K R Meera, one of the most powerful literary voices of our times, continues to probe the politics of gender and power through her writings. Known for landmark works like ‘Aarachaar’, she now returns with ‘Kalachi’, a novel exploring patriarchy, discrimination, and individuality.
In an interaction with TNIE, she talks about her writing process and the inseparability of politics from a writer’s life.
Edited excerpts
You were one of the early women journalists in Malayalam. How did that journey begin?
I wanted to become a writer. When I was around 17, I felt I didn’t have the talent to become one. Because there were many prominent writers then, and I wondered what space I would have among them. Reportage by Anita Pratap and Chitra Subramaniam had inspired me. I wanted to try something new, and journalism felt right for me. Immediately after my course, I got selected to Manorama.
Could you recall those days?
The journalism field has the most narcissistic men. When I went there, the general perspective was: ‘Why are girls here?’ Except for a few, such as Mammen Mathew, Jose Panchippuram and Thomas Jacob. When I think about it now, the presence of a woman made some of them uncomfortable. I used to leave the office at 9.30pm, and they would feel relieved. There were also practical difficulties, like finding a place to stay. However, it was a good experience. Once we start working, it’s men first… always. It took time for me to claim my space.
Have newsrooms changed now?
Have they? For things to truly change, the mindset of the men who make key decisions has to change. If it has changed, that’s good.
In writing also, men were more prominent. Except the likes of Madhavikutty…
Sarah Joseph, Gracy teacher and Chandramathi teacher… Why do we forget them? The problem is that when we are asked to list the ten best writers, we include nine men and add one woman just for the sake of inclusion.
Your first story came out in 2000. It has now been 25 years of writing. How do you see your writing career at this point?
For me, the process of writing is about discovering new ideas and finding the right language to express them. I don’t think writing is a marathon where you must achieve something within a set time. It is not a competition where you climb to the top and break an earthen pot, like in ‘uriyadi’. Writing, for me, is an organic journey — there is no final destination, no fixed goal.
You took the risk of quitting a secure job to focus entirely on writing. How did you find the courage to do that?
It wasn’t a planned decision. You could say it came from my demanding, ego-driven and somewhat adamant nature. I was quite certain that I wouldn’t go hungry. I knew I could earn through writing.
Whether in journalism or literature, it has traditionally been a man’s world…
No, I don’t see it that way. I always feel that whatever a man has written was first told to him by a talented woman (laughs).
There is often pressure on women to prove themselves. Have you ever felt that pressure?
Yes… I have always felt that I must be the best at whatever I do — whether it is writing or anything else. I was conditioned that way from childhood, and I cannot escape it. Every day, I feel the pressure to prove myself to my peers through my talent and hard work.
Who are your readers? Do you think from the perspective of a reader when you write?
No… we don’t know who the reader is. When writing an article, we may have some sense, but in fiction, we cannot know. Every time, we only hope that new readers will be drawn in. I wish, whoever the readers are, they become better human beings, with a deeper understanding. But it cannot always be achieved.
Now that you are a pan-Indian writer, is there any pressure to write on subjects that appeal to readers across India?
No, no pressure at all. We cannot write like that. I cannot decide that I will write a ‘pan-Indian’ novel. I wish to write something that no other writer has attempted or approached before. I never intend my novels to be set outside Kerala, but when I look for the situations that a story demands, sometimes they naturally lead me outside the state.
Has journalism influenced your stories or the process of writing?
Journalism influences my life itself. I am eternally haunted by the spirit of a murdered journalist inside me (laughs). It makes me want to wander and travel all the time.
Could you tell us about your process of research and writing?
Sometimes I feel there is someone else writing it for me in my head. And there is a certain magic that happens when I sit in front of the wide screen. I remember many things I thought I had forgotten, and even things I didn’t know I knew. That is the joy of writing — finding these things and the coincidences along the way.
You once remarked you were ‘a woman who writes’, not a ‘woman writer’. How do you differentiate?
My issue is with the word ‘writer’. In Malayalam, it translates into a term that inherently means ‘a man who writes’. Similarly, ‘reader’ translates to ‘a man who reads’. Everything is gendered that way. Our language is male-centric, and that needs to be corrected.
Isn’t the experience of writing different for men and women? Don’t these terms also reflect those different experiences? And should that be seen as a problem?
Sometimes I think yes — it is time we acknowledge this issue. A man can often write without worrying about the responsibilities of his children. This is changing now, but only if we recognise the inequality can we fix it. For equality to exist, we must also find a language that is equally efficient. There’s a politics that urges us to speak about unconventional lives, to dismantle patriarchy — and we do speak about it. But unless such ideas enter everyday language, we will remain stuck in the mundane. Today, many men also take responsibility for their children. When you talk about a men’s commission, these aspects should also be addressed.
Some activists have been demanding a men’s commission…
Individuals do not affect me. As a writer, all I can do is talk about the larger politics.
Is a men’s commission needed?
Yes, it is necessary. Men must be educated about societal changes and trained to embrace them — especially the changing dynamics of family life. A commission can help with that.
But the current demand is for a commission to protect men from ‘harassment’...
That’s because they don’t understand the difference between harassment and the loss of privileges they once enjoyed. Those who demand a men’s commission believe that men face more harassment today. For them, the loss of privileges amounts to harassment. What can we do except educate them? We must tell them: ‘This is not harassment. These were privileges you enjoyed till now — privileges created by earlier generations and used to suppress another section of people who also had equal rights. You must let go of them.’
Women characters in your works are complex and powerful, with the quality of reclaiming power…
Are they powerful? That is not power. As Simone de Beauvoir said, feminism is not about snatching power from men, but about dismantling the very idea of power. My characters do exactly that. They do not compete for power. Instead, they explore how beautiful the world could be if the notion of power itself disappeared — if toxic masculinity disappeared.
Does religion play a major role in this?
Yes. Where does religion come from? It comes from the family. Religion always attacks from within. I have written about this in ‘Kalachi’.
Is that why some say the family is a fascist unit?
Yes. I believe family is the smallest unit of fascism. The first lessons of oppression and suppression are taught by the family. A family in its current form does more harm than good.
How should an ideal family be?
An ideal family is one where everyone gets the opportunity to grow, and no one suffers any form of violence — verbal, physical, emotional, or spiritual. Today’s family structure is built on strict distribution of power. Naturally, people carry the same structure into society because it is familiar and convenient.
Have you ever felt marriage is a kind of restriction?
(Smiles) Signing any paper is restrictive. I was speaking about the institution of marriage. I do not agree with the current model of marriage.
Is gender a mere social construct, or is there a biological element?
You shouldn’t ask such a complex question to a mere writer like me (smiles).
How much has writing helped you towards liberation?
Writing has been my only real path to liberation. Everywhere you go, the life of a poor woman is full of restrictions.
Is a woman’s life really that difficult?
As long as the BJP rules at the Centre, I would prefer to be a man. Right-wing ideology still treats women as second-class citizens.
Is it right for writers to support political parties? You were seen campaigning during the Nilambur by-election….
Aren’t writers political beings? Is any work truly apolitical? Writing is also a livelihood. I don’t care whether Congress or RSS supporters read my books. All writers are activists in some way. Every story is an attempt to fill water into broken pots.
Is motherhood an outdated concept?
I cannot say that. The problem arises when motherhood is imposed through fear or pressure. The real issue is that society views a woman only as a field for producing heirs.
How was it in your experience?
I was never someone who longed for motherhood. As a child, I always doubted whether I could be a good mother. I am absent-minded. When I finally became a mother, I saw it with a certain detachment. Had I not become a mother, I might have believed a child had been saved from me. I was terrified during pregnancy — because I carried a life inside me, because I was responsible for its safety, and because I doubted my own strength to handle it. I lived with the constant fear that my mistakes might harm my child. Motherhood is a big lie. It is glorified. It is the sum of mechanisms created by every society to confine a woman’s entire life to one function –reproduction.
Isn’t it mostly women themselves who celebrate motherhood?
For whom is this celebration? It is a way of putting all the blame on women. Society is built by men. Women exist within households run by members of that society. They carry out men’s beliefs, desires, and decisions. Women today are not treated as full social beings.
Are you a man-hater?
I want to see everyone simply as human.
Many men have a problem with confident, strong women…
It is not about strength. Men are not interested in women who do not obey, respect, or acknowledge men as superior. It is a mindset. If you read ‘Ghathakan’, you will see that I say masculinity is not related to men — it is related to power and mindset. It is the resistance to sharing power that leads to unhealthy and negative behaviour, whether from men, women, or transgender persons.
So, are you saying it is not about gender?
The problem with patriarchy is that it creates divisions — higher women, lower women, higher men, lower men — and then caste and religion get woven into it. It becomes a complicated structure.
There is a notion that women writers here have a Madhavikutty hangover. But your style was different… was that a conscious decision?
I start writing only when I have a story that hasn’t been told before. Yes, I was conscious of that. I have no interest in repeating what others have already written.
What do you feel after finishing a book?
I become restless. I start thinking: ‘I shouldn’t have written this. This isn’t what I intended. Is it good enough?’ I cannot assess it objectively. But once it is published, I feel relaxed.
Is writing an act of self-expression or rebellion for you?
Both. There is expression, and there is rebellion — something that may not always be possible in reality.
Any contemporary authors who excite you?
Harish is a good writer. Rajasree, Soniya, Athira, Mini, and many others. There are many; I may have missed some names.
Do you plan to write in English?
No. Malayalam is my strength. I already handle two languages — Malayalam and the English used in translation contexts.
How is your writing process?
I prefer to see the sky, walk around, and observe. I need to go outside to write. Editing can be done at home. ‘Qabar’ and ‘Ghathakan’ were written at home, but distractions are constant.
Though you don’t have homemaker responsibilities?
The problem is that everyone at home feels entitled to a woman’s time. A woman’s life is never fully her own — no matter who it is, even if she’s the prime minister.
Your writing often shows layers — realism, grounded tones, surreal elements. How did your style develop? Were you inspired by any writers?
Gabriel Garcia Marquez is one of my pole stars. I have always carried a sense of dissatisfaction with the world around me, and that naturally pushes me toward imagining another kind of life. Maybe that’s why surreal or magical elements slip into my writing. Honestly, I think the problem might be with me (laughs).
There’s a growing discussion that young people are moving away from reading. What’s your take?
I have been hearing this since my own childhood. Every generation says the same thing. At any point in history, people who love reading will read, and those who don’t simply won’t.
Does something called ‘serious reading’ still exist today?
Did it ever really exist (laughs)? Ideas like ‘greatest literature’, ‘deep reading’, or ‘serious reading’ feel outdated now. Often, the people who preach deep reading lead shallow lives.
Do you believe that a woman understands another woman better?
No. An individual understands another individual. That’s the truth. We need to remove the labels of ‘man’ and ‘woman’ and see each other as people — only then can we truly understand one another.
There’s a belief that the best female characters are written by men. Do you agree?
These are just generational beliefs. There’s no truth in them. People might feel that way about writers like Uroob. But I am not ready to agree with it (laughs). Because there is a myopic male perspective in all those writings. They write the kind of women they want to see, based on their own limited experiences. How can you understand an elephant by only looking at its trunk or tail? And when it comes to men — has any writer truly depicted a complete man? Men don’t fully reveal themselves to anyone. When we write, we write about experience, joy, lack of privilege, and so on.
There are women who live life on their own terms, but even then, people ask whether that is the life they truly wanted. But do we ever ask men these questions? Men have social privilege, women don’t. Inequality begins right there.
Is that why, in a conversation, you said all good writings were feminist writings?
Yes, of course. Anyone who believes in the Preamble of the Indian Constitution is a feminist. The values in the Preamble are essentially the basics of feminism. It’s that simple. If you believe in that, you are, by default, a feminist.
How important is political correctness in life and in the creative world?
Political correctness is nothing but the correctness of humanity. The correctness shifts with time. Once we say something is anti-human, we must progress towards betterment, not drag it back to where it once was. I try to be careful. I also care about correcting mistakes made unknowingly.
How do you feel after completing 25 years as a full-time writer?
Surprise (smiles)… that I swam in this sea, in this vast world.
What’s your take on Kerala society — do you believe there is progress?
After this Left government took over, I have felt they have tried to take feminist ideas to the people. That makes me happy. It reaches young boys and girls. There is a group of people who want to live simply as ‘humans’. Changes that we see in cinema, too, are wonderful. Kerala will change.
Are you unhappy that you are a writer?
Being a writer is not an unhappy thing. I like writing. I am happy writing. But I don’t like many things that come with it.
Do you miss journalism?
Always. I used to think I could have changed things (laughs). Hunting for stories and writing reports energise you. Fiction drains you.
TNIE team: Kiran Prakash, Cithara Paul, Rajesh Abraham, Anil S, Rajesh Ravi, Anna Jose, Manisha V C S, Harikrishna B A Sanesh (photos) Pranav V P (video)