Writing with a smile

Charukesi remembering Ashokamitran

It was in 1968 that I first met Ashokamitran, along with my writer-friend Vadhoolan, in his Damodara Reddy Street residence in Theagaroyanagar. I was back from Ahmedabad on transfer to Madras, and had seen on the Swadesamitran Deepavali Malar, a short story by him, titled ‘Prayaanam’. It was set in hilly surroundings, to which four disciples of a guru had dragged him in a small cart. Wolves attack them and they leave their guru to his fate. We wondered whether a short story could be so dramatically written without a hero or heroine! We wanted to meet the writer – and off we went to his house.

Ashokamitran.

The first question Ashokamitran asked us was, “What is your age?” We said, “We are thirty” to which he quickly replied, “That is why you have rushed to see me. If only you had crossed forty, you would not have come here!”

That was typical of Ashokamitran.

When Kalki Rajendran one year asked both of us, regular contributors of short stories, to gather material for a Readers’ Special issue, we submitted a roadmap for the entire issue, in which only contributions from readers would be given space. He suggested that the writers who were chosen to contribute short stories be given a clue of three words, around which the story should be woven. One of the writers chosen was Ashokamitran and we gave him five sets of postcards from readers, each with three words.

Although Ashokamitran initially said that there should be no choices in the world, as choices confuse a human being from taking a firm decision, he picked the postcard of the reader suggesting ‘Ganga, Boat, Mother’. It was a poignant short story that Ashokamitran gave us.
The next year, when Kalki was preparing for the December Music Special, we needed a short story based on music, as was customary for inclusion in the issue. We suggested to the Editor several names of writers. He approved none of them. He said, “Ask Ashokamitran to give us a story.”
It was the usual practice of the weekly that if an author was given a chance to write in a special issue or Deepavali Malar, he would not be chosen the next year. We were, therefore, surprised when the Editor said in a firm voice. “No, I am making an exception this time. I was touched by his Readers’ Issue short story and read it with moist eyes throughout.” We were only too happy to approach Ashokamitran again. That was the story behind the story of ‘Indiravukku Veenai Katrukkolla Vendum’ that appeared in the December special issue on music.

Many do not know that Ashokamitran was a connoisseur of Carnatic music, besides having been a fan of the old Bollywood melodies of Lata, Rafi, Mukesh and Talat. He wrote several articles on the latter subject in different magazines. When Narada Gana Sabha, Chennai, honoured the Carnatic vocalist Ananthalakshmi Satagopan (mother of Sujatha Vijayaraghavan) one December Season, with a Senior Musician Award, Ashokamitran volunteered to give me an article on her music for the Sabha’s souvenir that I was editing that year!

Although he said that he did not like Thanneer, one of his novels, it was a brilliant portrayal of the water crisis in the city. Among his novellas, the best are Innum Sila Naatkal, Viduthalai and Manal. The best of his novels is, of course, Pathinettavadu Atchak Kodu. (When a short version of this novel was released as a supplement with a Deepavali special issue of Kumudam, Ra. Ki. Rangarajan, the Associate Editor, another equally brilliant writer, who was assigned to do the condensation, lamented, “How can I shrink this wonderful piece of writing into 20-30 pages! It is such a fascinating work!”)

For Ashokamitran, an essay had also to be written in the format of a short story. It should have a definite beginning, a convincing middle, and a kind of twist at the end. His obit on the death of the great Tamil writer Thi. Janakiraman is one example. All his articles serialised in the Tamil weekly Kungumam were full of anecdotal nuggets and information and have recently come out in book form titled Nadai Veli Payanam. These are slices of life and each one grabs your attention. When I met him a few weeks ago, he said, “I have a copy reserved for you. When you meet me next, you can pick it up!”

When his book on Madras was reviewed by his friend K.S. Subramanian at a Madras Book Club event, permanent emcee Muthiah picked me from the audience to propose the vote of thanks. I was taken by surprise, but then, as an ardent fan, mumbled a few words about Ashokamitran’s writings. I was afraid of facing Ashokamitran after that, but “You spoke naturally. That is enough!” he said, when we descended from the stage.

Just a few weeks before Ashokamitran passed away, I met him for an interview for The Hindu’s Friday Review page. He was very cordial, but firmly told me, “Do not add a single word to what I have said. Readers may think I am bragging.” I promised him I would not. His answers to my queries were simple and straightforward. He did not want to trumpet his own achievements as a writer/novelist, but whenever I mentioned his short stories that I much enjoyed, like ‘Ammavukkaga Oru Naal’, there was a glow in his face, reflecting approval of my taste. Since he could not lay his hands on the book he had promised earlier, he gave me Mounathin Punnagai, a collection of essays that appeared in THE Indhu (Tamil).

The last I met him was at a wedding function in his family, a couple of weeks ago. He was in a happy mood.

Did I say, last? No, I saw him last on March, the 24th morning. He was lying in a closed freezer box, eyes closed, but with a kind of smile on his lips, as if subtly enjoying the scene around him. Was it Mounathin Punnagai? Smile in Silence? I would think so.

Please follow and like us: