In Tamil literature today, questions of caste, gender, and power have fought against the resistance and rightfully taken the spotlight. P Sivakami, former IAS officer, writer and activist, has spent her life charting this transformation. Hailed as the first Dalit woman novelist, she has written novels, short stories, poetry collections and myriad essays that unsettle complacency and demand justice.
As a part of Vaanam Art Festival, the Neelam Cultural Centre presented her with the Verchol Dalit Literary Award, this month, in recognition of her fearless voice. As her novels win acclaim in Tamil and English, Sivakami explores the politics of translation, the resistance faced by Dalit women authors and the urgent need for self-critique within literary and political circles. In a conversation with CE, Sivakami reflects on her bureaucratic career, departure into grassroots activism, founding movements for land rights, women’s equality and subaltern arts.
Excerpts follow:
Reflecting on your debut novel and the literary landscape, do you believe Tamil literature has become more receptive to Dalit and feminist narratives?
Certainly. Many Dalit writers and poets are now addressing caste, gender, and their intersections. Their works are increasingly published and well-received, particularly when translated into English. Writers like Imayam, though he doesn’t identify as a Dalit writer, gain recognition as Dalit literature in translation. Authors such as Raj Gauthaman, Bama, and Kanyakumari-based poet ND Rajkumar have also been translated. This indicates a positive shift in reception.
You’ve highlighted the lack of critics for subaltern literature. Why do you think this gap exists?
Sadly, there’s a dearth of critics engaging deeply with these works. Publishers seldom send books to media outlets, and when they do, coverage is delayed or absent. Even media platforms overlook such literature. Reviews are rare, leaving these narratives without the critical discourse they deserve.
Could you elaborate on your process of transcreating Tamil novels into English?
To clarify, my English works are original pieces inspired by my Tamil novels, not direct transcreations. Publishers like Penguin and HarperCollins approached me for the manuscript before I’d even completed it. My priority is ensuring the work reaches audiences, regardless of the publisher.
Your fiction often critiques Dalit patriarchy. Has this drawn resistance within Dalit literary circles?
Initially, yes. Women writing about Dalit issues were marginalised. However, once their works gained traction through English translations, acceptance grew. Today, the intersection of caste and gender is widely acknowledged as inseparable in Dalit writing.
What prompted your transition from bureaucracy to activism and founding a political party?
It was an ideological, not emotional, shift. During my 28 years in the IAS, I conducted awareness camps, edited a magazine, and documented tribal oral histories. Over time, my passion for grassroots work — whether with tribal communities or trans rights — outweighed bureaucratic constraints. I chose to dedicate myself fully to advocacy outside the system.
‘Puthiya Kodangi’ has nurtured a lot of writers. How would you define subaltern literature today, and has its scope evolved since the magazine’s inception?
Puthiya Kodangi has consistently centred on land rights, globalisation’s impact on marginalised communities, and critiques of party politics. It blends philosophy, anti-caste activism, and creative writing — poetry, novels, and translations. Over 25 years, it has addressed Tamil language preservation, Dalit employment, and constitutional safeguards for tribal land. While public discourse now engages these issues, the magazine’s mission remains unchanged.
Campaigning for Dalit and tribal land rights, what resistance have you faced from the state or society?
Our activism targets systemic failure, not individuals. For instance, in Gudalur, powerful entities illegally occupy Panchami lands meant for Dalits. Though courts ruled in our favour, implementation stalls. Similarly, tribal lands under the Fifth Schedule are exploited by non-tribal buyers despite legal
protections. Governments neglect these issues due to the communities’ lack of political clout. Without subaltern voices in policy, execution remains lax.
You’ve emphasised self-critique in writing. What personal challenges have you faced in your literary journey?
Early works faced dismissal as “romanticised” or appeasing caste Hindus. My debut novel, criticised for idealism, was later revised to include a critical authorial perspective, which resonated better. Publishers occasionally dropped my work for critiquing Dravidian politics, but others stepped in. Academia remains hesitant. My English works are syllabi staples abroad, but Tamil counterparts are discouraged for research in local universities.
How has your identity as a Dalit woman shaped your understanding of feminist politics in India?
Women are subjugated because of caste and gender, both are inextricable. Ambedkar had stressed it, Uma Chakravarti echoes the same sentiment. Liberation requires annihilating caste through
inter-caste marriages and solidarity. Any feminist politics ignoring caste is incomplete — a reality evident to any critical thinker.
What narratives remain underrepresented in Tamil literature regarding caste, gender, or bureaucracy?
Non-Dalit writers seldom acknowledge caste’s role in their lives. They portray families as caste-neutral, ignoring systemic complicity. This subjectivity perpetuates caste norms. Even celebrated authors like Pudhumaipithan romanticise caste hierarchies, revealing a lack of critical objectivity.
As an advocate of marginalised voices, how does it feel to be recognised by platforms like Vaanam Art Festival, which aligns with your mission?
Literary awards often have political undercurrents. Mainstream accolades favour those disavowing Dalit identity. Vaanam, however, explicitly celebrates marginalised voices, a rarity. I have been ignored in the literary festivals conducted by the government. While
no award is apolitical, platforms prioritising subaltern narratives deserve appreciation for amplifying silenced perspectives.