We’ve grown up on a diet of history as it was fed to us, seldom researching into the other perspective or narrative. That’s why when I read the letter that the grandson of vilified British Collector Robert W.D.E. Ashe wrote to Vanchinathan’s family, I teared up. Robert Ashe says, “On this day of sad but proud remembrance,” his family would like to extend a “message of reconciliation and friendship” to the Vanchi family. “Vanchi was an idealist political campaigner whose zeal for the freedom of his beloved India sent Robert to his early grave. Moments later, he took his own young life. All who act fervently in the political arena, both ruler and oppressed, risk making mortal mistakes, and we who are fortunate enough to live on, must forgive and live in peace together.”
Gems such as these make A.R. Venkatachalapathy’s Ashe Adichuvattil , a compilation of 13 essays, a compelling read. The book sees him revisit his writing over the past 12 years, to allow readers a rare glimpse into people who did much but faded into the shadows, and others who are popular but whose lives are still open to interpretation. Of these, he has interacted with three of them — journalist and historian R.A. Padmanabhan, labour leader C.S. Subramanyam and labour historian D. Veeraraghavan — the stories of the rest have been painstakingly recreated after endless months and even years of research.
Excerpts from an interview with the author and translator, who is also Professor, Madras Institute of Development Studies.
This compilation comes 15 years after your hugely popular In Those Days, There Was No Coffee . Why this gap?
I’ve been writing a number of essays and monographs, but I was particular about producing a thematic volume. You get many ideas, and then realise that there’s so much to be written. I wanted the thoughts to mature before I put them down. Also, I am preoccupied with so many projects that revisiting old work is not something that enthuses me. But, I wanted to, because a new generation of young readers is not familiar with these people.
I hope to come out with three more such compilations — one each on Bharathiar, Pudhumaipithan and Tamil language and culture.
What drew you to the subject?
I continue to have this boyhood fascination for great personalities. Secondly, so many people here have achieved great things, but have gone unnoticed due to a variety of reasons. For instance, there’s not a single entry anywhere about T.V. Sambasivam Pillai, who compiled a 4,000-page volume of Tamil medicinal terms. S.G. Ramanujalu Naidu, the doyen of Tamil journalism, has a mere three-column centimetre entry in the Tamil encyclopaedia. I love reconstructing the lives of such people, whose lives are not in the public domain, but ought to be. Even among them, there are many unexplored facets. Did you, for instance, know that U.V. Swaminatha Iyer wrote beautifully in prose too, especially in the last decade or so of his life? Did you know that barring Tamil papers, no one mentioned the passing away of C.S. Subramanyam, who died at the age of 101? I heard of it only a year later, and wrote an obit, possibly the first time something was written so delayed.
How did the meeting with the family of Ashe turn out?
The chapter on Ashe was one of those epiphanic moments. His grandson has been named after him. I went with a lot of reservation and trepidation, but it was smooth. In fact, Ashe’s son was in the Army, and he was apparently very critical of Lord Mountbatten. The family was clear that Ashe’s death was not the result of personal vendetta. He was just an ordinary man who was propelled into the limelight by force of situation.
He was but a cog in the Imperial wheel. Some accused me of being critical of Vanchinathan in this article, but I let it pass. I don’t believe in fighting over a 100-year-old story.
In fact, his grandson has visited India a couple of times.
How did you choose the 13?
I had written other pieces, but they were shorter. I wanted this to be a volume of meaty essays. I also removed those on Bharathiar and Pudhumaipithan, because they were meant for another volume. I imposed restrictions on myself to pick these 13.
Which of these continue to appeal to you?
Like I said, I don’t like revisiting my work, but I updated the articles to include facts that were gleaned after they were written. What moves me most is the self-effacing nature and achievement of these people. I feel gratified that I have played some part in resurrecting them, for they are the role models the younger generation should have.
How was the data gathering done?
It was always an intentional, purposeful search. I am constantly on the lookout for information. I keep reading old records and meeting people. For instance, when I was writing about the labour leader, I had to rely on old books, oral interviews, documents — his heyday was between 1934 and 1949, and there was no one around who knew him.
All this information goes in, matures over time, like a gaja garbam (an elephant’s long gestation period). But, I write very quickly; a draft is ready in three days, I polish it and share it with a few trusted scholars for suggestions.
You write in English and Tamil. How different is the thought process?
I write with the audience in mind. When I write in English, I portray the greatness of Tamil culture and Tamil pride. In Tamil, I’m very critical of the Tamil milieu and take a critical stand. I point out how we’ve ignored our achievers. Tamil is what has made me what I am, and English has opened a window to the world and instilled in me a critical perspective.
Among those featured in the book are F.W. Ellis, who discovered ‘the Dravidian Proof’; A.K. Chettiar, the Gandhian who made the first documentary film on the life of the Mahatma even when he was alive; and M.V. Ramunajachari, who produced the first and only full translation of the Mahabharata in Tamil.
The book, priced at Rs. 225, has been published by Kalachuvadu.
