Who decides what’s good or bad in a story? Is it the writer? Or perhaps, could it be the conclusion? Maybe, it is the readers...
What if I told you it’s none of the above? Kadali Satyanarayana, author of three compelling books — Chick Lit, Kadali Kathalu, and Letters to Love — shows us that it’s all about perspective. Through her writing, she reminds us that stories don’t live in absolutes but in the grey, in the in-between, in the untold. Because as human beings, we often see the world through two lenses — mostly from the male perspective, and only occasionally from the female. But Kadali’s writings give voice to the unheard, question the default, and urge us to ask: What if we looked at this differently? Whether she’s penning personal essays, short stories, or film lyrics, she doesn’t just write stories but rewrites the lens through which we view them.
After winning the ‘Parnasala Youth Excellence (PYE) Awards 2025’ in ‘Excellence in Literature’, she opens up about her work and more.
A few words about receiving the ‘PYE 2025 Award’?
I feel truly honoured. Recognition like this doesn’t come often to writers, especially in mainstream media spaces. Our words may echo far and wide, but people rarely know who wrote them. This award feels special. It was a stage shared with artists from all fields: a dancer, a musician, an entrepreneur, and me, a writer.
Most of the awards I’ve received earlier were from literary communities, often within older circles. This one felt different. It was inclusive and youthful. It made me realise that this award isn’t just for me but for stories that refused to be forgotten, for voices that dared to speak from a female perspective. And for that, I’m immensely grateful.
Writers or thinkers who have influenced your voice?
So many! Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Adrienne Rich, and Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman shaped my thinking early on. I also deeply admire Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie for her perspective on identity and gender.
In Telugu literature, Kasibhatla Venugopal and Gudipati Venkatachalam (Chalam) have been strong influences. I’ve read a lot of classical literature, though I feel I’ve outgrown some of it now. In cinema, writers like Phoebe Waller-Bridge (Fleabag) inspire me. Recently, I’ve been watching Ginny & Georgia, in which the writing is incredible too. Honestly, I consume everything, including books, films, podcasts, and interviews. I absorb what resonates and know how to apply it.
When did writing become serious for you?
Writing has always been my space of expression. I started at 13 or 14, publishing small pieces in children’s columns and newspapers. But I took it seriously after quitting my job as an English lecturer at LFDC Degree College. Teaching literature was fulfilling to a point, but I realised I was meant to tell my own stories. The real trigger? The lack of narratives from a female perspective. Everything around us is ‘his-story’. But where is her-story? That question lit the fire in me. That’s where my writing truly began.
How do you choose the language you write in?
It depends entirely on the story and its characters. If it’s an urban setting, the characters speak in an urban tone. If rural, then in their dialect. I travel, observe, listen, and pick up the way people speak, even quirky words like ‘skippity’. Sometimes, I don’t even know what a word means initially, I go research it. I write in both Telugu and English. Telugu feels like my skin, it’s instinctive and natural. But I do plan to translate Chick Lit, Kadali Kathalu, and Letters to Love into English. Some of my English stories are already published in anthologies.
How do you write about pain or injustice without becoming overly sentimental?
That’s exactly the work of a writer: to hold multiple perspectives without diminishing any of them. It’s taken me years to understand where a story should start, how it should be told, and how it should be presented to the world. As for despair or sentimentality, I don’t believe in censoring emotions. If a story demands it, I honour that. There’s no shame in writing about pain, vulnerability, or anger. As long as it serves the story truthfully, it belongs.
Of everything you’ve written, what are you most proud of?
I love all three of my books; Letters to Love came from a place of innocence, curiosity, and belief in love. I was experimenting with language, form, and narrative. Kadali Kathalu, though, made me a rebel. It transformed me. That’s the book that turned me into a rebellious writer. I also wrote a song for Women’s Day in a film. There was a line: ‘Oka mata edhuru thirigi matladina ma paina nindhalavarsham kurusthundi’ (When a woman speaks back, society rains slander upon her).
The producers edited out the words ‘nindhalavarsham kurusthundi’ (rains slander). That hurt. It felt like proof of how difficult it is for women to simply speak for themselves. Even when we try, someone always tries to silence us.
Where do you get your ideas from?
Life. Everyday moments. Conversations. Observations. My creative process isn’t rigid. I believe the story decides when it wants to be written. People often assume, ‘Oh, she’s a woman, she’ll write about periods or pads’. But that’s such a narrow way of thinking. Only women can write authentically about liberation, about freedom. And when women write, it makes sense.