One Day, One Morning by Anuradha Vijayakrishnan follows two pairs of sisters, each isolated within their own family ‘islands’. One lives under the shadow of an untold ‘curse’, while the other seems untouched by such darkness.
But as the narrative unfolds, perspectives shift, exposing the fragility of memory, the weight of inherited trauma, and the inescapable nature of fear. While not a traditional thriller, the intense, restrained storytelling (mirroring the discipline of poetry) keeps readers hooked while denying them the comfort of resolution.
There are no happy endings or clear victories. The sisters, even when they escape one form of terror, find themselves in another. Safety is an illusion, and escape only leads to new uncertainties.
In a chat with TNIE, Anuradha, a senior director at VISA Inc, opens up about her journey — from a chemical engineering student to poet and fiction writer, her storytelling approach, how she finds oases of creativity even amidst her career, writing process, and much more…
The beginnings
For Anuradha, writing was a natural progression of wanting to read and eventually falling in love with the process. “I was a fanatical reader. We had as many books as we had furniture, and most dining table conversations revolved around literature,” she says.
“But I wouldn’t entirely ascribe it to that,” she adds. “Reading and writing, for me, exist in separate compartments.” The urge to write emerged during her time at Government Engineering College in Thrissur. “It started almost shyly, diffidently — like, ‘Why do I feel this urge to write? Is this normal?’” she reflects.
Soon, her mother started finding scribbles behind her textbooks. “Everyone around me rallied behind it. Creativity wasn’t frowned upon in my family,” she says. Still, as in most Malayali households, the focus was on studying, getting a job, and Anuradha immersed herself in chemical engineering studies. “But the urge to write kept pulling at me.”
The catalysts
In 1993, a chance meeting with Kamala Das changed everything. “She guided me, nurtured me, and made me trust that writing was something worth taking seriously.”
Kamala, who was also an editor at Femina magazine, published several of Anuradha’s poems. “Two full pages of poetry with my photograph. That was a big moment for me — not just because I was published, but because I actually got paid for it,” she says.
Around the same time, Anuradha received a Spic Macay cultural scholarship which took her to Chennai. “I stayed with a professor couple who were deeply involved in arts, literature, and culture. Through them, I was exposed to an even broader world of reading,” she says.
There, she discovered Israeli writers and read A K Ramanujan for the first time. That exposure to new voices, new forms of writing made Anuradha take her own writing more seriously.
Soon enough, she had poetry collections and novels to her name, brought to life by indie publishing houses, which Anuradha says, “really champions free-spirited writing in India”. Triumphs, too, followed, the notable among them being her work Seeing The Girl getting on the longlist of the Man Asia Literary Prize in 2007.
One Day, One Morning
When she set out to write One Day, One Morning, Anuradha wasn’t trying to write a novella. “The first chapter was meant to stand alone, just one voice, one moment,” she says. Then, in what she calls “an act of madness,” she sent it to The New Yorker. “Months later, I received a rejection — but it came with a personal note saying it had made the shortlist. I nearly fell off my chair,” she recalls.
Buoyed by the ‘rejection letter’ and feedback from friends, Anuradha returned to the story. “I wanted to introduce a sense of social placement — where this is happening — through an observer who could also tell the story in a certain way. So I added a little more, and then some more.”
Soon, it grew beyond a short story but wasn’t quite a novel. “But I never worried about word counts. I write stories. If they add up to something bigger, well and good,” she says.
The fact that she had only envisioned the first chapter is very telling when reading. That portion is conclusive enough, but then as one reads on, you are introduced to new perspectives, new voices that challenge what you thought to be definite, the truth, thus lending a ‘thriller-like’ quality to the story.
But Anuradha admits that this wasn’t intentional. “My writing process doesn’t really allow me to claim credit for such things. That said, I’m fascinated by how human beings tell stories — there are no absolute facts, only perspectives and observations coloured by biases,” she says.
On the craft of writing
Anuradha calls it the ‘train journey trope’. “Sitting in a train with a window seat, you see the scenery passing by in squares — you see visions, and then ascribe stories to them, embellishing where facts are missing. When I write prose, I gravitate towards that style.”
One Day, One Morning essentially revolves around one incident, and then the before and after — much like life. “It reflects how people tell stories: ‘This happened, and that happened,’” she says.
Interestingly, the characters don’t have formal names. They’re referred to by relationships — aniyati (sister), amma (mother), etc. “I believe that as time passes, we remember stories, but names fade away. Also, naming characters feels like hard work,” Anuradha jokes.
Despite the initial difficulty it poses for readers, the lack of names renders a sense of intimacy that otherwise would have taken pages to achieve.
Weaving in suspense
This technique — though Anuradha doesn’t call it that — is a double-edged sword and makes it so that the story is as eerie as it is intimate. Some readers found it disturbing, while others read it in one go. “The story is disturbing because there are no ‘endings’ — it’s just a journey we step away from. Even when the girls shift to Chennai, I didn’t want to give the impression it would change anything,” she explains.
Throughout the story, the sisters never seem truly safe. Even after moving to a new city, they harbour fear and seek the shadows. Similarly, the second pair appears to have ‘inherited’ the village’s curse. Their amma starts acting strange, and their father becomes unsettling.
“The way power dynamics work, especially for young girls, means someone who seems ‘safe’ might turn out to be another source of fear. I was unconsciously recreating that prison-like atmosphere,” Anuradha explains.
“If these are just two anonymous houses, how many others must exist? This could be the story of many girls.”
I’m just happy that I can still write and that these stories and characters come to me. Writing, like any art, is a miracle — a blessing
Anuradha Vijayakrishnan, writer & senior director at VISA Inc
Leaving things unsaid
By leaving some things unsaid, Anuradha manages to tell so much more. Especially regarding what really happened to the father figure. There are hints of black magic, but nothing is certain. Again, Anuradha says this was no ‘technique’.
“I don’t know enough about writing to use techniques. I rarely even call myself a writer! I simply write. That said, I didn’t want to define exactly what happened, because speculation itself is satisfying. Many people have asked me, ‘What exactly happened?’ And my answer is — I don’t know. I only saw what the characters saw.”
This vagueness reflects how small communities function — stories take on a life of their own. In the story, what exactly was the ‘curse’? The reader is not sure. “Maybe it was just alcoholism. Maybe it was something else. But we use terms like ‘curse’ to make sense of things beyond our control. Sometimes, it’s satisfying to accept mystery. If everything had a concrete explanation, life would be dull,” Anuradha explains.
Sisterhood trope
One Day, One Morning also sees Anuradha returning to the sisterhood trope, a mainstay of her previous works, especially Seeing The Girl. “It’s not intentional. It just finds its way into my writing,” she says. “I’m fascinated by the idea of sisterly voices.”
“I have a younger brother. Maybe I’m compensating for that in my prose!” she quips.
On juggling writing, career
For someone juggling a demanding finance career, writing isn’t easy. “I don’t feel the urge to constantly produce work. When I do write, it’s late at night, when the house is quiet,” she says. Usually, she writes from her workspace on her laptop, guided more by instinct than by discipline.
Now, with One Day, One Morning, too, earning critical praise, Anuradha’s place in contemporary Indian literature is clear. Yet, she resists the label of ‘accomplished writer’.
“I don’t know what that means. I’m just happy that I can still write and that these stories and characters come to me. Writing, like any art, is a miracle — a blessing,” she says.
"Whether five hundred or a hundred connect with my work, that’s enough for me. I just want to keep writing.”