KV Tirumalesh is a versatile and prolific writer in Kannada. His epic poem Akshaya Kavya won the Sahitya Akademi award for Kannada this year. His literary career started in the Navya (Modernist) tradition, but he then set out on a unique path that expanded the content and structure of Kannada poetry. He is a linguist by training, known best for his poetry, but his body of work represents a wide genre of creative and critical writing.
Tirumalesh has influenced a generation of writers by his works. He is also possibly an under-recognised writer in comparison to his body of work.
Tirumalesh retired as a Professor of linguistics from the English and Foreign Languages University. He lives in Hyderabad, avoids the spotlight, and prefers writing to speaking. In a freewheeling conversation, he spoke about his work, his readings, loneliness, and the meaning of awards. Here are some excerpts from the conversation.
Congratulations on being conferred the Sahitya Akademi Award. When the award was announced, what was your response?
The award by the Sahitya Akademi was the least in my mind. I recognize that this award has not been given to me as a person. It is given to a book that I wrote – Akshaya Kavya . This was published in 2010 and nobody seems to have taken notice of this book. So, when this award came I thought that a positive aspect was that the book will be noticed. People will obtain copies and read, at least parts of it.
Usually when one gets an award, there is celebration. When you got the award, there was relief. There was a belief that you deserved to get it much before, possibly for your earlier work Avadha…
I started getting calls from many people. They were happy that at least now my work has been recognised. If a group of people have judged the worth of a book and decided upon the award, then that is okay. My age doesn’t matter. If I pass a judgement here, it would be questioning the worth of the award.
Akshaya Kavya – waited for a long time to be published. How long was it?
Yes, this book was published in 2010.
But the first draft of the manuscript was ready in 2002.
Yes, I had sent you a copy. It was with me and there was no publisher. It was always difficult for me to find publishers. There was also a long period of time when I was absorbed in teaching and research. I did not write anything in Kannada for about 10 years.
And nobody noticed your absence?
Nobody noticed my absence, I suppose. New writers were coming, you see. And when I resumed writing in Kannada and had books to publish, I contacted many publishers, some of them very well known. Some never responded. Some said let us see after two years. Hard times, indeed!
It must be quite amusing that your book is in the first position on the Top Ten list published in The Hindu for three weeks in succession. This is a book which waited for eight years to be published and having been published it remained largely invisible. And suddenly to make it to the top ten list, going for a reprint – it must be quite amusing for you.
I am surprised and happy! For a book of poems to be on the list of Top Ten is really great and reassuring! You said three weeks in running. It is surprising, but yes, I am happy about it. For the sake of Poetry!
What do awards really mean to you? Particularly in the current environment of returning awards?
This award came against the backdrop of some eminent writers returning the awards to the Sahitya Akademi as a protest against perceived intolerance. Returning the awards almost became a movement with political undertones and overtones. When the events happened, I was disturbed. You feel disturbed when you have no control over things.
I was ruminating whether the return of awards was necessary. Was it the correct thing to do or was it only politically correct? I was thinking about these things almost every day. This movement was creating a divide between the awardees and the non-awardees. Only an awardee can return an award! And even within the awardees there was a further division between those who returned the award and those who did not. This was unsettling.
Suddenly I became a part of the story. Quite Kafkaesque! When I heard this news about the award for my book, I was taken aback. My world of calmness and privacy got disturbed. I was startled and my first reaction was to say no to this. Awards disturb the writer. I did not do so since it would be very mean on my part, I thought, drawing further attention and unnecessary controversies.
But there is another aspect to this. We live in a society. There is culture. Without culture, for better or worse, human beings are nothing. Human culture has to be nurtured, and from time to time even interrogated — Socrates would have said examined — to be protected if it is good. And recognizing some works for their merit is a good thing, I suppose.
You were a member of the Sahitya Akademi, and so was Dr. Kalburgi (possibly at different times). Do you think the Akademi should have done something visible and symbolic as soon as the event of his tragic death happened?
Yes. It would have been most appropriate if the Akademi had passed a resolution suo-motu, condemning the killing of Prof. Kalburgi. It didn’t happen. It may not be deliberate negligence — my faith in humanity doesn’t allow me to think otherwise.
Let us come back to your world of letters. You are mainly seen as a poet. If you look at your body of work, what gives you the greatest joy? And what frustrates you as a writer?
I will come to literature in a moment. But more than literature, one activity that gave me great joy was teaching. I spent most of my life teaching and I really enjoy teaching. I have taught both English language and literature.
In Kannada literature, of all that I have written, I would say poetry gives me the greatest pleasure. But writing poetry also gives me anxiety. It is like touching my underbelly, very sensitive. I want to do my best in poetry. In fact, I am very shy to show it to others!
You have called the book for which you have got the Sahitya Akademi award a Mahaa Kaavya in fragments. We have discussed this -- even as you were writing it – if it should be broken up by giving a small title to each of the sections or a number at least. But you were stubborn and went ahead and published it – why did you do that, given that it was not even a single narrative, a story or a theme. That is true, but how can you name these fragments? What do you call them? In this book there is no story or a pre-planned structure. I wanted it to continue forever, you see. It was in fragments yes, but very ambitious too. I wanted it to be like a big architectural monument to which you could go on adding something without naming or differentiating parts.
You lead a rather lonely life – away in Hyderabad. How has this happened?
It just happened. After I came to Hyderabad in 1975. Because of this geographical relocation, my poetry took a totally different turn. I thought people will appreciate this newness. I did not see that forthcoming. It was disappointing, but I didn’t give up writing, although I felt alienated from Kannada. So it was not deliberate on my part.
M.S. Sriram is a Kannada writer with short story and essay collections to his credit. The second part of this interview will be published next week.
