No Place for Malgudi in Mysore

Eight Kannada writers and intellectuals,including celebrated novelist SL Bhyrappa,and poet GS Shivarudrappa,have opposed the idea of the Karnataka government sponsoring a memorial for Narayan. In a press statement issued on September 15,they raised three points. First,Narayan,who was born and raised in Madras until the age of 15,wasnt a Kannadiga,didnt do anything to propagate Kannada literature and couldnt even properly speak Kannada. Second,he sold the manuscripts of his novels to an American university (Boston University),thus showing no regard for Indian institutions or researchers; further,his heirs were selling his house to the government at market price,instead of gifting it. Third,why should Kannadiga taxpayer money be spent on honouring a non-Kannadiga,when there are many more deserving Kannada writers to be honoured?

Reactions to this stand,both in newspapers and blogs,have been intense and passionate. Jnanpith awardees UR Ananthamurthy and Girish Karnad have criticised the notion that Narayan didnt write on Karnataka or on Kannadigas. On the other side,more Kannada writers and activists have supported Bhyrappa,et al,questioning Narayans literary contributions and even his status as a Mysorean.

In a way,this controversy reflects Narayans complicated and ambivalent relationship with the dominant intellectual and literary currents of his city. In the first half of the 20th century,the Maharaja College of Mysore,where Narayan was a student,and more generally,Mysore city,were epicentres of Kannada intelligentsia and modern Kannada literary culture. Kannada writers,the dominant presence in literary and academic settings,sought to fashion modern Kannada as a language for literature,knowledge and business.

Narayan had little interest in this project. Instead,he dreamt of writing in English,which in itself wasnt unusual. His contemporary,and foremost Kannada writer of the 20th century,Kuvempu,too began his literary career as an English poet,and turned to Kannada only after being prompted by visiting Irish poet JH Cousins. More significantly,by choosing to make a living through writing alone,Narayan walked away from an option his contemporary writers chose frequently,of seeking employment in the university system. He refused to study further after his BA degree,dabbled in journalism and taught briefly before settling on writing as his occupation.

Narayan also broke from the mainstream Kannada literary tradition in his literary ambition. His subject matter remained invariably the everyday life of ordinary people,as opposed to the grand themes of anti-colonial struggle,nationalism and socio-political change,which were the preoccupations of Kannada writers. Narayan created a new literary lineage for himself,which is evident in what he read (European realists,primarily) and where he sought to publish his writings (magazines like Punch or British publishers for his novels). He lived the life of a struggling writer,supported by his extended family,well into his 50s,before attaining remarkable commercial success and critical acclaim.

Consequently,as the chronicler of everyday life,Narayan differed from his contemporaries,who conceived literature as an instrument for social and political purposes. Narayan rarely took his gaze away from his fictional town,Malgudi,which is memorable in the literary landscape just as Wendell Berrys Port William or William Faulkners Yoknapatawpha County. He did chronicle Malgudis changes as decades went by,but Narayan lacked the political consciousness of a Berry,who sought to connect changes in the wider world with that of his literary location. This has led to recurring criticism by Kannada critics,who argue that if Narayans writings were to be translated into Kannada,the lack of profoundity would become self-evident.

However,in questioning Narayans literary merit,his Kannada critics have erred in two significant aspects. They have entirely ignored Narayans accomplishments as a stylist,especially of language. As Jhumpa Lahiri suggests,he extracts the full capacity of each sentence,and in the space of four to five pages,he erects,complicates,and alters a life. Such accomplishments during an era when Kannada too was being fashioned as a language for new narrative forms like fiction ought not to be ignored,yet rarely has there been a serious effort to consider Narayan in relation to Kannada writers of his time. Similarly,another comparative aspect that merits contemplation is a suggestion that Wyatt Mason makes in a 2006 New Yorker essay that Narayans novels break most meaningfully with those of the West and establish their own tradition in positing the idea of a self as not a private entity but a fixed,public one. Still there is no major study comparing Narayan with his contemporary Kannada writers.

Though a marginal presence in the literary and academic circles of Mysore,Narayan remained firmly rooted in its everyday civic life. He wasnt the elitist English novelist who couldnt speak Kannada,as his critics allege. In fact,nothing could be further from the truth. In various interviews and his own writings,Narayan repeatedly returns to the theme of his routine in Mysore,recounting his daily walks and conversations in the city,and how these excursions were the basis for his sketches of astrologers,pickpockets,artisans,clerks and other such characters. Mysore,with its princely trappings and size,may not have been Malgudi,as Susan and N Ram rightly point out,but their claim that the inhabitants of Malgudi are Tamilians is patently absurd. Narayans rootedness in Mysore and its ethos are central in creating Malgudi.

That Narayans critics today are questioning his credentials as a Mysorean,and as a Kannadiga,is also a reflection of the growing radicalisation of Kannada activism. From the wombs of a constructive and progressive Kannada language movement of the 1980s,there has emerged more recently a radical and intolerant strand,which proudly models itself on Shiv Sena,and puts forward a very narrow conception of what it means to be a Kannadiga. It purports as its agenda the protection of language,land and water with an aggressive,masculine warrior model and doesnt brook any dissent. Hence,the activists of these groups mock a journalist in Delhi,or an academic outside Karnataka,and even a celebrated English novelist who lived all his life in Mysore,as being insufficiently Kannadiga. For them,Narayan isnt worthy of any state honour.

In such a scenario,why preserve Narayans home? Why turn a man who counted literary giants and Hollywood celebrities among his friends into a memorial? Surely Greta Garbo wasnt charmed by a statue!

Narayans Mysore too has changed. It has now become a speculators paradise. As outsiders have begun buying property in the city,the dream of owning a home in Mysore remains a distant one for its residents. These days,Mysores youth turn to real estate to make their fortune.

For a young writer or an artist in Mysore today,dabbling in real estate is more appealing,even if it is as a way of subsidising ones creative pursuits. Prosperity,unlike in writing,is assured. Moreover,today no writer can aspire to build a house on his earnings from writing alone. The singular justification to preserve Narayans house is to preserve the idea that a writer too could also build a house. Today,even if that prospect no longer exists,its a dream worth holding on to,and for a city that earns its tax revenue primarily through property transactions,investing a few crores in preserving that idea isnt a waste.

The writer is a Mysore-based social historian