Writer Paul Zacharia needs no introduction to Malayalis. At 16, he made a striking entry into literature. Over six decades later, he continues to engage readers across the globe. Known for his trademark bluntness, Zacharia opens up on why he considers the Church an immoral institution, his strained relationship with O V Vijayan, communalism, degeneration of the CPM, and Malayalis’ enduring love for pseudo-morality.
Excerpts
It’s been a long journey from Urulikunnam to Mysore to Delhi and back to Kerala. As a writer, which place do you identify with most?
Mysore. I wrote my first story there at 18. I left Kerala at 16. Until then, I lived according to my parents’ and the Church’s wishes. In Mysore, I led an independent life. Studying English literature and reading Malayalam helped me. So did the way my teacher Gopalakrishna Adiga taught literature. The experience gave me an instinct to write.
It was a grand entry — publishing your first story in Mathrubhumi magazine...
Yes, in a Republic Day edition, as one of 26 stories. I couldn’t believe it. Until then, only stories by the likes of Madhavikutty, [Vaikom Muhammad] Basheer and [T] Padmanabhan had appeared in that section.
You were a bookworm from childhood. But an instinct for literature was not common in Christian families...
I got it from my father. His interest in reading may have come from his friendship with a few Leftists. By the time I started learning, our house had a lot of publications and books.
The Bible was not allowed in Christian families in those days. Why?
The Catholic Church then believed a commoner could not understand the Bible. Interpretation, they thought, should not be left to the layman. It was for the priest to do it. The Bible was available only in Syrian back then.
Children were not allowed to go to libraries for fear they would become communists...
Most libraries were established by Left-leaning individuals. Priests feared reading would make believers lose faith in God and the Church. Their fear was not baseless. I left the Church because of my readings.
Was the process easy?
No. Religion and caste are imprinted on our minds from a young age. They are injected like poison, along with fear of death, the devil, hell, divine retribution, etc. By 18, I realised it was of no use. Once you read the Church’s real history, you realise it is a construct based on power, greed, cruelty and colonialism. The Church has done some great things. But it has also triggered wars and murders. It is one of the most immoral institutions in the world.
Are you saying the Church as an institution has been like that?
It’s the world’s oldest self-renewing bureaucracy. A new batch replaces the older clergy, who are sent to retirement homes; the institution remains intact. It’s, after all, a human institution. But if they admit their human nature, the mystique would vanish. The Church has done a lot of good, especially in education. But this was coupled with power, greed and money.
Your works attempt to humanise divinity...
I do not believe in divinity. Read the New Testament as you would any other biography. It is a small, highly readable and entertaining book. Jesus was entertaining. He was an orator with a good sense of humour. Muhammad was similar. We can see it in Hadis. But these details are hidden. If you read the Hadis, you see the real man, who was fascinating. I hold him in high respect. Both could not tolerate fools. Jesus’s disciples were illiterates. They did not know a thing. They did not know whom they were dealing with until Jesus’s death. They only wanted to know if he could resurrect them after death. That is why they followed him.
One of the biggest criticisms against organised religion is that it does not renew itself…
It does not revise its theories or beliefs. For around 1,300 years, a priestly structure developed around the papacy, expanded and spread, establishing seminaries, recruiting men into them and women into convents — the Church’s workforce. The rule of celibacy was created to serve the institution. Before that, even popes were married. Apart from the Church, the only other organisation I know of that has demonstrated this kind of self-renewing bureaucracy is the RSS. Hitler tried something similar, but it ended with him. The RSS has survived and renewed itself over a long period. It has a structure that continues beyond individual leaders.
We have heard that, when young, you displayed pictures of Marx and Lenin to shock your cousins. But, you also participated in the anti-communist Liberation Struggle. What was your politics then?
I threw stones at a bus during the Liberation Struggle. I was unaware of the causes behind the struggle. The protest was led by the Church, so there was silent approval to bunk classes and participate. That offered great anarchic freedom. Loafing around was my real motive.
What was the political turning point for you?
It started when I reached Delhi. Sitting with friends such as O V Vijayan, [V K] Madhavankutty, [Singapore] Gopan and [T V R] Shenoy, I picked up the basic lessons of politics. That was my political awakening. But the real turning point, when one became a political animal, was the day the Emergency was proclaimed. My whole attitude and outlook — call it a transformation — completely changed. I realised democracy was a pretension. It still is. That’s when I realised we are living inside a counterfeit reality.
During the Emergency, writers didn’t do much...
What could writers possibly have done? No writer can fight a state. With Ramnath Goenka’s personal support, The Indian Express and Arun Shourie put up some kind of a fight. We were individual writers; they had an institution.
Moving back to literature, when did you realise writing was your path?
I am basically a lazy man. Reading is my path. Then there’s music and films. However, influenced by formative people, writing happened in between. But I always knew one must take one’s readership seriously. While writing, one should work hard, make sure one is saying the right thing, maintain the right values and do one’s duty towards the language — strive to write good language without butchering it.
Also, to avoid stuff like communalism. Communal sentiments run deep, ingrained from childhood. Likewise, patriarchy — male chauvinism is deeply entrenched within us. See how many great writers reflect it in their writing. Even with religion, you have to be careful. That is what I told [O V] Vijayan. He made religion something larger than life. How can you present an institution - that is so questionable - and sell it to your readers as if it matters?
Isn’t that an individual’s personal choice? Isn’t spirituality different for each person?
The issue was not Vijayan’s personal spirituality. It was the spirituality he penned for others to consume.
What about freedom of expression? Shouldn’t a writer be able to communicate his spirituality freely?
When Vijayan wrote, Hindutva was on the rise. In such a scenario, would one project a worldview in which such principles are justified, attractive or presented as models for spirituality? Vijayan was political, and therefore he had greater responsibility. Before projecting a particular worldview, shouldn’t a writer be conscious of its political implications?
Do you think Vijayan was misunderstood, or was he himself misled?
There are many aspects to Vijayan’s personal life and books. We cannot simply put them aside and forgive. As a writer, he should not have done certain things. No writer should. A writer is ultimately a communicator — essentially like a journalist. The difference is that a writer uses imagination, while a journalist goes by facts. But when I use my imagination — especially if it is powerful and many people believe what I say — that does not mean I can misrepresent facts. Facts and fantasy should not be confused.
How did such differences of thought affect your personal relationship with Vijayan?
He was hurt. I felt bad. There are certain things I don’t want to hold on to, and things that perhaps should not be discussed or written about.
We often see atheists becoming religious later in life. Did Vijayan undergo such a transition?
I don’t think so. There may have been vulnerabilities. He was shattered over many issues, including private matters. Fame did not bring him happiness.
Does fame bring you happiness?
Fame brings me happiness because my books sell (Smiles). That brings me money. Even otherwise, it feels good. When I travel, people recognise me and come to strike up a conversation. This happens only with Malayalis.
Malayalis often seem to glorify writers. Is that healthy?
It’s the media that glorifies writers; Malayalis join the bandwagon. When the media reports that, say, M T Vasudevan Nair said something about a topic, people start thinking he has great political acumen. In the past, did anybody ask Vallathol’s opinion on every matter? I feel the territorial conflict among Malayalam newspapers led to this scenario.
Do writers make statements to stay relevant?
I don’t think people will fall for that unless the media buys into their words, slices them up and broadcasts them. What if journalists ignored them? Thirty years ago, I gave a talk on ‘Of what use are intellectuals?’ There were about 30 people. I had prepared papers. A journalist took them and published the content. What should have remained restricted to 30 people was widely read.
Critic K S Ravikumar once said that, when it comes to Malayalam short stories, Madhavikkutty and you top the list. Do you approach ‘short’ stories as a ‘big’ thing?
Madhavikkutty never ventured into novels; maybe she had reasons, as I did. There’s Padmarajan, who wrote great short stories. In Ravikumar’s view, by focusing on short stories, Madhavikkutty and I may have created a new wave. Short stories are not the most popular form of fiction anywhere. Even in English literature, novelists rule the roost. Ever since Miguel de Cervantes wrote Don Quixote, it became the standard format of the novel.
Short story writers usually move on to novels. What stopped you?
It’s a difficult process. I am writing a novel now. It requires a different discipline. [M] Mukundan always tells me I am indisciplined. Writing a short story is occasional; writing a novel is not. So I failed at it.
You were writing a biography of Jesus Christ. What happened to it?
I have written a lot, but it will take more time and effort. Whatever we say about Jesus Christ’s life as a human will fall into the pit of faith. So one has to keep clarifying the miracles each time. I want to write a simple history. We are writing about a man who has been misrepresented for about 2,000 years. It’s hard to enter that maze and present it to people unfamiliar with its history. A friend in the US is pursuing it, so I left it.
Is there any work you re-read?
I often re-read some of Basheer’s books — Sthalathe Pradhana Divyan, Pathummayude Aadu, Aanavariyum Ponkurishum. I often revisit S K Pottekkatt’s novels. You can open them at random, it will always be enriching.
Just as Basheer familiarised the Muslim community to readers, you depicted the Christian community in the high ranges, particularly in stories such as Salam America.
I have always tried to write about what I know. Science-fiction authors in America live embedded in a technological society, so they can write about futuristic elements or another world. AI was there in English stories at least 60 years ago, in novels like Dune, which I often revisit.
Talking of AI, is it a threat to creativity?
Never. For me, it offers the greatest help for research. In the future, it might become literature. If we look at science fiction, it’s all about man-machine interface. Hollywood has created apocalyptic ideas like machines taking charge of the world.
Was caste consciousness a big issue in Kerala or literature when you began writing?
Caste consciousness seems to have increased compared with the past. In Kerala, it emerged from the Hindu system, as it provided a strong model. Ultimately, Christians and Muslims here have a Hindu social legacy. The ultimate model of the caste system is the Hindu model, into which the ‘so-called’ elite Christians and Muslims try to fit. This, along with opportunism and the thought that [Prime Minister Narendra] Modi will give them something someday, has led to the evolution of what we call ‘Chrisanghis’.
How do you view Gen Z and Gen Alpha’s intervention in politics?
Brainwashing children into communalism is actively taking place in schools in north India. I believe this doesn’t happen in Kerala. The influence of mobile phones guides them. Whatever a communalist may say, the mobile phone can supersede it. That could be why these children can think for themselves despite the brainwashing. But I don’t think they are very political. To me, there’s only one reference point: are they thinking about democracy? If they are, then they are political.
What’s your take on democracy?
Indira Gandhi showed us that if eight or 10 people sit in a room and decide to throw out the Constitution and take charge of the country, they can do so. Every political party now knows this can be done.
The Emergency was widely welcomed in Kerala at the time...
Malayalis tend to look at whether everything is going well. If it is, they are happy. Someone has to tell them what was actually happening. I think during the Emergency nobody did, so they believed what they heard. With respect to the media, the Malayali is a fool. They blindly believe everything.
You have said the authoritarianism shown by the Congress during the Emergency is something the BJP has never come close to...
The BJP has not reached that level of authoritarianism. Yet they have managed to achieve a lot. Modi has managed it brilliantly. They have not shut down anything or changed the Constitution, but they have managed the show.
Keralam now has three BJP MLAs. Is Keralam ruled by the BJP possible?
It depends on what happens within the CPM, Kerala’s single largest Hindu party. If there is a dissolution within the CPM, it could lead to massive scattering of its support base. Where will they go? The Congress is not their refuge. Their natural refuge would be a similar Hindu party. But we never know. The CPM may not dissolve; it may make a comeback.
Does class politics no longer work among people?
The CPM does not follow class politics. They follow secretariat-officer politics — white-collar politics. It is about changing the leadership and bringing in someone whom people can say, “Oh, he is nice.”
Keralam has traditionally had a strong Left-leaning mindset. Why, then, has the CPM failed to retain its roots among Malayalis?
They lost track of who they are — what communism is and what the Communist Party is. They have become a party for the upper-middle class and middle class. The second problem is arrogance. It is not just one person; it is spread across the organisation. Another issue is corruption. There will always be corruption in politics. But you should know how to keep it under control.
You had friends in cinema such as Aravindan and John Abraham. John was known as an anarchist. Was he truly so?
Yes. But at home, he was different. All the anarchism was reserved for the outside. I always felt John didn’t have the discipline to make films because he detested the business of making films. He was a genius with all the information and energy required to make classics. He started drinking as a rebellion at the film institute, but eventually it took over. He couldn’t come out of it.
What about Aravindan?
Aravindan has to be viewed through the lens of a philosopher, an artist and someone who imparted a deep perspective on relationships. Compassion stands out in his works. He was non-judgmental. There was no anger in him — there was, but towards the malicious. Aravindan’s hallmark was his primary, benign human goodness. He considered friendships his wealth. To him, cinema was simply a venue for friendships.
You once said Malayalis’ biggest issues were sexuality and moral hypocrisy...
Somehow there’s a feeling that sex is prohibited, immoral, a sin, somewhat dirty. All such suppression, restrictions and taboos — most originating in Semitic religions and later spreading to others — made people peeping Toms. Malayalis love to keep their eyes and ears open to know who’s doing what. Going by my social theory, we became a rotten society because of such repression. Until about 10 years ago, moral policing was rampant.
Has this scenario changed?
Once mobile phones became common, along with pornography, such sexual obsession became a thing of the past. Moreover, women started asserting themselves. The sickness of mind among middle-class Malayalis still reflects in dirty social media comments. But they are no longer the driving force in society. We are taking baby steps towards becoming a comparatively civilised society.