Anuja Chandramouli
Anuja Chandramouli

Fickle feelings matter as much as morals, says Anuja Chandramouli

Anuja Chandramouli speaks to Medha Dutta Yadav about her latest book, 'The Wife and the Dancing Girl', which draws from Ilango Adigal’s timeless Tamil classic 'Silapathikaram', as it talks about the love stories of Kannagi and Madhavi.
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As a young Tamilian girl, Chandramouli grew up hearing the story of Kannagi. What intrigued her was her constantly evolving response to it—from love to hate and then love all over again. Needless to say, she felt compelled to create her own version. Excerpts from an interview:

Do you think today’s reader will be drawn to this epic?

Some stories are forever and Kannagi and Madhavi’s love for the same man which led them down a perilous path of intense pleasure and excruciating pain is one for the ages. Readers have been telling me that they found themselves rooting for both of them and have been moved to tears by this timeless tale of love triumphing over loss.

The book raises questions about morality, sacrifice, and the consequences of our choices. Tell us more.

Who decides right and wrong? I have always wondered about that… What is considered good and moral today might be considered an unspeakable crime deserving of the death penalty tomorrow. That is the topsy-turvy world we live in, so fickle feelings matter as much as changing morals. Satisfaction is every bit as likely to lead to salvation as sacrifice. And actions may have damning consequences but that is something that might be easier to live with if it has its roots in personal choice, amoral though it may be as opposed to societally enforced righteous conduct.

How different and alike are Kannagi and Madhavi?

Kannagi and Madhavi have little in common. The former is a gentle, timid soul and a devoted wife, who takes her duties seriously and is loyal to a fault. The dancing girl is effervescent and married to her art, training to achieve elusive perfection so that she may transcend the limitations imposed on her by her gender and the exploitative devadasi tradition she belongs to. However, neither hesitates to move heaven and earth for love.

If you could meet your characters, what would you say to them?

I’d rather listen to what they have to say. It would be nice to know if brief spells of ecstasy are worth the protracted agony. If they could do it all over again, would they choose peace? Or passion?

What section of the book was the most difficult to write?

In the original, Kannagi plucks out her left breast and hurls it at the city of Madurai like a nuclear bomb which sees the ancient capital of the Pandyas reduced to ashes. I wanted to be more realistic about a wronged woman’s quest for vengeance. My heart rate climbed to unhealthy levels and my chest felt like it would explode when I wrote, re-wrote, and edited that portion. In the end, I was surprised at how powerfully cathartic that chapter turned out to be.

Did the gruesome rioting scene affect you as a woman?

One of the most beautiful things about writing a story is that you get to live it with your characters and feel everything they do. I ran the entire gamut of emotions with those two lovelorn ladies. The climactic portions were particularly gut-wrenching but it is a small price to pay for a ripping good yarn.

Your writings have always portrayed strong-willed women. Is that a conscious decision?

Is there any other kind worth writing about?

How do you process and deal with negative reviews?

I don’t. It applies to rave reviews as well. A story exists independently of the storyteller and be it bouquets or brickbats I feel they are hardly ever directed at me personally.

What is the most difficult part of your writing process?

Returning to it repeatedly and committing to the demands of the story even when it is kicking you hard in the derriere.

What is your kryptonite as a writer?

The idea is to allow the torrential outpouring of raw emotions to flow through you and spill over onto the pages without getting swept away or pulled under. I drown or am torn apart. Repeatedly.

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The New Indian Express
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