The narrative of Literary Festivals

As the rains abate and cool breezes begin blowing, people all over the country gear up for celebrations. In recent years, literary festivals have joined this exuberant bandwagon, with almost 100 such galas planned in India this year. Litfests, as they are fondly termed, add glamour and crowd pulling appeal to reading and writing, which are essentially quiet and solitary activities. Publishers, publicists and ‘Famous Authors’ of every feather flock to literature festivals all over the country. With new literary festivals sprouting up every year to add to the already rich variety,  lifestyle coaches, gawkers, culture vultures, fast food vendors, aspiring writers, fitness gurus, film personalities, film stars of every sparkle level, and everyone who is anything else, all join the festivities. With so much fanfare and drumrolls, are these litfests becoming commercial circuses? Or do they really serve the cause of literature by focusing on good books, offering a platform to a variety of voices and artistic perspectives, and drawing in new readers to books they would otherwise never have known?

First, let’s take a look at the not-so-literary but equally vital practical part of litfests. Organising any literary festival is a huge exercise in management. The Jaipur Literary Festival, that mother of all Indian litfests, draws stupendous crowds that can fill up an entire town. Other litfests are also catching up. This is enough to prompt borderline introverts like me to hide inside the nearest cupboard at the very thought. Such litfests are organisational wonders, with promoters juggling finances, public relations, logistics and heaven alone knows what else. Star guests have to invited and hosted, air tickets and tour itineraries have to be synchronised, sponsors have to be tapped, venues have to be booked, security has to be in place, volunteers have to be organised and trained, and I faint to think of what else organisers have to go through to present these grand events to the world.  What happens in Jaipur on a mammoth scale, is repeated in varying degrees in all the other litfests. Hotels are fully booked months in advance, and a galaxy of literary greats descend from all over the globe. Many star studded sessions are organised simultaneously, and the audience are spoilt for choice. Food stalls, book stalls, souvenir stalls, contests, workshops and many other activities are also presented to keep the crowds entertained and well fed as they pursue the literary muses.

Litfests are definitely big business. The many visitors also look for accommodation and visit places of interest, giving a shot in the arm to tourism and the local economy. Hotels, restaurants, tour operators and other business establishments profit from this influx of migratory literati. Many visitors consider Famous Authors themselves as major tourist attractions, jostling to click selfies and grab their autographs. No wonder many literary festivals are co-sponsored by government tourism departments and major corporates.

Book sales are only a small part of the commercial extravaganza. From what I’ve seen, malls and junk food stalls steal a march over books. Fine dining in fancy restaurants, grand cars and designer clothes may cost the earth. People still feel their money is well spent on such luxuries for making a lifestyle statement. Books are cheaper than pizzas and burgers which we gobble to attain blissful obesity. But books are considered a waste of time and money by many, who have never read anything but textbooks or advertisements in their lives.  

Meanwhile, brick and mortar bookstores are downing shutters. Authors like me whom nobody has heard of, are delighted to get occasional four-figure cheques for what some bright comedian has termed ‘royalties’. If more people bought, read, and learnt to love books, they would realise that books are not only cheaper than junk food, they are healthier for our brains and bodies too. The hoopla of litfests will be well worth it if it draws such doubting Thimmaiahs to reading books.

Publisher Dipankar Mukherjee of Readomania perfectly sums up the symbiotic connection between literature and commerce. “There is a distinction between a literary platform and a literary jamboree. A platform that promotes literary voices, celebrates good writing and showcases different perspectives is a cultural and societal need, but a jamboree to make noise, earn money and create a saleable property is a commercial need. Both must co-exist.”  Which, in my ‘author whom nobody has heard of’ speak, also means that well written books for the edification and entertainment of humanity cannot be produced with empty coffers.

Accepting an invitation to the recently held Pune International Literary Festival (PILF) I experienced this happy combination of a literary platform in a lively carnival atmosphere. While three literary sessions were conducted simultaneously in various halls, street plays, book readings and signings by authors, and just plain fun happened outdoors. There was a colourful exhibition on Enid Blyton, and book stalls, souvenir stalls and food stalls to keep everyone busy between sessions. Bestselling author of mystery novels and PILF founder Manjiri Prabhu seemed all hands, eyes and ears as she coordinated the three-day event, while playing gracious hostess to the many literary guests. I observed author Shinie Antony speaking at sessions and interacting with fans. All the while she was mentally planning for her own responsibilities as the lady behind the Bangalore Literary Festival. As I prepared to speak at my own session and braced to don the mantle of moderator for a panel discussion, I realized that planning and smoothly executing such massive events was a challenge requiring much blood sweat and tears to flow behind the scenes.

PILF 2016 showcased multiple genres of books. Mysteries, thrillers, crime fiction, yoga, comics, mythology based fiction, romances, self-help books, food writers, health, beauty and nutrition all had a space here. There were also fascinating movements across various art forms. A ballet was performed based upon Pervin Saket’s novel about a modern day Urmila, the neglected wife. The ballet incorporated several classical dance forms such as Kathak, Odisi and Bharat Natyam. There was even the screening of a film on Lahore, a travel documentary about filmmaker Rahul Chandawarkar’s visit to Pakistan to perform a play. And of course, there were the lively street play performances. The exuberant fairground atmosphere helped in the free flow of ideas as people moved from one session to another, soaking in whatever suited them.

From Pune, I travelled to Bhubaneswar, where I was invited to speak at two sessions of the Utkal Literature Festival (ULF). I saw how each litfest has its unique character and flavor, offering fresh perspectives and insights. ULF 2016 was a more formal event conducted inside a spacious auditorium. While there were poetry readings in the lawns and a bookstall, there were no food courts or other fairground trappings. Acknowledging that intellectual activities cannot be digested on empty stomachs, visitors were generously offered lunch by the hosts. The focus was upon novels, short stories and poetry, giving equal importance to both English and Odiya writing. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I could understand the gist of what was being read and discussed in Odiya. This offered another wonderful perspective on the great work happening in our neglected languages. There were lively panel discussions on relevant topics such as the crisis in translation in Odiya literature, the art and craft of fiction writing, independent publishing, book promotions, blogging and the role of literary festivals.

Literary festivals are coming up to cater to every angle of the complex world of literature. Bookaroo, the children’s litfest, is going strong with editions all over the country. As a speaker in Bookaroo in Delhi a few years ago, I saw how the playful open air atmosphere drew excited kids to books. Another theme based festival Comic Con, focuses upon comic books and graphic novels. Poetry festivals attract many enthusiasts.

Do we need more litfests? Yes, says author and publisher Zafar Anjum, who is launching the Seemanchal International Literary Festival in November. Set in Kishanganj in the picturesque foothills of the eastern Himalayas, this litfest will draw attention to a beautiful but neglected region of India. Anjum’s literary venture Kitaab focuses on building a platform for Asian writing in English. In keeping with this spirit, speakers will be coming from countries such as the US, UK, Singapore and elsewhere. Among other attractions, the India release of noted Singapore author Isa Kamari’s latest book Tweet is planned here.

As ‘an author whom nobody has heard of’, I am all for litfests. Through them, an eccentric reader or two may have come to know of my books. Perhaps someone may actually buy, read, enjoy my books and tell others. We live on hope. I have a soft corner for literary fiction, with its stress on the inner life and struggles of fictional characters, and style and artistic expression. It was enlightening to learn of new work in other areas. I reconnected with old writer friends, and met some interesting new ones. I’m still ‘an author whom nobody has heard of’, and my books are languishing on Flipkart. But thanks to generous sponsors and hosts, I briefly emerged from under my bed, travelled to new places in comfort and had literary adventures.

This is published in Sunday Herald

Shashi Deshpande: an interview

Shashi Deshpande’s dignified presence, her innate warmth and grace, can win the hearts and minds of anyone from aspiring writers to intellectual opponents. Her twinkling eyes belie a razor-sharp mind; one who sees through human subterfuges and smiles at the quirks and ironies of life.

This prolific author began her career with short stories and has gone on to pen nine short story collections, twelve novels and four books for children.  She has also written essays on topics such as feminism, literature and language. Translations are another part of her rich repertoire, and her own work has been translated into several languages. Among her many honours, is India’s prestigious Sahitya Akademi Award for her novel That Long Silence. Her latest novel, Shadow Play, has been shortlisted for The Hindu Prize, 2014. She was honoured by the Indian Government with the Padma Shri in 2008.

Deshpande’s fiction is rife with women who display uncommon inner strength as they cope with frustrations and disappointments in love, marriage, family life, and come to terms with thwarted personal aspirations. As they struggle within the constraints of their daily lives, they realise truths about themselves and strive to rise above their circumstances. Their personalities evolve as they test the boundaries of their resilience and courage. In That Long Silence, Jaya's life crumbles around her as aspersions are cast on her husband’s professional reputation. He loses his job and the foundations of Jaya’s seventeen-year-old marriage and family are rocked. Jaya is haunted by her memories of a repressed childhood, her failure as a writer, and of growing disenchantment with her marriage and her children. In A Matter of Time, Gopal, a respected academician and caring father and husband, abandons his family without warning, for reasons even he cannot articulate. His wife Sumi is compelled to seek shelter with her three daughters, in the home of her parents. The silent ancestral home unveils its mysteries, stories of sorrow and loss. This tale spanning three generations, weaves an intricate tapestry of the characters’ passages through love, loss, endurance and glimpses of hope. The Binding Vine[M1]  is another moving exploration of the dignity and forbearance shown by women as they face the daily challenges of life. The lives of three women who are "haunted by fears, secrets, and deep grief" (Washington Post) are bound together by strands of life and hope—a binding vine of love, concern, and connection that spreads across chasms of time, social class, and even death. The Baltimore Sun declared the novel, "Chekhovian . . . Deshpande’s story of a woman who loses a daughter is linked to the politics of India and its tradition of patriarchy."

The range and variety of Deshpande’s work is displayed in novels such as Come Up and Be Dead, which can be termed a literary mystery. A school is shaken from its normal routine by the suicide of one of its young students. Rumours and speculations thicken the atmosphere around characters who could very well be our neighbours or relatives. The Narayanpur Incident is a novel for children set in the heady days of India’s freedom movement against British colonial rule. Babu and Manju find themselves swept up in the popular protests during the Quit India Movement of 1942. Their schools close down, their father is imprisoned, and their older brother Mohan goes underground to join the freedom fighters. The children move with other family members to the obscure village of Naryanpur. Waves of turbulence rocking the nation reach even this remote place, where children fall victim to police atrocities, and a group of children gather the courage to stand up to the colonial police.

There is so much more to say about her work, which is best expressed by the author herself. We at Kitaab thank Shashi Deshpande for being with us and sharing exclusive insights with our readers. This interview is published in Kitaab

1.     How much did your environment shape your writing? As the daughter of renowned Kannada dramatist and man of letters Sriranga, you would have grown up in the lap of literature. Might your interests have taken a different turn if you had been nurtured in a more mundane milieu? Any anecdotes you would like to share about your first experiences in writing?

SD:  It is always difficult to answer hypothetical questions like this one. The facts are that my father was a writer, our house was full of books, there were often literary friends visiting and literary conversations going on. But the huge passion for reading, for words, for language -  these were mine. I read everything I could lay my hands on, including dictionaries  and self-teaching books, like books that  taught    French, German, Hindi  and so on. The interest in people was also my own. So I guess I was born to be a writer. In fact my father was troubled by my habit of reading books other than texts and that,  unlike my sister, I never got a first or second rank. He often said that I would grow up to become a clerk in the Collector’s office! (I’m grateful he took it for granted that I would shape my own future, that it did not depend on who I married.) In fact, there was a time when my father  asked my teachers not to allow me to borrow books from the school library. Did that help? Not at all. My friends borrowed the books I wanted and handed them over to me.

As for writing, it took me a long time to  begin writing, though  I do remember entering a writing competition run by the Illustrated Weekly  of India and getting a prize. And writing a story for a school exercise. That was all. But I wrote diaries (soppy ones, I’m sure) and letters to pen pals. Real writing began after I was married and had two children.

2      Among the many memorable characters you have created, which is your personal favourite? If you were to begin writing that same story today, how would your own subsequent life experiences impact that character and her story?

SD: It is very hard to say who is my favourite character. It’s like asking a parent about her/his favourite child. However  I suppose I can say that the character closest to my heart is Aru, who first appeared in A Matter of Time. I admired her greatly but was unable to make her the heroine in that novel. I made a kind of promise at the end of the book that I would make her the heroine next time. And nearly twenty years later Shadow Play came to me in which Aru played the major role. Generally characters make a graceful exit once the novel has been written. The fact that Aru stayed with me for such a long time shows how much she meant to me.

 

3.      Your fiction is widely appreciated for your ability to weave complex nuances and intricate layers of significance into what might appear at first glance as tales of ordinary people leading ordinary Indian lives. Did you consciously choose your subjects, or did the stories choose you?

SD: There are two questions here. The first  one is whether I consciously choose my subjects or do the stories choose me. No, I never choose a subject and then begin writing.  I could not and would not do that. The people  come first to me and lead me into their lives, and then their stories evolve through their characters, through their interactions with others, through the choices they make. Actually, I don’t  even know how the novel will end when I begin writing.

But  the point I really want to make is about your comment  that  my stories are of `ordinary people leading ordinary lives’. In the 5<sup>th</sup> question, once again my stories and novels have been described as `revolving around ordinary middle class women’. I am a little intrigued by the word `ordinary’. I would have thought that all, or, at least most writers, write about ordinary people. Extraordinary people are few, maybe a handful in an  entire generation. Besides, however ordinary we may seem to others, to ourselves we are always extraordinary, we are unique, we treasure that `special-ness’ of ours greatly. It is this special-ness that the fiction writer looks for in human beings, it is this uniqueness that the fiction writer finds. Therefore I do not understand why my work is often singled out as being about `ordinary people’. So too, `middle-class’. I often wonder what class  of people other writers write about, whether any writer thinks of class at all! Most writers write about the people they know best,  that’s all!

4.       One of the Nobel Prize judges for literature judges, Horace Engdahl, stirred a debate very recently when he pointed out that we are endangering literary fiction when we treat it at par with commercial fiction. Publishers say that commercial fiction pays the bills while literary fiction brings awards and accolades. Do you think the balance between literary fiction and commercial fiction has been lost, even here in India?

SD:  Yes, I read some of his statements. But I am not able to understand why there should be a conflict between  literary fiction and commercial fiction. And I’m not sure that he meant that only literary fiction is endangered by treating it on a par with commercial fiction. I think that literature itself is  harmed by such a treatment, if it really happens. It’s true we need all kinds of books, not only because the publisher needs to make money but because of the vast number of readers with a vast number of tastes out there.  All readers cannot appreciate the same kind of books. The problem, as I see it, especially in India, is that  we seem to confuse fast-selling fiction with significant writing and  then giving it undue importance. Until now, our country has not seen  the kind of sales figures some books now have and the media  has gone overboard celebrating this success.  The publicity and hype attracts more readers and not-very-knowing readers think these books are  a must-read. That we are not able to draw a line between writing which sells well and writing which is good and will last, that we allow statements about the need to dumb down the language for readers,  doesn’t augur well for the future of good writing in India. We need  literary books, we also need well-written books which are not so literary, but certainly we don’t really need badly written books.

5.      You have written several volumes of short stories and novels for adults, which often revolve around ordinary middle class Indian women striving to break free from a painful past, and seeking dignity and grace in their lives as they deal with the constraints of their present day existence. You’ve also written books for children. Come Up and Be Dead is a mystery set around the suicide of a schoolgirl, followed by the death of Pratap, the brother of Kshama, a teacher. What are your impressions about the comparative challenges posed by these diverse genres of writing? Does alternating between different genres give you a respite from the monotony of focusing upon only one? Does this help you to gain fresh insights?

SD: All writing is a challenge.  Whether it’s a short story, a poem, an essay,  a drama or a novel – each genre poses some challenges. And there never is any monotony in writing just one genre. For instance, I prefer the novel to all other forms and I am at ease and comfortable with it. But I started with short stories and then, when I felt I could, I wrote a novel.  For quite some time I wrote both short stories and novels, but slowly the novel, being a more demanding form, in terms of time, took over. Then I wrote short stories only when commissioned. I also wrote  a large number of prose pieces, either for talks or as essays. These too came out of my feeling that there were things I wanted to say about  Indian Writing in English, about language, about women’s writing, feminism etc. Now I feel I have  said all that I want to say, but still write reviews when asked. So it is a question of wanting to write about a subject and using the form the subject demands.  As far as insights are concerned, these can come through any form of writing.

 

6.      Recently, a Malayalam language writer said that Indian writers focus on personal agonies and that denies them place in world literature. Do you agree?

SD:  I dislike generalisations and I don’t take such statements seriously. Why single out Indian writers as focussing on personal agonies? Writers everywhere have done and will do that. According to me, what makes it difficult for Indian writers to find a place in world literature is the plethora of languages, the `frog in a pond’ attitude that the small readership gives and the lack of world-class translators.

7.      What do you feel about the proliferation of literary festivals? Are they a welcome move to bring authors closer to their readers? Or do they distract readers as well as authors from the very private enjoyment of reading and writing?

SD: Literary festivals can be fun and  they are a good place for writers and readers to meet – no doubt about that at all. But there can be too much of a good thing and that’s what literary festivals are becoming in India. Every little town now wants to host one. A literary festival  has become a celebrity and wannabe writers jamboree. It has become a place to celebrate celebrities and you find the same writers moving from festival to festival. I often wonder: when do they write?

8.      What advice would you offer to upcoming writers?

SD: I would say read, read and read. Then write, read your own work and  be honestly self-critical. Never feel complacent about your work. That’s death for a writer.

9.      What are you working on now?

SD : A novel – what else?

Ru Freeman: Author interview

Ru Freeman is a Sri Lankan–American writer and activist. Her debut novel, A Disobedient Girl, was longlisted for the DSC Prize for South Asian Literature and translated into seven languages. She has been a fellow of the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, Yaddo, and the VirginiaCenter for the Creative Arts. She blogs for the Huffington Post on literature and politics and is a contributing editorial board member of the Asian American Literary Review. She calls both Sri Lanka and America home and writes about the people and countries underneath her skin. Her first novel, A Disobedient Girl, is the story of Latha and Biso, two Sri Lankan girls working as domestic helpers, who strive for a better life. Her latest work, On Sal Mal Lane, is a sad yet hopeful tale of children growing up in times of civil strife and impending civil war in Sri Lanka. This beautifully written novel has also been longlisted for the DSC Prize. Sal Mal Lane, a dead end street in Colombo, presents a microcosm of Sri Lankan Society. The well to do Heraths are kind and generous Sinhalese Buddhists who celebrate all religions, from singing Christmas carols to sharing Diwali sweets with their neighbours. The other neighbours are Sinhalese Catholics, Burghers, Tamil Catholics, Tamil Hindus and the reticent yet gracious Muslim Bin Ahmed family. The novel explores through the eyes of the children, the effects of increasing communal tensions. Riots, death and destruction visit this happy and peaceful community, and battle lines get drawn. The children realize that what is lost forever cannot be regained. They try to come to terms with this loss in their own ways.

This interview is published in Kitaab

 How do you develop your characters? Were Raju, Kala Niles, Joe Bolling or Nihil Herath, for example, based on people you knew?

My father, during my last visit, on whom I have based Mr. Herath: Ru Freeman

Most of what we write is non-fiction, in my opinion. My characters are composites of people I know but they hardly ever appear as themselves. There are bits and pieces of Devi which were drawn from my own childhood, and that of my nieces and daughters, there is a piano teacher who still lives across the way from my parents’ home down a dead-end street in Colombo, but Kala Niles is not really her, and so forth. I don’t know where they come from, except that the story needs these people and so they arrive from memory and imagination.  

What were your influences in the early years?  And later on as you matured as a writer and published author?

I believe we all wrote because we wanted to escape certain difficulties in our lives. My parents had a hard personal life and my brothers and I responded to that by disappearing into books and writing. Still, we also admired them greatly and emulated some of what they did. My mother had written for documentaries and directed plays, so we wrote in that vein too, or tried to anyway. I’ve always written because I love doing it, but after I came to the U.S. I was exposed to more living writers and grew to also love the influence of their company. I owe a vast debt of gratitude to all of those people – Jane Hirshfield, Michael Collier, Ursula Hegi, Lyn Freed, Peter Ho Davies, Charles Baxter, Karen Russell, Cristina Garcia, Edwidge Danticat, NoViolet Bulawayo, to name a very few – who affirmed me as a writer and a peer.

Many authors say that there is a little of themselves in their stories and characters. Do you feel this is true of your own writing? Do you rely heavily on personal experiences, write from what you know, or do you rely more on research and external knowledge?

The two books I’ve written thus far were both set in Sri Lanka. My country runs through my veins. You don’t have to research your own blood! Yes, there is a lot of autobiographical detail in this book, but only as a point of departure. It is fiction.

Children play a pivotal role in On Sal Mal Lane, and you treat them with deep sensitivity and understanding. It is through their eyes that we see the escalating strife unfold. What were your reasons for choosing this approach in a novel meant for adults?

I like the way children almost always sense things, but never have all the information, all the pieces of the puzzle as it were. Having grown up in Sri Lanka through these years (I only came to the U.S. to go to college), I had very strong opinions about what happened. But in writing this novel I had to let go of what I felt/knew and tell a story that was compassionate to everybody. I felt that would be best accomplished if I went with the children. In telling a story through their eyes, I had to shut my own.

“The street where my parents lived and where I grew up and on whose configuration I have based Sal Mal Lane” — Ru Freeman. 

Do you also plan to write for children and young adults?

Well, it seems to me that there is a great deal of money to be made in writing dystopian novels for young adults, but, although I certainly would like to be wealthy, I am not sure I have the inclination or the skill, necessarily, to write those books.

Many Asian writers based in Western countries tend to write stories about the homeland left behind, rather than the land where they now live. What were your reasons for writing such a purely Sri Lanka story. Why did you choose this over east-meets-west stories favoured by expatriate writers?

I find the east-meets-west stories boring since I am living that life. It would be like detailing the minutiae of my existence which is dull enough on most days! As a Sri Lankan, I am engaged not only in writing stories, but detailing the history of my country and making it come alive for people who may know nothing about it. I consider that a privilege and a responsibility. I do write stories that aren’t set in Sri Lanka, but most of what I write (short fiction, poetry, personal essays), are about considering human beings, the things we lose when we imagine that we are gaining something.

What are you working on now?

A new novel that is not set in Sri Lanka – so far, anyway. And putting together two collections of short-stories. One set in Sri Lanka and another everywhere but there.

Writing requires a retreat into ones self. Interview with Ken Spillman

Ken Spillman is a multi-faceted author from Australia, whose writing has won legions of fans across Oceania, Asia and the world. With over 35 books spanning many genres to his credit, he is also an editor and a critic. Dr Ken Spillman is an examiner for doctoral and masters degrees. An entertaining and uplifting speaker, he has captured the hearts of tens of thousands of children in Australia, China, India, Malaysia, Oman, Philippines and Singapore.

Ken Spillman’s Jake Series is a smash hit with younger readers. His adventure series,  is attracting many fans in India, as is his novelAdvaita. His widely appreciated Young Adult novels, Love is a UFO and Blue have captured the hearts and minds of teenagers.

His writing has been shortlisted for a WA Premier’s Book Award five times in four different categories – for two wins. His impressive list of literary honours includes:

Creative Development Fellowship, Department of Culture and the Arts, Western Australia, 2010

Top 5 listing, The Australian critics’ Books of the Year, 1997

Winner, Fellowship of Australian Writers’ National Literary Award.

Over to Ken Spillman,. (This interview is published in Kitaab)

Your books are widely read and appreciated by readers all over Asia and worldwide. What’s your magic formula for infusing your writing with such universal appeal?

I don’t really think there’s a magic formula. Good stories well written travel all the time – after all, we read to enter other worlds. For a writer coming from outside the US and UK, however, finding global markets is difficult. For me, fun is the key. Sometimes I ask audiences, “Who likes fun?” – and of course they all raise their hands enthusiastically. I have a sense of fun and, beyond that, I can only say that I’ve worked hard for a long period, been patient, had some luck, and benefited from the guidance and example of others.

You are a PhD yourself, and an examiner for doctoral and masters degrees. That’s exceedingly serious business. How do you balance this grave and scholarly side of you with your fun and imaginative work as a children’s writer?

To be brutally honest, I did the doctorate for the scholarship money! Sure, I’ve always had an enquiring mind and enjoyed critical analysis, and I definitely found all of my tertiary education far more stimulating than high school. But all the while, I wanted to write my own stories. Writing for young people came easily because I’ve always connected well with them, not just at the level of fun but in terms of understanding their anxieties.

You are a native of Australia. But several of your books are set in India, with Indian characters. Is there any special reason for this? Perhaps a story behind those stories?

India captured my imagination immediately when I first visited in 2006. I connected at some deep level and can only speculate that the seeds of this were planted by 2 Anglo-Indian teachers I had in primary school. They spoke with such love about India, and their stories of childhood stayed with me. Anyway, after that 2006 trip I returned home to start reading a lot of Indian books for both adults and children, and planned my next visit. In 2008 I was selected for an Asialink Fellowship, funded by the Australia-India Council, which enabled me to write for nearly four months in Delhi. I had intended to write only one story, but I wrote several – I couldn’t stop! After presenting sessions at the Mussoorie International Writers Festival, I returned to Delhi and wrote Advaita the Writer – my first book with Indian characters and settings. I’m incredibly proud that this is now so popular, and recommended by CBSE. Subsequently, my many visits to Indian schools gave rise to Daydreamer Dev, while the sight of Indian kids in Australian classrooms inspired the Radhika stories.

How does the children’s writing scene in Asia and Oceania compare with the rest of the world? Do you feel that Asian cultures, with their penchant for tiger-style parenting, tend to give inadequate importance to imaginative children’s writing?

Writing scenes are similar everywhere – it’s the publication and distribution side that is different. In India, Oceania and some South East Asian countries, we have huge numbers of good writers and illustrators but we work outside the mainstream. It isn’t easy to sustain a writing practice without taking work to markets beyond our own. My conviction is that the industry in our region should focus on collaborative efforts to establish a third English-language powerhouse – to rival and ultimately top the USA and UK. Regarding your second question, I do think that creative writing is undervalued – but not just in Asia. It’s something we battle everywhere.

You’ve wowed audiences everywhere with your readings and presentations. With all the litfests, launches, readings and other hoopla being mandatory for writers these days, how do you balance it all with the hard work of writing?

The short answer is this: with difficulty. Writing requires a kind of retreat into oneself, an internal life, the loss of audible speech to some extent. My public life is the exact opposite, and it’s not easy switching from one mindset to another. I usually need a day or two of transition. For me, there’s no chance of writing after a day of speaking.

Do you identify yourself with any of your fictional characters?

I identify with all my leading characters in some way. In the Jake series, Jake’s imagination allows him to have fun, and that has always applied to me. He’s more of an action man than I was as a kid, though – less inhibited. I’m a daydreamer like Dev. I felt the way Advaita does in Advaita the Writer when I left Perth to go to university in Brisbane. Like Advaita, and also Oscar in I Am Oscar, I have used humour and crazy thoughts to get through tough times. I exaggerate things in my mind like Radhika does in Radhika Takes the Plunge. You name the character, and there’s a little of me.

Any favourites among your own books?

When kids ask me this, I say that they are like children – I love them all in slightly different ways. The ones that are not yet published are like babies – they can wake you in the night. The others are more grown up and, while I can give them a helping hand, they need to make their own way in the world, and all I can do is hope that they find people who will love them. Having said all that, I have think most often about I Am Oscar and Advaita, which depict young people dealing with very challenging times yet articulating their funny, imaginative selves.

What are you working on now?

Over recent years I’ve tended to work on several projects at once. I’m doing some final edits on another Radhika story – about my Indian girl who has moved to Australia. I’m working on another YA title, and a couple of picture books. I’m really excited about one of these – calledThe Circle, it’s for older readers, on the subject of displacement and refugees,  and it carries pictures by an Indian fine artist, Manjari Chakravarti. I will be setting aside time for a newJake book very soon, too.

It’s a women’s world in my novel: Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar

Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar is a medical officer with the government of Jharkhand, India. When he is not busy treating patients, he reads, and writes. His stories and articles have been published in The Statesman, is stories H Indian Literature, The Times of India, The Four Quarters Magazine and elsewhere. His short fiction is included in the anthology, Alchemy: The Tranquebar Book of Erotic Stories II.

His novel, The Mysterious Ailment of Rupi Baskey (Aleph) takes us into the little-known and fascinating world of the Santhal tribals of eastern India. The Santhals live in small villages surrounded by forests, and follow their own lore and rituals. Eating, drinking and merrymaking, rituals and festivities, are an integral part of the social life of these poor, uncomplicated and lively people. The author, who has first-hand knowledge of this culture, brings this world to vivid life.
Naked witches with wildly flowing hair and rolling eyes, magical spirits, demons and deities of the Santhals’ animistic religion, lurk in the forests. “A ravishingly beautiful jugni, said to cause disease, lived under the taalay tree.” The dhonokundra bhut, which resembles a deformed child, can guide people greedy for wealth to their doom. The Santhals have passed on this lore through the ages to explain death, disease and other inexplicable events in their lives. They also depend upon these spirits and deities to give them a sense of empowerment, which is denied to them by the existing political and social order. The novel draws us into a unique and fascinating world.

The novel spans several decades, tracing the lives of three generations of Rupi Baskey’s clan, as they degenerate from a position of social eminence into mediocrity. Rupi is an attractive, physically strong woman with a simple and generous disposition. Her strange and incurable ailment is a result of Gurubari’s efforts to exploit her through witchcraft, mirroring the plight of her people. The Santhals remain for decades on the fringes of the mainstream of free India. Their efforts to uplift themselves by carving out a separate state of Jharkhand, is thwarted by their own leaders who sell out to the wiles of mainstream politicians. At long last, Jharkhand is created, giving the Santhal people a space of their own. Rupi finally sees her own fading dreams get a new lease of life in her daughter-in-law, Rupali.
Much has been packed into 200 odd pages. There are several interesting characters and story threads. But they are not always explored as deeply as one would wish. The social and political developments crop up in the background in a sketchy way, and at a few points the timeline gets confusing. Their relevance and impact upon the characters could also have been further developed. Overall, this is an engrossing read, leaving readers wishing for more.
Over to Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar, who shares some exclusive insights.

When did you start writing? Any anecdotes you would wish to share?
I started writing Rupi Baskey in May 2011. In June 2011, I realized that whatever I had written wasn’t making enough sense. So I deleted everything and started afresh. I finished in October 2011 and took a break, during which I wrote the story which was published in Alchemy: The Tranquebar Book of Erotic Stories II.
Anecdotes? Well, I was angry with myself and felt like a total loser when I had certain blocks, when my writing wasn’t going anywhere, especially when I had to begin afresh. But otherwise it was a smooth journey.

How do you approach your craft? Do you begin with carefully planned and detailed outlines of your stories, or do you believe more in going with the flow and modifying your story as you go along?
I usually write when I already have an idea. My novel was based on certain things that took place in my village. To those real-life happenings I added certain things out of my imagination. So the story was already there in my mind, my characters, the scenes, the lines and paragraphs, when I sat down to write it. In one way the novel was already planned. Yes, my plan failed and I had to begin anew, but that plan was there. When I began afresh it was according to the original plan. The story was the same, the characters were the same.
Sometimes, yes, I go with the flow. But I find it very hard to write something unless I have a clear picture in my mind. If it’s a short story, it should be completely there in my mind. Planning is very necessary for me. Or else, I’ll just sit in front of my laptop, staring at an unfinished MS-Word document, and listen to a favourite song, like Saat Samundar from Vishwatma or Barso Re from Guru or Chitthiye from Henna, or play Minesweeper.
I know, planning is not possible all the time. Sometimes one has to write something on the spot, like extempore. During such times I have to focus very hard and I just hate it. But I sometimes tend to do very well under pressure. I admire writers who do regular columns for newspapers and magazines. I appreciate their skill and imagination as they repeatedly come up with interesting new ideas.
I can write something really fast without any planning when the issue, the theme appeals to me. It should hurt me, jab me, affect me enough to draw out a written response. That is how I wrote my 400-word article, A Different Assam, which was published in the edit page of The Times of India. This was my response to the violence against Adivasis from Jharkhand in Assam in 2007. It was an issue I really felt for.
You are a medical doctor by profession and also a writer. How do you balance these two demanding and intense callings?
There’s no question of balancing. My priorities are set. My job as a medical doctor comes first. Because it has given me my identity, and because I have been trained for it. It is my chief source of income, and is keeping me alive. Writing is what I do when an idea just gets into me and refuses to leave. Otherwise my job is what I do every day. When I have something to write I usually find time out of my schedule to write.

How did you get the ideas for Rupi Baskey? Is there a story behind this story?
I got hints for Rupi Baskey from a family in our village. The old lady of this house lived an amazing, unbridled youth. When she was very old, ninety-plus perhaps, she used to visit our place. Sipping the haandi we offered, she told stories of her family and her life. I based Putki on this old lady. Then I took elements from the stories of gods and ghosts I had heard when I was a child. I made up some stuff of my own. I added them all up. And lo! I had a novel ready.
[Picture shot by Shekhar: "The 'chala' (bamboo sieve) is used to strain the haandi, but the clay pot and the Sal leaf bowls can have several use. The pot can be used for cooking, storing water and cooked food, etc., while the Sal leaf bowls can be used for serving haandi and food, and also during religious rituals to keep the ingredients (sindoor, dhuna, arwa rice, methi seeds, cow dung, etc.) which are used in a puja."]

The Mysterious Ailment of Rupi Baskey is rife with fascinating, strong and enigmatic women. The men are relatively shadowy and passive figures, who fade into the background. Why and how did this happen?
That did not happen consciously. In fact, I don’t see my men as passive figures. The thing is, the women are very powerful. Too powerful, in fact. As such, what you say is right, that the men are relatively shadowy, if they are compared to the women. Otherwise the men, too, are quite strong at some places.
Since the novel is about Rupi and her mysterious ailment, I was quite clear that the novel had to be about women. Whether Rupi and Gurubari, who are the protagonist and the antagonist, respectively, or Putki and Dulari, who are in supporting roles, or Della, who makes a special appearance, I was quite clear that women had to hold the centre stage.
But I have also tried to give to the men the space they deserved. I couldn’t force them into the narrative, into a scene where the women were already present and doing very well. That would have looked quite out of place. So I let the women do most of the talking. In fact, all the talking and doing that mattered. They created the narrative, the crisis, the denouement. It’s a women’s world in my novel. The way it’s a women’s world in the traditional Santhali society. Among the Santhals, men and women have always been treated as equal. I guess that reflects on my novel too.

Many authors say that there is a little of themselves in their stories and characters. Do you feel this is true of your own writing? Do you rely heavily on personal experiences, write from what you know, or do you rely more upon research and external knowledge?

[Picture by Shekhar: "This was taken by me at our village jaher during the Baha festival. This is a view of one of the shrines at the jaher. You can see the clay horse and elephant placed as offerings. And you can see the severed head of a chicken. You can also see the bamboo fixed in the ground. This bamboo has been topped by hay. You can also see the sacred Sal flowers."]
In Rupi Baskey, I have drawn from personal experiences, but it is not my story. It is, ultimately, a work of fiction. And whether Rupi Baskey or any of my previous works – short stories, all of them – I let my imagination play around things that I already knew. I did not try to create anything new out of thin air. I won’t be able to create a fantasy land. I always have to rely on things around me to inspire me, to help me write something. My research, too, is limited to what I know. I know about Santhals, so my works so far are about Santhals. Ask me to write a story set in Delhi or Calcutta, and I will find it difficult to do that. I should know the place where I will set my story. I should first feel a personal connection, have some prior knowledge. That’s very important for me. Other writers might completely imagine stuff. I can’t do that readily.

Do you believe that writers are only ‘agents of entertainment’? Is popular and accessible writing far removed from deeper nuanced writing? Is there something more than pure entertainment that makes writers write and readers read? Do you make conscious efforts to be entertaining?
I don’t think that writers are only ‘agents of entertainment’, but I also don’t think that writers are obliged to give a deeper message at every given opportunity. In my opinion, writers should do only one thing: write. Writing in itself is a huge thing to do. If a writer’s work entertains the readers or gives them a message, it will be a bonus.
I don’t think popular and accessible writing is far removed from deeper, nuanced writing. One can find both in the same work. And yes, there’s more to writing and reading than just entertainment. The desire to write is, in itself, a huge impetus. And so is, in the case of a reader, the desire to read. Entertainment can be had in so many ways. Cinema, TV, sports, internet, parties, conversations, even fights and quarrels and petty politics. Why only books? Let people read books just because they want to read.
I did not intend to be entertaining when I wrote Rupi Baskey or any of my stories. I just had it in my mind that I shouldn’t be boring.

With all the litfests, launches, reading and other hoopla being mandatory for writers, how do you plan to cope? How ‘accessible’ writers are these days? The old days of the reclusive writer are gone. Now the writer has to tweet and update his Facebook wall, his blog, god knows what else – how can a writer balance it all?
I think it is too early for me to answer this question. It’s been only a little over a month, since the release of my book. Things are still the same as they were. Also, I am quite far away from the scenes of action. My publisher is in Delhi. The places, the book stores where my book is available are all in the big cities, and my reviews and press have originated from there. In Jharkhand, where I live and where my book is set, there is absolutely no stir. I am quite far away from everything, far away from all the hoopla – if any – surrounding my book or any book, in general. There has been no launch or reading for me and I don’t know if I’ll have one. I haven’t attended a single litfest and I don’t know if I’ll ever attend one. And I hardly see myself as a writer. That’s not my primary identity. And I am quite accessible. Whether in real life or on Facebook.
[Picture by Shekhar: "This i a selfie I took of myself at Visva-Bharati, Santiniketan. In the background, you can see the sculpture Mill Call by Ram Kinkar Baij."]

Which ‘current’ and not-so-current authors do you enjoy reading?
This one too is a difficult question because there are so many more books which I wish to read. Here are some books which I have recently enjoyed.
The Color Purple by Alice Walker, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Swimming in the Monsoon Sea by Shyam Selvadurai, Half of a Yellow Sun and Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo
Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri
The Old Man who read Love Stories by Luis Sepulveda
Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Fasting, Feasting by Anita Desai
Difficult Daughters by Manju Kapur
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

In the distant future, when all prophecies and secrets are revealed (and we are returned to the atoms we were made from), how would you want to be remembered?
Remember? Me? For what?

What are you working on now?
Just now I have to wash my clothes. Then I have to go and buy some onions and mustard oil for my kitchen. That’s my immediate plan. And yes, I am working on a second book off and on. I am writing only when I really want to write and only if I have something to write. This one is going to take a lot of time.

This interview is published in Kitaab

My Village Home

I've been living in a medical college campus in rural Andhra Pradesh since nearly a year. My son is an Asst Professor here, and I stay with him. We have a village postal address, and are surrounded by green fields and rocky hills. Within the campus, we have modern housing and amenities such as backup power and internet, not to mention our own large teaching hospital. The villagers come to our institute for medical care, and many of them are employed by the hospital and medical college. We institute residents go to them to buy vegetables and groceries, and employ them  as babysitters, cooks and domestic helpers.
The positives I see are:
1. pure, fresh air. The peace and calm is refreshing



UFOs spotted over our campus. Really!

2. The people are hard working and more honest, sincere and tolerant as compared to huge metros.

3. People are comparatively more friendly, tolerant, hospitable and gentle. The owners of the fruit and vegetable stalls I frequent, have taken it upon themselves to teach me the local language, correcting my mistakes with a smile.
The local women who come to babysit and work here, are very sincere and nice.

4. Locally produced fresh fruits and vegetables may lack the variety of supermarket produce, but they are fresh from the fields. The flavour and nutritional value is unbeatable. Not to mention that this leaves a lower carbon footprint since the produce is not transported over distances.

5. People are doing their bit to make the best use of food wastes. The village women who work here, leave pots for us to toss our kitchen and food waste. They then take it to feed to their cattle.

6. The social fabric is yet to rip apart, as is happening in big cities. People still care for each other, and there is stronger community feeling.


These crows are as polite and friendly as the locals

7. Our privately run hospital provides medical care, and specialist doctors are available around the clock for emergencies. The 108 free ambulance service is excellent. They come to the hospital in a steady stream, bringing in patients. Patients come here from 30-50 kilometres away, sometimes from even more distant places.
The state government's health insurance scheme for people below the poverty line, ensures that they get proper medical care. Hospitalisation and surgeries are paid for by the government.

8. The nearby town has respectable English medium schools as well as vernacular language ones. Some of our institute staff's children go to these schools. They are as well mannered, well informed, and articulate as the children I see in my home town, Bangalore. School buses come from the town to pick up children from the villages nearby.

9. One can see exciting and unusual sights like UFOs (see my photo). As the resident writer, I'm enjoying this retreat.

The negatives.
1. Ignorance. People first go to faith healers and quacks, and sometimes come to the hospital as a last resort, when they are in very bad shape.

2. The feudal system is still entrenched.

A stone age dolman worshipped as the village deity

3. People are poorer compared to city dwellers.

4. Agriculture and animal husbandry are tentative means of livelihood. Rains fail, crops can be blighted, and valuable cattle die.

5. Plastic waste is a huge hazard here. Large piles of waste plastic bags etc pile up over the wayside, and this can grow into an enormous problem, which our cities are already facing.

Blackbirds in The Pomegranate Tree: A writerly friendship

I first met Mary Ellen Sanger in Francis Ford Coppola's Zoetrope Virtual Studios way back in 2002. She was an American living and working in Mexico, and her short stories spoke of poor Mexicans and smelt of green trees and fields of their world. Her writing showed a deep empathy for the people among whom she then lived.

Mary Ellen Sanger

We exchanged critiques on each others stories and stayed in touch through the years, forging warm ties. Life went on smoothly until we heard the shocking news of her incarceration in a Mexican prison for no fault of hers. She found her way to freedom after a life-changing experience, which has inspired her new book,
Blackbirds in the PomegranateTree: Stories from Ixcotel State Prison
Indian readers can get it here

 Mary Ellen Sanger spent 33 days in Ixcotel State Prison in the fall of 2003. These stories of the women she met there, illuminate her biggest surprise and her only consolation in prison: the solidarity that formed among the women she lived, ate, swept and passed long days with while inside. Nine lyrical tales show the depth of emotions that insist on their own space, even in these harshest of circumstances. The largest and brawniest woman in the prison, doing time for armed robbery, kills a rat with her foot, then turns to the author for help with a very special letter. Another young woman, only nineteen years old, has already been in for three years, guilty of kidnapping her own child. And Ana, a political prisoner, teaches the author about creative ways to turn the tide, one including frog-eating snakes. Mary Ellen weaves her own tale through the stories. Accused of a crime that doesn't exist by a powerful man in Mexico, she depends on the fierce solidarity of friends on the outside, and a brilliant lawyer who trusts in the rule of law... even in Mexico. The women incarcerated in Ixcotel State Prison said that the blackbirds chattered in the lone pomegranate tree in the courtyard whenever a woman was about to be released. They are chattering now.



Chiapas, Mexico, birthplace of the Batista movement

Here's what she shared with me about her experiences, and the story behind the book.

When I returned to the US after being unjustly imprisoned for 33 days in Mexico, I thought I left prison behind me. But I realized the women I met inside, their surprising solidarity, the sense of community we built together and the many injustices I shared with them in their stories, stayed close with me. I wrote “Blackbirds in the Pomegranate Tree: Stories from Ixcotel State Prison” to share my own experiences in Mexico – most of those experiences lush and full of color – and the story of how the (in)justice system prevalent there seems destined to imprison some of the most innocent of Mexico’s population. And me.

 

 

 

1. Which writers influenced you the most, and why?

Elena Poniatowska, the First Lady of Mexican Letters, graced me with an introduction to my book. We made a sweet friendship several years ago through a chance meeting. I respect her writing for its focus on Mexico’s women, many who are victims of poverty and social inequities. One of my favorite writers on the planet is Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano, whose lyrical style I could only hope to emulate. Give me Eduardo Galeano any time of day or night.

2. What is your experience re self-publishing? E-book vs print?

I self-published “Blackbirds” because my life was too full or work and volunteering and falling in love and moving, to do the intensive research and time-consuming work of finding an agent – which is quite a challenge in the US these days. I tried, and found several who were interested, but not enough. I wanted the book to be out for the tenth anniversary of my release from prison, so I popped it in the queue. It had been edited with the help of a professional editor friend, so I was confident of its quality in that respect. The shift to indie presses and self-publishing is a remarkable surge. However, the ease with which one can enter into self-publishing does flood the field with some astonishingly weak manuscripts, many poorly edited. So I am up against a hearty stigma still – though I do trust that with the proper exposure, and the attention given by people interested in the world of social justice – that my book can cut through the preconceptions around self-published works. I did make the book available in Kindle (e-book) format, which has enriched sales by 20%, as some of my audience is in Mexico and the book is more quickly delivered electronically.

3. Is the craft of writing receding in importance in a world where shoddily written but slickly marketed work dominates?

I hope the craft of writing is even MORE important in that world you describe. We recognize good writing. We find our way to it. Good writing (that is, talented writing!) is a necessary craft, an antidote if you will – to the instant and slick. If you can make a delicious slow-simmered sauce – that should win out any day over a squeeze-packet of mayonnaise!

4. Would you return to Mexico if things improve there?

I return to Mexico every year. I cannot be too far from her! The justice system is changing… at a glacially slow pace. As of 2008, there has been a mandate to allow for oral trials, and the country is slowly putting in place new practices. It is, however, a long history to counter. It will take time. Meanwhile, I visit each year, I eat my slow-simmered sauces! And I drink in what music and magic I can.
 

One of the nine imprisoned women whom Sanger met and has written about.

5. What are you working on now?

Thank you for asking! I am trying to write a poem-a-day, as a part of a project started in 2010 with a friend, in honor of National Poetry Month in April. We were going to write those daily poems for one month, but we liked the practice so much we kept on going! We have put out a book of these quickie, unedited poems every year since 2010. Finishing up for 2013. Other than that, a novel is cooking in my head right now, which should involve Mexico and dancing! I won’t say any more. Still simmering!

 

Indian readers can get the book here