They should have respect not only towards their social life but also towards their culture, language and other things. In the title of my collection of stories, I have given the tag line as Telangana Dalit stories.

CS: Have you ever felt constrained to write "politically correct" stories? Do you have any major literary influences?

PR: Starting from Perumal Murugan to general Dalit writers, we have been facing challenges from the Hindutva Brahminical society. This society does not like us talking facts. Because of which I get several threatening calls when I write about caste. They mostly come from the upper-castes. I get amused at their dilemma. Sometimes I feel sad. Even then I try to correct them. Politics and literature are not separate. Writing itself is a political activity. Therefore, I am ready to face any kind of disturbances while writing about my caste. There is strong impact of Dalit and Bahujan writers on me; mainly the influence of the writers during the Dalit literary movement. During their times they wrote about the caste discrimination against Dalit in villages, I am writing stories of caste discrimination in towns of modern era.

In the coming times, I will try to write with much more responsibility.

Prose | Chandramohan S

IWE Dalit-Bahujan writers' consortium

Source: imdb.com

From the colonial times, English has been a language of privilege; it has taken more than 60 years or so after Indian independence for literature produced by Dalits or Dalit-Bahujans, that articulate resistance against the oppression of any kind, to have a miniscule presence in the literary pantheon. Certain novels in vernacular languages have even documented how Dalits are empowered via the skilful use of English; for e.g. in Saraswathi Vijayam, by Potheri Kunhambu ( and translated from Malayalam by Dilip Menon). The author himself was a Dalit-Bahujan.

Saraswativijayam is one of the earliest novels written in the Malayalam language and propounds English education for untouchables as a tool for subverting the social hierarchy. Similar to the ideals propagated by Sree Narayana Guru and others, Potheri Kunhambu was optimistic about the sites of resistance opened up for lower castes by colonial modernity.

Observations by Kannadiga writer U.R. Ananthamurthy on the lack of original English writing by Dalits and disparaging comments like, "probably there will never be 'Indian English' literature by us " point to a certain glass ceiling which should be shattered in the post-Rohith Vemula era.

In her essay, included in Poisoned Bread- An anthology of Dalit writing published from Maharashtra, Gail Omvedt had pointed out that a sense of cultural capital, required in order to produce poetry, short stories or novels in English is lacking among the Dalit community and that many Other Backward Castes lag behind the Dalits when it comes to producing scholarship or literature in English. Fiction produced by non- Dalit writers, that have portrayed Dalit life, leave much to be desired.

Though an act of translating fiction or scholarship of Dalit-Bahujan writers can be perceived as a step to de-caste themselves by those involved in the process, issues remain.  

Firstly, a lot is lost in translation. This loss is even more pronounced in the case of literature produced by the Subaltern since they are much rooted in their respective cultural milieu best expressed in the vernacular. The politics of the translator affects the output subtly. This can result in serious misunderstanding or misappropriation of the rhetoric of the source text.

If languages are sites of struggle, and if our perception of this world we live in is very much shaped by the language we use, then every small pin prick of subversion is inextricably intertwined with the specificities of the myriad dialects that are in use, all of which could go for a toss during the process of translation.

Moreover, there is a huge time-lag involved in translation into English. Many literary works which respond to the socio-political reality of the present situation may not serve the expected outcome when the English translation arrives many years later. Thus the role played by Dalit literature in complementing the civil rights struggle of Dalits could get blunted. For example, it took more than a couple of decades before the acclaimed novel Devanoora Mahadeva’s Kusumabale could see the light of the day in the English language.

Dalit literature is a cultural text, a nuanced engagement with which could play a vital role in extending the political struggles to the cultural arena which may not be served by journalistic endeavours of reporting facts without articulating a stand not to the mention the absence of Dalits in the newsrooms.

Secondly, Dalits have very little say in what is getting translated and who is translating it. This could be very detrimental to the civil rights movement based on identity politics since it is rooted in the dictum of who decides what for whom. Identity politics aims for engaging with the discourse without mediation from anyone else.

There is a big disparity between the deliberations and literary criticisms produced on literary works directly written in English compared to translated fiction. The reasons could vary from ubiquitous literary festivals which are designed for the spotlight to fall on the Indian English writer rather than on the vernacular writer with a recently published translation. Secondly, there is definitely a dearth of good translators from the vernacular to the English and to add insult to injury, academic interest in South Asian literature prefers an articulate English speaker to his vernacular counterpart.

A conspicuous example in this regard could be a comparison between a collection of short stories of Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar  (The Adivasi Will not Dance; Speaking Tiger)  and translated fiction of Ajay Navaria(Unclaimed Terrain: Navayana); though both have been amply praised by critics, the latter has not received enough notice.

Another example is of Tamil writer P Sivakami had to wait for more than a decade to get platforms to air her views when compared to a writer like Meena Kandasamy.

The pertinent questions raised by U.R. Ananthamurthy on why there are no Subaltern literary movements in Indian English writing could be settled in this era along with literary theorizations by Dalit-Bahujan critics themselves.

References

1.Changing landscape of Indian literature- K Satchidanandan , Muse India International.

2. Poisoned Bread- Introduction by Gail Omvedt ;OUP.

3.”We too made history” – Urmila Pawar and Meenakshi Moon ; Zubaan Books