"Hoping for something in the midst of emptiness.
Not because it could be attained.
Yet, it being the sole basis of existence,
hanging on to it is the only way!
Latching on to mere hope!"
- lines from the novel Manj.
Leaning against a half-opened window through which the gentle rays of morning light seeped into a half-lit room, abstracts of light and shadow playing peekaboo all around, he sat reminiscing. Each time he reached for his beedi, with an alert camera zooming in eager to capture a rare image of a reddish glimmer cast against his face, he shrank back. It's only after he succumbed to an intense yearning to puff out a few rings of smoke that he looked at the photographer with a pleading, "May I?"
A good five years down the lane, vivid memories of a skilled wordsmith, yearning to light a cigar, yet reluctant to do so in front of the camera, remain fresh.
Over the past decades, this unassuming man has grown to iconic proportions in cultural Kerala. Contrary to popular norms that a writer ought to constantly hog the limelight through regular interventions in the societal sphere, here is one who has consciously chosen silence as an oft-sought companion. He is what could only be termed as the 'cultural editor' of the Malayali psyche, a role that Communist patriarch EMS once handled efficiently.
Perhaps there’s no one else who has influenced a Malayali's sensibilities like MT Vasudevan Nair, who enjoys a cult status among Keralites through the wide canvas of his writings coupled with a brilliant bouquet of films. Changampuzha Krishna Pillai - celebrated romantic poet of yesteryears – could be the only other writer whose name remains etched deep in the hearts of Malayalis.
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Scores of literature fans have sought to capture a lucid glimpse into the varied layers and complexities that comprise the literary genius of this acclaimed author who turns 90 on July 15. What more can now be said about this self-effacing doyen of words, who still prefers to remain engrossed in a private world of thoughts and imagination?
It's almost as if there is an insecure kid in him, a meek and timid child, unsure of himself, someone who always chooses to stay behind the curtain, yet eager to explore the world outside. A leitmotif of an orphan or outcast peering through is evident in most of his short stories. Ninte Ormmaykk, a short story with a strong autobiographical element, sheds much light on this kid. Most of his protagonists are social outcasts, living on the margins of life, people ignored by mainstream society.
"Perched on the margins of society as well as our everyday lives, such people have always been around in my village and elsewhere. I could see them in my neighbourhood, leading isolated and lonely lives," says MT. "They do all that has to be done, but never seem to get noticed by anyone", was how he put it when asked how only the dejected and despairing lot seem to make it to his list of protagonists.
Humane is how he preferred his characters to be. He tried to get rid of the divine aura that usually surrounds mythical characters. Perhaps that explains why he chose to portray Bheema in almost simplistic overtones. "It's a story about an ordinary mortal's grief, one who has experienced the hurt of being cast away. It seeks to convey the pain of the one ignored. It's about the common man!" was the short brief that MT shared with his illustrator about Randamoozham. That it was more than adequate for artist Namboothiri to sketch the protagonist with a few deft strokes is a tale for another day.
Though inspired by literary legends like Vaikom Muhammad Basheer or SK Pottekkad, MT chose to tread his own path. The social milieu of an ancestral joint family set-up, juxtaposed against a well-entrenched patriarchal system, did wield a major influence on him. He however never did root for a romanticization of the same. What he always focused upon was the wreckage wrought by the feudal system and the crumbling edifice of joint families. The writer in him never lingered on to relive the remnants of the past.
Cast against the wide and varied canvas of a rural neighbourhood, he chose to portray the simple, rugged lives around him. This well explains the inner struggles of his protagonists in early works like Naalukettu (1958), Kalam (1969) or Asuravithu (1972). Perhaps Manj (1964) was the first exception, a lyrical work woven around a female protagonist, Vimala.
Having said that, we cannot ignore the constant and fierce streak of rebellion in his writings that oft triggered a quiet revolution of its own in his characters’ lives. In a screenplay adapted from his own story Pallivalum Kalchilambum, MT went on to portray something that would have proved an unpardonable offence in contemporary society.
Who can forget the iconoclastic scene of an oracle spitting on the face of a goddess-idol in his directorial debut Nirmalyam? In an age of increasing intolerance, such display of creative valour half a century ago provides a telling narrative of what Kerala once was. “Can’t even imagine such a film being made today!” was how noted filmmaker Adoor Gopalakrishnan put it.
Such a radical portrayal would have undoubtedly unleashed mayhem in the present times. There are many more such portrayals like Chanthu in Oru Vadakkan Veeragaatha, where MT chose to depict folklore through a differing perspective, defying conventional wisdom and populist overtures. Amidst these, the simple yet elegant Oru Cheru Punchiri does not however fail to stand out.
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Why is it that the living legend of Malayalam literature chose to remain deep-rooted in a familiar milieu, rather than move out to explore the urban truths of life, and maybe even indulge in a literary tryst with the ever-changing social realities of an increasingly dysfunctional social set-up?
Writer CR Parameswaran's keen observation in this regard well sums up what MT might have been, had he opted to tread a different literary path. Placing him as one among the last of the neo-realistic writers balanced on the threshold of the modernist movement in the state, CR is of the view that had MT ventured out of Kerala during his younger days like OV Vijayan or Anand, he would have actually ended up even more modernist and famous than the duo!
Nevertheless, all said and done, there is probably no other literary editor who nurtured the modernist movement in Malayalam literature the way MT did! A slew of writers, Sethu and Paul Zachariah among others, were handpicked by MT, the editor.
Touching ninety would indeed be a milestone wherein one takes a pause to look back and contemplate how it all went. "No regrets!" was his prompt response half a decade ago. And thus, he continues to traverse on!