TRENDS IN TAMIL WRITING

P. G. SUNDARARAJAN

In seeking to survey the trends in Tamil writing today, one’s task appears to be easy on the surface. For the period involved in this kind of survey seems to be just a generation. But the growth during this short period has been so accelerated that the volume of material one will have to wade through even for a general assessment is breathtakingly huge. Any cursory attempt to discern the trends in this context will necessarily appear superficial. If in the process the result is akin to the attempt of the six blind men who sought to describe the eleJfi1ant, one need not even be apologetic about it.

The enormity of the task can be imagined when one remembers the hundreds of names which are familiar in the field of Tamil writing. In a world where social status and political power intrude upon the cultural field, it is not easy, for the mere writer whether professional or amateur, to make headway in claiming public attention. Such intrusion, even when it results in patronage serves to provide unjustified weightage to unassessed merit, In a way this circumstance seems to have given the urge necessary for the creative writer to rise in intellectual revolt, thereby ushering in the renaissance in Tamil letters. This, to all purposes, seems to have happened about a quarter century ago in the wake of post-Bharati revival, based mainly on nationalistic upsurge. Political discontent and a helpless awareness of social stagnation had taken hold of the people all over the country and thinking men in Tamil Nad were trying to shake off their intellectual somnolence.

The Tamil reading public at that time was being entertained to longwinded but readable melodramatic stories often adapted from nineteenth century English fiction of ordinary merit. There was not much activity and the average reader was himself being discovered by journals like Ananda Vikatan. Writers of critical and academic bent like Swaminatha Ayyar, Tiru Vi Ka and a few others had set things to do, in that their subject-matter was restricted to the editing of the classics or expounding traditional modes of living. Lone giants like Rajam Iyer and Madhaviah had blazed trails which waited in vain for followers. Journalism, which is always the feeder for a more permanent kind of writing, had not made much headway. The literary fire kindled by Bharati and V. V. S. Iyer Jay smouldering for want of fuel of the proper variety.

Into this atmosphere of brooding uncertainty Manikkodi came as a cloudburst and the lightning streaks of Va Ra’s writings roused readers to a sense of extraordinary perception. Left alone for a moment as a high-brow organ of exclusive writing, Manikkodi could not be ignored though. Its voice was beginning to be heard above the din of other distracting sounds, not merely because it was outspoken in its views, but mainly because it had a new way expressing itself, which even the average reader could easily understand. Its main contribution to serious reading lay in the fact that it disturbed the mental stagnation of the reader and created ripples of creative thought.

Much of this work was done by Va Ra who imported into his writings a style which was direct, forceful and abiding. He could rouse indignation and disgust in dealing with social evils. In Sundari, a novel which was an early work of his, he made a crusade against the tyranny of social custom masquerading as religious belief in a community overridden with superstition. The soil in which Va Ra sought to sow the seeds of literary awakening was rich and the fertilising influence of Manikkodi soon bore good results. Literary lions hibernating in lairs of their own in mental discomfort scented the new atmosphere and came out in all their majesty. The eternal flame of Bharati’s poetry burnt steadily in the verses of Bharatidarsan who used his poems much as Va Ra used his prose. Stalwarts in the field of the short story today, like B. S. Ramiah, whose gift for narration is surpassed by few, the late C. Vriddhachalam (Pudumaipithan), with his passion for realism, joined the ranks of this avant garde. Pichamurthi K.P. Rajagopalan who were building their literary nests on the banks of the Kaveri at Kumbhakonam, responded to the invitation that was inherent in the pages of the journal. The magic intials, Va Ra, induced many people to write for it and many more to read and preserve it for friends and posterity. The telling style of Va Ra, reflecting all the nuances of the language, found for him a successor in T. J. Ranganathan, who today handles Tamil as deftly in the short story as in the essay.

It had become evident within the short period of Manikkodi’s existence as a magazine that here was the beginning of a literary revival. The diffidence of newcomers to the practice of literary writing was soon dispelled by Va Ra’s encouragement. He was generous to a fault in his acclamation of talent. He knew that appreciation was the staple food on which the literary artist throve; and he saw to it that the beginner got it in good measure. When it came from Va Ra, whose status and authority had been so widely recognised in the literary field, the newcomer was not only heartened but strove to better himself. Writers with conviction and confidence were drawn to this forum until Manikkodi became strong enough to stand by itself. The literary tradition of Manikkodi was carried forward by a band of writers whom it had nurtured and the spearhead of this new front was Ramiah, who made it the premier vehicle of the modern short story. Other writers of individual merit, who had not been directly influenced by Va Ra, were also enriching literature with their output. S. D. S Yogi was growing beautiful blossoms with the magic wand of his poesy. K. V. Jagannathan was attempting the herculean task of co-ordinating scholarship with creative writing. Kalaimagal, under his editorship, sought to cater to a variety of tastes maintaining, at the same time, the air of classic propriety its founders had vested it with. Kalki was going strong with Krishnamurthi’s seemingly endless and delectable tales of historical grandeur and patriotic adventure, and kept the mass of readers under the spell of his special brand of humour. Leaders of thought like C. Rajagopalachari embellished mere journalistic writing with their experience and wisdom. T. K. C. was unfolding the beauties of Kamban’s poetry, incessantly worked on the job or detecting and removing what he felt interpolations in the immortal epic.

Literary journalism in Tamilnad had come to be recognised as a factor by this time. Though purely literary journals found it difficult to maintain their level and last long, the dailies began to devote a section of their letterpress to things literary. The weekly supplement to the Tamil daily took on this task in part, and the short story, the sketch and a critical study of some literary masterpiece formed the pattern of this trend. The book review as such was, as it still continues to be, a non-committal description of the binding and the contents.

Parallel with the growth of Manikkodi as a short story magazine other vehicles also ventured to sport the story as one of their ingredients. Most of the writers who mattered were either writing in Manikkodi or sought its pages later for their expression. The galaxy of names, which today conjures up the image of a golden era for the Tamil short story during these days, forms the index of modern Tamil writing by any standard. Pichamurthi, with his stress on the fundamental human qualities which ultimately triumph in spite of distracting deviations, endowed his stories with the quality of fables and continues to do so even today. Rajagopalan and Pudumaipithan, whom the Gods loved, have left a rich legacy which forms the model for many a young writer now. Rajagopalan’s approach to his themes was that of an artist who sets out to carve images out of ivory. The delicacy with which he chiselled them displayed a rare devotion to the material itself. Pudumaipithan dealt with human situations with detachment approaching cynicism. Yet his picture of characters and situations was as human and real as we would like to find them. There were others too like Chidambara Subramaniam, C. S. Chellappa, Ka. Naa. Subramaniam and a score more, who are still practising their craft with individual vigour and outlook. L. S. Ramamritham among them has evolved a technique whereby he achieves the incredible feat of focusing reality through an approach bordering on fantasy. A rare kind of style which seems to forestall the effect he seeks to create marks out his writings as something unusual. The progress of the short story in Tamil has been almost perennial and it has found votaries in successive phases. T. Janakiraman, whose claim to the hall of fame in the literary field began with his short stories, has contributed a sizable portion in this respect. Among other writers today, Choodamani has developed a manner of writing in which she is able to import the experience of agony in painful retrospect.

The Tamil novel has not had the lush growth the short story was able to attain within a space of two decades. A variety of form and a wide range of technique marked the development of the latter. A growing readership, nurtured by the sprouting of numerous periodicals lent an avid patronage to the short story, and discerning writers striving for expression sought to rear a flower-garden among weeds and shrubs. Bright and colourful, these patches border a literary highway which should be lined with giant trees of vernal foliage. Not that the vista is entirely barren; but the sparse nature of such growth has made the novel a rarity in Tamil. The fact that the longer narrative of a complex pattern, as evidenced in folklore and legend, should be more native to the language only heightens the oddity. Barring a few, very few, exceptions, the Tamil novel after the stalwarts, Rajam Iyer, Madhaviah and Vedanayakam Pillai, has not had the unlimited fresh air and sunlight conducive to the growth of a big tree. The greenhouse-care provided by the growing journals helped only the short story, while the novel has had to be grown in pots in instalments. This resulted in the freak, the serial story, which has for some time passed for the novel. Thriving on the whetted appetite of a reading public whose interest had to be left alive with artificial stimulants of sensational developments in the chapters to be, this monstrosity grew with the space available in the pages of the periodicals. As realism was a poor substitute to the dope of a thrill-providing narrative, would-be followers of this popular brand of writing soon took refuge in pseudo-historical fiction. The dual advantage, this kind of disguise provided, lay in the fact that one can evade the embarrassing necessity of conforming to a dialect which may classify, and thereby even condemn, the story as sectarian, and that the chronological authenticity of incidents in South Indian history is still a matter for research and debate. The pattern of language which has, of necessity, to be conventionally literary, endowed the narrative with universality of appeal, to achieve which in a realistic creation of contemporary life, the author has to be a writer of rare merit. Such attempts too there have been in recent years, and it is evident that the fact that they had to appear in installments was due more to the absence of an organised venture for publication of novels in book form. The names of those who have spun longer pieces of conventional texture are legion.

A few writers who have succeeded in writing novels at whole pieces, independent of the demands of literary journalism, have achieved a measure of success which is not very evident in the dull and glare of popular writing. The themes they have handled are different and the mastery they have attained in narration owes much to their skill as distinguished craftsmen in the art of the short story. While a sense of idealism informs their treatment, a hesitancy to grapple with problems of real import is apparent in their composition. To say this is not to detract from the quality of their creation though. Even the boldest Tamil writer is weighed down with inhibitions peculiar to the environment he finds himself in. Attempts at rebellion are imperceptibly modified by a sense of misplaced sincerity in dealing with the foibles of human character. Where a breakthrough is really possible, the immaturity of outlook and an ambition to imitate western masters result in literary bravado and verbal exhibitionism. Confusing vulgarity with realism and sex with feminine anatomy, some of the writers who stimulate revolt have to an extent messed up the content of the short story and the novel in recent years. Fortunately, their number is low and they are sure to be ignored by a discerning public which can reach out to creations of real purpose across the hurdles of the publishing business. An overdose of merely titillating entertainment, one may hope, is bound to result in a reaction which will ultimately be favourable to the growth of purposeful writing.

Such a consummation seems to be nearer than one could imagine, for there are isolated attempts, even among those with identity of purpose though with differing approaches, to record for posterity something abiding by way of creative writing. Among novelists of such stature, Ka. Naa. Subramaniam, Chidambara Subramaniam, Shankar Ram, B. S. Ramiah and T. Janakiraman have been responsible for a kind of output rich in quality as

Well as in quantity.

The novels of Ka. Naa. Subramaniam constitute a deliberate venture into the varied pattern of western technique of narration herein he seems to achieve a certain amount of success in keeping the identity of the themes he sets out to handle. A conscious attempt to import thought-provoking passages intervene into some his writings. His Poithevu, which has pot been surpassed by any of his later writings, is an instance of this planned adventure. An imagery shorn of literary embellishments lends adequacy to style without leaving any permanent impression on the mind. Almost in contrast, Chidambara Subramaniam shows a remarkable capacity for enriching his language with a harmony that fits into theme of his story. The style of writing he employs in his novel Idhayanadham is as musical as the theme he has chosen. That the novel is more a dissertation on the ideals of a devout Hindu brought up under the best of traditions leaves something to be desired in the matter of artistic expression, to achieve which a writer must needs use the scalpel of the intellect more than the incense of emotion, which is likely to shroud the angularities natural to a human being. It is purposeful and sincere writing which may serve as an index of our cultural heritage.

The casual approach of T. Janakiraman to the compulsion of circumstances fortunately stops short of studied cynicism. Both in style and content, he follows a path of easy elegance which makes his writings eminently readable and enduring at the same time. His delineation of characters is less conscious and more in tune with the growth of the incidents he pictures. A close knowledge of atmosphere, almost as inherent as in B. S. Ramiah’s, lends an air of delightful verisimilitude to the imagery of Janakiraman. His magnum opus, Mohamul, which deals with the problem of an idealist trying to escape facts in a world of his own creation, did not concede anything to the demands of periodical journalism which had to be its vehicle. He might perhaps have been more outspoken about some of the incidents in the story if he were not writing for a public which was overwhelmingly burdened down with tradition. The curbs resulting from such a situation do not seem to have influenced his expression to any appreciable extent. One might wish that other writers of immature equipment but unlimited enthusiasm are given the benefit of such journalistic taboos. But the dichotomy in Tamil journalism is so complete that writing without any inhibition is possible of achievement. There is enough variety of media, through which writers can express themselves. In the pursuit of trends which would point to processes of enduring value, one may not be very much disturbed by such distractions; but one has to take note of the fact that impacts from sources of doubtful authenticity lie at the root of such phenomena. If the writer of quality in Tamil persists in focussing his approach to life when contributing to the pages of periodical which have notoriously become family journals, he would have to toe the line in the matter of observing taboos to the extent of truncated expression. Nor can we envisage a situation where the editor of the journal would be ingenious enough to save the situation as in the instance of the Saturday Evening Post. The legend is, one particular installment of a serial ended with the secretary of an executive having supper with her boss in his residence. When the next installment opened with a scene which found them both at breakfast, the following morning, angry letters were received finding fault with the journal for the implied impropriety of letting the secretary stay overnight. The journal, being too conscious of its circulation to bother about the course of the story as the author conceived it, found a way out by this explanation: The editors of the Post, the journal declared, were not responsible for the activities of the characters between installments.

Ramaiah’s achievement was marked with such a remarkable power of narration that one is usually carried away by the fascination inherent in the easy flow of his style. Alike in his short stories, as in his novels, Ramiah reveals deep insight into the nature of his characters that easily competes with his powerful story telling. He shares with Janakiraman the love for the soil with which they are familiar and is able to create pictures of authentic realism. Akhilan deals with human ideals whose impact on emotions results in situations of intense drama. His experiments with problems of sociological significance point to a generally noticeable trend in the writer trying to rebel against environment.

The richness of literature in the form of the novel or the longer narrative is due, in a large measure, in recent years, to viable contributions by women writers. Among the score of such writers Gowri Ammal seems to have achieved notable success in her story Kadivalam which portrays the helplessness of a family whose guiding hand in the person of the mother is no longer available a result of death. Every action and interaction of the members points to the hypothetical possibility of what would have happened if the mother were alive. A complicated pattern of events is narrated with ease and clarity. Krithika, whose novel Puhai Naduvil went almost unnoticed some years back, indulges in technique of literary psychotherapy whereby she lays bare the deep-rooted causes for the actions of her characters, who have developed attitudes based on childhood complexes.

The quantity of output in the form of novels in Tamil, in book form and through journals, has now become overwhelming. But the persistent attempts of some of the writers referred to seem to bear fruit in that they have not only succeeded in making newcomers emulate them, but have also penetrated through the smoke-screen of popular writing.

Poetry, which seemed, for a time, the exclusive creation of a few lone giants, soon began to hold the stage with the growth of Mushairas at literary festivals. Bharatidasan, who after Bharati, wore his mantle only for a short period, soon made use of his power of expression to cavil at social evils. Desikavinayakam Pillai’s attempts at pure poetry continued to be the model for aspirants. While Namakkal Ramalingam Pillai remained dutiful to his position of poet laureate, official and unofficial, S. D. S. Yogi enriched modern Tamil poetry with his immortal lyrics of rare excellence.

Writers in other fields soon saw the immense possibilities of poetry as a vehicle of emotional recollection. Their experience in other modes of writing gave them the courage to experiment with the accepted rules of prosody. Rajagopalan, to a little extent, and Pichamurthi, in a very large measure, took to this medium obviously because they found the short story inadequate for their expression. Pichamurthi’s infatuation for free verse, however, was not the result of any allergy to prosody itself, though he once described metre in poetry as a fetter to expression: Some of his pieces in this respect are the outpourings of a observant mind which looks at life and discovers patterns not visible to the ordinary writer. Poetry, both rigid and free, has now come to stay and grow in contemporary Tamil letters.

With such a wide range of output, it would be pertinent to enquire about the nature of literary criticism in Tamil. This is generally of two kinds. One is just criticism, the other only literary. The approach in the case of the former is to compare achievement with age-old standards and more often discard it as not conforming to grammar, prosody etc. The other kind is intoxicated with its own knowledge of the literary scene. Between the two, the writer is usually at a loss to know anything about his own work as others see it. Quite often, the talented writer, disgusted with the treatment meted out to his own work, tends to ignore any opinion as such. Importing foreign standards for the assessment of work which should be judged by norms native to the language, often confuses the issue, and the critic, however well-informed he may be about other languages, often goes off at a tangent. There is thus little chance of the work being assessed on its merits. It is usually argued that since most of the forms of writing were borrowed from English, western standards must needs be applied in any attempt at assessment. The fallacy will be evident, when it is realised that attempts at creative writing cease to be so when they are accepted as borrowed. When they are so branded, the accusation ceases to be criticism and turns out to be literary slander. In this process, the genius of the language and the nuances inherent in the style naturally escape notice and the writer is put in the dock for sins of omission. The tendency which has now developed in criticism of Tamil writing is thus preoccupied in building an ivory tower. The ridicule of the insincere critic is worse than the intolerance of the highbrow and the tyranny of the cynic. The writer is to be pardoned, therefore, if in despair he likens the severity of outlook on the part of such a critic to the antics of a crank. Tamil writing, especially, is facing this change currently and the danger lies in the fact that writers of real worth, who have taken to literary criticism are indulging in this pastime. It is to be hoped that the attitudes resulting from such a tendency will serve, in the long run, to promote healthy and constructive criticism directed to the assessment of achievement rather than in showing off knowledge of standards.

It would be surprising if one were to point out that the worst obstacle for the Tamil writer is the language itself. For some of the writers of quality in Tamil, it is not even their mother-tongue. They have to take note of the countless dialectal shades. To achieve a uniformity of appeal wou1d be a task which would sidetrack the purpose of writing itself. The writer in Tamil is constantly aware of the possibility of his being charged with using foreign expressions–which, in his case, would largely be of Sanskrit origin. He has also to take note of the movement around him to eschew words, say of Sanskrit derivation. This affects his outlook and attempt in the matter of creating a style of his own.

The movement is inspired both by the scholar and the writer. The reasons are, however, quite different. The scholar in Tamil believes he has rediscovered the genius of the language which was until recently influenced by the Sanskrit style. He sees greater potentialities for exposition and makes attempts to retain the basic character of the language by consciously avoiding Sanskrit vocabulary. He takes pains to discover viable equivalents for terms which Tamil has been borrowing from Sanskrit. He is motivated by an attitude of purism which prompts him to streamline the language to its original pattern.

The creative writer in Tamil, who is concerned with the clarity of expression, also discards the Sanskrit style, but does not deliberately avoid Sanskrit vocabulary as such. He is preoccupied with the communication of his experience to his readers and employs the most readily available modes of expression.

The tendency towards discarding the Sanskrit style is thus active not only on the surface, but goes much deeper and affects the fundamental structure of the language whose design has been a composite one until now. The attempt to eliminate forms of expression which do not conduce to clarity thus takes on a new turn. This sometimes results in creating a style which does not appear to be any more concise than the one discarded. Naturally there is a conflict between the two, the scholar and the creative writer, though their attempts seem to be directed towards a common goals namely the purity of the language.

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