Very few politicians actually write their own newspaper columns. Or books. Or even speeches. Let alone film scripts that have the power to launch mega stars. Which makes the late M. Karunanidhi a rare leader. Here are two anecdotes that illustrate the politician and creative writer’s special charm.
The first incident took place nearly 20 years ago during the Kalki Krishnamurthy centenary in November 1999. The MR. AR. Educational Society, Madras, had funded the English translation of Kalki’s all-time bestseller Ponniyin Selvan, and they released the first volume to mark the 25th year of their trust. I had spent many years editing the mammoth work translated by Karthik Narayanan and illustrated by A.V. Ilango. The then Chief Minister Karunanidhi agreed to release the book; Kalki’s son Rajendran was to receive the first copy.
A day before the function I received a call from the Chief Minister’s office. Was there anything in particular I wanted him to do or say at the function? I asked if he would read aloud a short passage of his choice from the English version.
Literary flight
Before releasing the book, Karunanidhi took the audience on a humorous wave of oratory. “I remember well your father’s rejection of my story 50 years ago. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. I’m carrying that letter in my pocket if you’d like to see it,” he said, addressing Rajendran, who struggled to suppress laughter and some embarrassment as the CM continued his sophisticated banter. After handing over the first volume of Ponniyin Selvan, titled The First Floods, to Rajendran, Karunanidhi flicked his fingers and asked for money. “I cannot hand over a book just like that. Come on, give me some money.” Again, Rajendran laughed, as he searched for a currency note which he then gave Karunanidhi, who was now in full oratorical flight, taking the delighted audience with him.
Then, abruptly, he grew serious, “Now I have to do something I was told to do,” he said, and the famous gravelly voice in complete control of form and content, which had struck fear in his political adversaries’ hearts, read Kalki out loud in English.
Two years later, during Pongal, the harvest festival in January, I received a call from the CM’s office. Five books originally written in Tamil had been translated into Kannada, Malayalam, Telugu, Hindi and English; all 25 books were to be released at Valluvar Kottam as part of a Kural Peedam venture. Karunanidhi’s own work The Lion of the South ( Thenpandi Singam ) had been translated by K. Chellappan.
Something in English
“The CM wants you to release the English volumes and make a speech,” said the caller. I said I would certainly participate, but could not speak in Tamil.
There was a pause and some muffled talk before the speaker came back on the line. “The CM knows you cannot make a speech in Tamil. You may say something in English.”
Again, a pause during which an exchange took place at the other end. “The CM says that he would like you to say how important English is for the emotional linkage of India. For literature... for literature ...,” he emphasised.
Thomas Carlyle said the world could be led only by heroic men. In 1840 he delivered six lectures: the hero as divinity, the hero as prophet, the hero as poet, the hero as priest, the hero as king, and the hero as man of letters. Of course, he was much criticised and his ideas tarnished by their association with the authoritarian and totalitarian personality cults that brought European civilisation to the brink of destruction in World War II. But in these days of small-minded politicians and the sound of giant egos clashing, the echo of Carlyle’s idea of an artistic and intellectual leader has tremendous appeal.
The hero as man of letters. No one in recent times has matched that description better than thenpandi singam , the late Kalaignar Karunanidhi.
The writer edits translations for Oxford University Press, India.
