மன்னிப்புக் கேள்

மே 30-ஆம் தேதி நடந்த விஜய் டி.வி.யின் நீயா நானா நிகழ்ச்சியை நீங்கள் பார்த்திருக்கலாம்.  பார்க்காதவர்களுக்கும் புரிகிறாற்போல் இதை எழுதி விடுகிறேன். 

இன்றைய நவீன காலகட்டத்தில் குருமார்கள் தேவையா இல்லையா என்பது விவாதத் தலைப்பு.  மேலோட்டமாகப் பார்த்தால் ஒன்றும் தெரியாது.  இத்தலைப்பின் உள்குத்து என்னவென்றால், நித்யானந்தாவைப்  பற்றி ஒரு டாக் ஷோ செய்ய வேண்டும் என்பதுதான்.  அதோடு, ஒரே கல்லில் இரண்டு மாங்காய் அடிக்க நினைத்திருக்கிறார் நீயா நானா நிகழ்ச்சித் தயாரிப்பாளரான ஆண்டனி.  இதை அந்த நிகழ்ச்சி ஒளிப்பதிவு ஆகிக் கொண்டிருந்த சமயத்தில்தான் என்னால் உணர முடிந்தது. இரண்டாவது மாங்காய், ஆண்டனிக்கு என் மீது இருந்த பகையை இந்த நிகழ்ச்சி மூலம் தீர்த்துக் கொள்வது. 

கொஞ்சம் ஆரம்பத்திலிருந்து சொல்ல வேண்டும். சென்ற ஆண்டு நீயா நானா நிகழ்ச்சிக்காக அழைக்கப்பட்ட எனக்கு சன்மானம் எதுவும் கொடுக்கவில்லை. இது பற்றி ஒரு பத்திரிகையில் எழுதியிருந்தேன்.  அதற்குப் பழி வாங்கும் நோக்கத்துடனேயே மே 30-ஆம் தேதி நடந்த நீயா நானாவில் என்னிடம் கேள்விகள் கேட்கப்பட்டன.  நானோ ஆண்டனி & கோபிநாத் பிரதர்ஸின் இத்திட்டம் பற்றி எதுவும் அறியாதவனாக அங்கே அமர்ந்திருந்தேன்.  என்னை மடக்க வேண்டுமென்று அவர்கள் முன்கூட்டியே திட்டமிருந்ததால் என்னால் அக்கேள்விகளை எப்படி எதிர்கொள்வதென்று புரியவில்லை.    

என்னுடைய பலவீனம் அது.  உடனடியாக எதற்கும் எதிர்வினை செய்ய முடியாது. அதைப் பற்றி நின்று நிதானமாக யோசிக்க வேண்டும்.  அதனாலேயே நண்பர்கள் என்னை ட்யூப் லைட் என்பார்கள்.

நீயா நானா பற்றி இன்னொரு ரகசியம், நிகழ்ச்சியில் கேள்வி கேட்கும் கோபிநாத் தானே யோசித்து கேள்விகளைக் கேட்பதில்லை.  நீங்கள் உற்று கவனித்தால் தெரியும்.  கோபிநாத்தின் காதுகளில் ஒரு சிறிய ஒலிவாங்கி செருகப்பட்டிருக்கும்.  அதில்தான் நிகழ்ச்சிக்கு வெளியே அமர்ந்திருக்கும் ஆண்டனியின் கேள்விக் கணைகள் சாரை சாரையாக வந்து விழும்.  அதைத்தான் கோபிநாத் கேட்பார்; பார்வையாளர்களிடம் பேசுவார்.  ஆகவே, கோபிநாத் ஒரு பொம்மைதான்.  அதை இயக்குபவர் ஆண்டனி. 

அந்தக் குறிப்பிட்ட நிகழ்ச்சியில் நான் சற்றும் எதிர்பாராத விதமாக கெரில்லாத் தாக்குதலைப் போல் கோபிநாத்திடமிருந்து அந்தக் கேள்வி வந்து விழுந்தது.  “சாரு, நீங்கள் நித்யானந்தாவை ஆதரித்தீர்கள்; அவரைக் கடவுள் என்றீர்கள்.  அதனால் உங்களுடைய வாசகர்கள் எல்லோரும் நித்யானந்தாவின் பின்னால் போனார்கள்; இப்படி உங்கள் வாசகர்களைத் திசை திருப்பியதற்காக வருத்தப்படுகிறீர்களா?”  கொஞ்சம் திகைத்துப் போன நான் ”ஆமாம்” என்றேன்.  விடாமல் தொடர்ந்து ”அதற்காக உங்கள் வாசகர்களிடம் மன்னிப்பு கேட்டுக் கொள்வீர்களா?” என்றார் கோபிநாத்; அதாவது, ஆண்டனி.  எனக்கு அந்தக் கேள்விக்கு என்ன பதில் சொல்வதென்று தெரியவில்லை. 

ஒரே குழப்பமாக இருந்தது.  நான் ஏன் மன்னிப்புக் கேட்க வேண்டும்?  நான் என்ன தவறு செய்தேன்? நானா நடிகையுடன் படுக்கையில் புரண்டேன்?  அப்படியே புரண்டிருந்தாலும் அதற்காக நான் என் மனைவியிடம் அல்லவா மன்னிப்புக் கேட்க வேண்டும்? வாசகர்களிடம் ஏன் கேட்க வேண்டும்?  மேலும், நான் என்றைக்குமே பிரம்மச்சரியத்தை போதித்தவன் அல்லவே? நித்யானந்தாவைக் கூட விமர்சிப்பது ஏன் என்றால், மற்றவர்களுக்கெல்லாம் பிரம்மச்சரியத்தை போதித்த அவர், தான் மட்டும் அதற்கு எதிராக நடந்து கொண்டார் என்ற காரணத்தினால்தானே? மேலும், நான் என்ன நித்தியின் பார்ட்னரா?  எனக்கும் அவருக்கும் ஆறு மாதத் தொடர்புதானே இருந்தது?

ஒரு நொடியில் இப்படியெல்லாம் யோசித்த நான் ”நித்யானந்தாவை நம்பி ஏமாந்த கதையைத்தானே குமுதம் ரிப்போர்ட்டரில் விளக்கமாக எழுதிக் கொண்டிருக்கிறேன்?” என்று கோபிநாத்திடம் சொன்னேன்.  ஆனால் கோபிநாத் மூலம், கேட்ட கேள்வியையே விடாமல் திரும்பத் திரும்பக் கேட்டு என்னை முட்டுச் சந்தின் பக்கமாக நகர்த்திக் கொண்டிருந்தார் ஆண்டனி.  கிட்டத்தட்ட ஒரு கொலைவெறியுடன் அவர்கள் அன்றைய தினம் என்னைத் தாக்கினார்கள். சேடிஸ்ட்டுகளைப் போல் நடந்து கொண்டார்கள்.  இது சம்பந்தமாக என் வாசகர்களிடமிருந்து எனக்கு நூற்றுக் கணக்கான மின்னஞ்சல்கள் வந்துள்ளன. 

பல் பிடுங்குவதைப் போல் என் வாயிலிருந்து மன்னிப்பு என்ற வார்த்தையைப் பிடுங்கினார்கள் ஆண்டனியும் கோபிநாத்தும். பிறகு நிகழ்ச்சியின் மற்றொரு விருந்தினரான பவா செல்லத்துரையை விட்டும் என்னை அடித்தார்கள்.  பவா ஒரு கம்யூனிஸ்ட்.  அவரும் நீயா நானா கோஷ்டியோடு சேர்ந்து கொண்டு நான் வாசகர்களை ஏமாற்றியது (!) தவறு என்றார். 

ஏன் ஐயா, ஒரே விஷயத்தைத் திரும்பத் திரும்பச் சொன்னால் அது உண்மையாகி விடுமா?  ஒரு பெண் ஒருவனை நம்பிக் காதலித்துத் திருமணம் செய்து கொள்கிறாள்.  பிறகுதான் தெரிகிறது, அவன் ஏற்கனவே ஏழு கல்யாணம் செய்து கொண்டவன் என்று.  தாலியை அறுத்துப் போட்டு விட்டு வந்து விடுகிறாள்.  என்னுடைய நிலைமையும் அதுதான்.  நித்தி தன்னை சாமி என்றார்.  எனக்கு ஆசாமியையும் பிடிக்கும்; சாமியையும் பிடிக்கும்.  மேலும், மிக வெகுளியான ஒரு ஆள் நான்.  நீங்கள் எதைச் சொன்னாலும் நம்பி விடுவேன்.  ஏனென்றால், நீங்கள் ஏன் என்னிடம் பொய் சொல்ல வேண்டும் என்று நினைப்பேன்.  ஒருவர் சொல்வதை நான் ஏன் பொய் என்று நினைக்க வேண்டும்?  அப்படி நினைப்பது என்னைப் பொறுத்தவரை அராஜகமாகத் தோன்றும்.  அதனால் நீங்கள் என்ன சொன்னாலும் அதை உண்மை என்றுதான் நம்புவேன்.  அதுவும் ஒருவர் தன்னைக் கடவுள் என்று சொல்லிக் கொள்வது எப்படிப் பொய்யாக இருக்க முடியும்?  ஒருவர் கடவுளிடம் போய் ஜேப்படித் திருட்டு செய்ய முடியுமா?  அதனால்தான் நித்தியை நம்பினேன்.

இதில் நான் என் வாசகர்களிடம் மன்னிப்புக் கேட்க வேண்டிய அவசியம் எங்கிருந்து வந்தது? எங்கள் எல்லோரையும் ஏமாற்றிய நித்தி அல்லவா எங்களிடம் மன்னிப்புக் கேட்க வேண்டும்?

உதாரணமாக, நான் நித்தியை நம்புவதற்கு முன்னதாக மார்க்சீயத்தை நம்பினேன்.  ஸ்டாலினையும் மாவோவையும் நம்பினேன். இந்தியாவில் நக்சல்பாரி இயக்கத்தை உருவாக்கிய சாரு மஜூம்தாரின் முதல் பாதியைத்தான் என் பெயராக ஆக்கிக் கொண்டேன். நான் மட்டும் அல்ல; 30 ஆண்டுகளுக்கு முன்பு உலகில் எத்தனையோ பேர் கம்யூனிசத்தால் ஈர்க்கப்பட்டார்கள்.  அதில் கலைஞர்கள் மற்றும் எழுத்தாளர்களின் எண்ணிக்கை அதிகம்.

பிறகு நடந்த கதை நம் எல்லோருக்கும் தெரியும்.  கம்யூனிஸ்ட் ரஷ்யா வீழ்ந்த பிறகு உலகம் முழுவதும் கம்யூனிசத்தின் பெயரால் நடந்த கொலைகள் வெளியே தெரிய ஆரம்பித்தன. ஹிட்லர் கொன்றது 90 லட்சம் பேர் என்கிறது புள்ளிவிபரம்.  ஆனால், மக்கள் விடுதலைக்காக உருவாக்கப்பட்ட கம்யூனிசத்தால் ஸ்டாலினின் ரஷ்யாவில் கொல்லப்பட்டது 60 லட்சம் பேர்; மாவோவின் சீனாவிலும் 60 லட்சம்.   கம்ப்யூச்சியாவில் இரண்டே ஆண்டுகளில் இரண்டு லட்சம் பேர் படுகொலை. இதே போல் கிழக்கு ஐரோப்பிய நாடுகளிலும் கம்யூனிசத்தின் பெயரால் பல லட்சம் பேர் கொல்லப்பட்டார்கள். 

இந்த நிலையில், தான் ஒரு கம்யூனிஸ்டாக இருந்தோம் என்பதற்காக யாராவது மன்னிப்புக் கேட்டார்களா? பவா செல்லத்துரை கேட்டாரா?  போலிச் சாமியார்கள் ஒன்றும் இந்த அளவுக்குச் செய்யவில்லையே? தங்கள் சுயநலத்துக்காக மக்களை ஏமாற்றினார்களே தவிர ஆயிரம், பத்தாயிரம், லட்சம் என்று சக மனிதர்களைக் கொல்லவில்லையே?

தான் ஒரு தத்துவத்தை நம்பியதற்காக யாரும் மன்னிப்பு கேட்க வேண்டிய அவசியம் இல்லை என்றே நான் நினைக்கிறேன்.  வாழ்க்கையின் ஒரு கட்டத்தில் ஏதோ ஒரு தத்துவத்தை அல்லது நபரை நாம் நம்புகிறோம்.  பிறகு அந்த நம்பிக்கை வீழ்ச்சி அடையும்போது அதை நாம் ஒரு அனுபவமாகக் கொள்கிறோம்.  அப்படி நம்பியதற்காக யாரும் மன்னிப்புக் கேட்டுக் கொண்டிருக்க வேண்டிய அவசியமில்லை.

மேலும், நித்யானந்தாவை பிரபலப்படுத்தியதில் முக்கிய பங்கு வகித்த ஊடகங்கள் குமுதமும் விஜய் டி.வி.யும்தானே தவிர நான் அல்ல; குமுதத்தில் நித்தியின் தொடர் ஐந்தாறு ஆண்டுகளாக வந்து கொண்டிருந்தது.  நித்தியை குமுதம் சாமியார் என்றே பொதுமக்கள் அழைத்து வந்தனர்.  மேலும், நித்தியின் பிரசங்கம் விஜய் டி.வி.யில் வாரம் இரண்டு முறை வந்து கொண்டிருந்தது.  ஆக, நித்தியை பிரபலப்படுத்திய குமுதமும், விஜய் டி.வி.யும் இப்போது மக்களிடம் மன்னிப்புக் கேட்க வேண்டும் என்று ஆண்டனியும், கோபிநாத்தும் சொல்வார்களா?  சொன்னால் அவர்களின் சீட்டே கிழிந்து போகும். சீட்டு கிழிந்தால் இந்த நிகழ்ச்சிக்காக அவர்கள் இருவருக்கும் கிடைக்கும் மிகப் பெரிய தொகை கிடைக்காமல் போகும்.  அதனால் அது பற்றி நம் நீயா நானா நாயகர்கள் வாய் திறக்க மாட்டார்கள்.  எவனாவது ஒரு எழுத்தாளன் மாட்டினால்தான் தமது கோரைப் பற்களைக் காட்டுவார்கள்.

மேலும், நித்யானந்தாவை நம்பி அவருடைய எழுத்தையும், பேச்சையும் பிரபலப்படுத்திய குமுதமும் விஜய் டி.வி.யும் மன்னிப்புக் கேட்க வேண்டும் என்று சொல்லும் அளவுக்கு நான் மூடன் அல்ல.  வாழ்க்கையே நம்பிக்கையில்தான் ஓடிக் கொண்டிருக்கிறது.  ஒரு தத்துவத்தையோ ஒரு நபரையோ நாம் நம்புகிறோம்.  பிறகு அந்தத் தத்துவம் அல்லது நபர் நமக்கு அளித்த தோற்றம் பொய் என்று தெரிந்து அதை விட்டு விலகி விடுகிறோம்.  அதைத்தான் குமுதமும், விஜய் டி.வி.யும், நானும் செய்தோம்.  இதில் மன்னிப்புக் கேட்பதற்கெல்லாம் ஒன்றுமே இல்லை. 

ஆனால் எனக்கும் இதன் மூலம் ஒரு படிப்பினை கிடைத்தது.  டி.வி.யில் முகம் தெரிய வேண்டும் என்ற அற்பத்தனத்துக்கு எனக்குக் கிடைத்த அடியே இது என்று இந்தக் கசப்பான நிகழ்ச்சியின் மூலம் பாடம் கற்றுக் கொண்டேன்.

(இந்தக் கட்டுரையை லக்கிலுக், நர்சிம், தண்டோரா மணி, அதிஷா, கேபிள் ஷங்கர் போன்ற நண்பர்கள் தத்தம் வலைத்தளங்களிலும் வெளியிட்டு இதைப் பரவலாக வாசிக்கச் செய்யும்படி கேட்டுக் கொள்கிறேன்.  விஜய் டி.வி.யின் பார்வையாளர் தளம் மிக விரிந்தது.  கோடிக்கணக்கான பேர் பார்க்கக் கூடியது.  அதனால் என்னுடைய எதிர்ப்பு சில ஆயிரம் பேரையாவது எட்ட வேண்டும் என்று நினைக்கிறேன்). 

1.6.2010.

10.07  a.m.

Zero Degree at the University of Rochester Translation Site

One translated book I recently had to add to the 2008 translation database is Zero Degree by Charu Nivedita (translated from the Tamil by Pritham K. Chakravarthy and Rakesh Khanna), which was published by Blaft Publications earlier this year.
I have to admit that until reading Rakesh Khanna’s comment on an earlier post, I had never heard of Blaft, but I really like their mission statement:

Blaft Publications is a new independent publishing house based in Chennai, India. Our releases so far include an anthology of Tamil pulp fiction, a translation of an experimental Tamil novel, a book of drawings, and a book of English short stories.

However, in the future, Blaft has much wider goals. We are planning to eventually branch out into translations of fiction from other regional languages of South Asia, English fiction, comic books, graphic novels, children’s books, non-fiction, textbooks, how-to-manuals, encyclopedias, and kitchen appliances.

All of their titles are available in America, but apparently only through Amazon.com, which is unfortunate. After reading the first half of Zero Degree, I’m pretty sure there are a number of booksellers out there who would be into this book—it’s the first Tamil title I’ve encountered that includes a dedication to Kathy Acker and a reference to the Oulipo. . . . Rather than summarize the book—I plan on writing a full review in the near future—I thought I’d share the translator’s introduction:

We would like to let Zero Degree speak for itself, after taking just a moment to disavow our personal support for any political agenda that this book or its characters may have, and also to point out two idiosyncratic difficulties the book posed for the translator.

First, in keeping with the numerological theme of Zero Degree, the only numbers expressed in either words or symbols are numerologically equivalent to nine (with the exception of two chapters). This Oulipian ban includes the very common Tamil word å¼, one, used very much like the English one (“one day”, “one of them”, etc.). The way Charu Nivedita works around this constraint in Tamil is a notable feature of the original text. However, Tamil has some better substitutes for this word than English does. For instance, there are two pronouns each for he and she: Üõ¡/Üõoe [Ed. Note: I can’t figure out how to get the script to appear correctly online—sorry about that.] (roughly “that man”/“that woman”) and Þõ¡/Þõoe (“this man”/“this woman”). The lack of single-word English equivalents sometimes results in less graceful constructions than Tamil makes possible. We have done our best to make these sentences easily readable without using the forbidden numbers.

Secondly, many sections of the book are written entirely without punctuation, or using only periods. This reminds the Tamil reader of an ancient style of writing, before Western punctuation marks were adopted into the script. However, in English, omitting punctuation, besides being confusing, would fail to give this effect. Therefore, we have inserted punctuation marks in many chapters, except where it seemed important to the meaning of the text to leave them out.

Zero Degree was first published in Chennai in 1998. It is the author’s second novel, and features many of the same characters that appeared in his first, Existentialism and Fancy Banyan. It did well enough for a second and third edition, and was also translated into Malayalam by Balasubramaniam and P. M. Girish. In Kerala, the book generated a great deal of . . .

[The remainder of the translators’ note was destroyed by a computer virus.]

Pritham K. Chakravarthy
Rakesh Khanna

No Jokes On The Palm Leaf - Article at Outlook India

Back in Delhi, I am told, Mani Shankar Aiyar is famous for his witty ripostes, sharp one-liners and punch lines that have audiences in splits. So I set out for Mayiladuthurai expecting to be vastly entertained. Only to find that in his constituency, the venerable Congress candidate cuts a very different figure. The starched white kurta-pyjama that the cabinet minister wears in Delhi has been replaced by the local garb of dhoti and shirt.

Aiyar's Tamil isn't fluent enough for him to pun or play on words the way he does in English. In fact, for locals, Aiyar's Tamil is a subject of ridicule—it reminds them of Subramaniam Swami.

And it's been a long time since Aiyar made a joke here, at least in public. That last joke was in 2003, when Jayalalitha, on the advice of her astrologers, gifted an elephant to the Guruvayur temple in Kerala. Aiyar found the image this conjured up irresistible. He remarked, no doubt in an allusion to Puratchi Thalaivi's elephantine proportions, that she could just as well have gifted herself to the temple. Alas, the queen was not amused, nor were her loyal supporters. Just a few days later, Aiyar was waylaid and attacked by AIADMK men near Nagapattinam, slippers were thrown at him in his own constituency, and his office ransacked.

That incident taught him a salutary lesson about the perils of shooting his mouth off. But another reason why Aiyar is uncharacteristically solemn and sober in his speeches in Mayiladuthurai is, quite simply, that his Tamil isn't fluent enough for him to pun or play on words. In fact, for locals, Aiyar's Tamil is itself something of a joke—they describe it as a bizarre mix of Brahmin Tamil and the halting Tamil spoken by foreigners. "It reminds us of Subramanian Swami," people in Mayiladuthurai tell me. "He's another one who speaks this kind of strange Tamil." Another thing the locals find strange is that Aiyar affixes his caste to his name. "Which politician does that in Tamil Nadu, especially if you have a Brahmin surname!" they say incredulously.

Mani Shankar Aiyar's mantra, ever since he first contested from Mayiladuthurai in 1991, has been: "I shall make Mayiladuthurai the Dubai of India!" Some may wonder why on earth Mayiladuthurai, a bastion of Tamil culture, would ever want to be Dubai. In this constituency stands the magnificent 12th century Chola temple of Darasuram in Kumbakonam. Here, too, is the ancient port city of Poompuhar, home of Kovalan and Kannagi, the protagonists of the great Tamil epic Silappadikaram. M.V. Pillai, author of the first Tamil novel, Prathaba Mudaliyar Chariththiram, written in 1857, hailed from here—he was the village munsif. Literacy and education levels have been high here for a long time.

No, Aiyar hasn't quite brought glittering Dubai-style shopping malls to Mayiladuthurai. But there's no denying that he has brought development to his constituency. The roads here are of a smoothness to rival Hema Malini's cheeks. The villages look prosperous and clean, with drinking water, electricity, toilets, community centres, even well-tended graveyards. I get a shock when I enter the toilet at the city bus stop. "I have to pay Rs 2 to take a leak here?" I ask incredulously. The man at the toilet door apologises: "I feel horrible having to do this." Must be a Dubai custom, imported to Mayiladuthurai.

Among Aiyar's other gifts to Mayiladuthurai are a gas plant, a thermal power plant, and yet another power plant fuelled by sugarcane waste. There's also an impressive Rs 20-crore stadium, better than any in Chennai, much used by local students. But there aren't enough employment opportunities for the local population. Many go abroad to seek their fortunes. "This brain drain is one of the reasons why this place hasn't yet become Dubai," Aiyar tells me, looking rather dejected. His characteristic ebullience is definitely missing. And with reason.

His opponent, O.S. Manian of the AIADMK, is a well-networked local man, who people say participates closely in their daily lives and problems. Manian emphatically points out that when more than 90 children died in a fire in a Kumbakonam school, he was right there to help and console, whereas Aiyar was unable to reach immediately. "When we local people approach Aiyar with a problem, he pushes us away, saying such local matters don't come under an MP's purview," complains Manikandan, who runs a small stall at the Mayiladuthurai town bus stop. Many others echo similar views.

But what seems to have made this election battle a really uphill one for Aiyar is the wave of public sentiment against Karunanidhi, whose DMK is the Congress party's alliance partner in Tamil Nadu. Karunanidhi's five-hour after-breakfast to pre-lunch "fast", with his first wife sitting at his feet and the second wife at his head—a scene aired repeatedly on Sun TV and Kalaignar TV—has earned him widespread ridicule. Aiyar has also been hit by the Congress's own stand on the Tamil Eelam issue—it is seen to be looking the other way while thousands of Eelam Tamils face death and disaster. After Rajiv Gandhi's assassination by the LTTE, local Tamils had distanced themselves from the Eelam cause. But that was 19 years ago, and now it's again an emotive issue for them. "So many Tamils are being killed in Eelam—what's Aiyar doing about that?" a municipal sweeper asks me heatedly.

Jayalalitha, meanwhile, has done an about-turn. "Support our alliance and I shall fight for a separate Eelam till my death" is her new trumpet call. Her election rallies show her at her histrionic best. Referring to the DMK taunt that she knows nothing about children or family, she turns to the crowd, arms stretched out, and pleads, "Aren't you my family? Aren't you my children?" The crowd roars back, "Yes! Yes!"

A popular AIADMK slogan in Mayiladuthurai these days mockingly asks: "arukku naadi paarkalaamaahat do the palm leaves say about Aiyar?)" The palm leaves refer to Mayiladuthurai's famous Vaitheeswaran Kovil, famous for its centuries-old palm leaves with astrological predictions written on them. You go there, give your name, and you will be shown a palm leaf on which your destiny is written. Even if your name is Obama, I'm told, you will find your palm leaf.

As I wait near a bus stop, baking in the sun, while the photographer goes in search of the shots he wants, three women approach me. They're middle-aged, heavily caked with powder and paint. "You want to come?" they ask. "Forget about my coming," I answer, "what do you think of the coming election?" "First attend to us, then we'll tell you about the election," they laugh. Unfortunately, just then, the photographer comes back and hurries me off to our meeting with Mani Shankar Aiyar.

"Write this in bold letters," Aiyar instructs me, as his parting shot: "Dubai is collapsing, but Mayiladuthurai is growing rapidly." I do not ask him if he has consulted the palm leaves.

About Charu Comments from Vivek Narayanan

There’s a great deal of writing both by and about Charu Nivedita on the internet; most of it is in Tamil. Nivedita also has a translator who is on hand to instantly translate the articles that he writes regularly for the Malayalam press! In English, alas, there are only one or two scattered things, including the first chapter of Zero Degree, his only translated novel. Readers should keep in mind that ZD is only one—the second—of four novels that he has written, and that the novels are all quite different.


Existentialism and Fancy Banyan, his first, appears to be a coming of age story; Raasa Leela, his third book, is an intricately plotted political fable; Kamaroopa Kadhaigal—his most recent book, considered by some to be his best—is a troubled love story. Kamaroopa Kadhaigal, by the way, was first published in serial form on his blog. We’re excited to hear that for his slot on the evening of March 20, Nivedita will be reading new, unpublished translations by Pritham Chakravarthy from this book.

Zero Degree—an intense and seemingly anarchic pastiche of crude pornography, violence, conversations, letters, heartbreak, Oulipian omissions, possibly autobiographical snippets, multiple narrators, theory, numerology, classical Tamil, mytho-political histories, translations, melancholy, lyrical poetry, name dropping and whatever else—must have been quite a surprise when it first appeared in Tamil in 1999; yet, the fact is that there is no book remotely like it on the Indian English landscape either. Thus, just as the Tamil original has gathered a huge cult following over time, the English translation too is now finding many admirers in India and probably elsewhere as well. In world literature, the writer that comes most immediately to mind as a comparison is Kathy Acker, who partly extends the techniques of William Burroughs. The English translation is dedicated to Acker; Nivedita is indeed a serious reader of Acker, although it should be noted that he began to read her only after the publication of Zero Degree.

The English success owes a lot, obviously, to the quality of the translation, done by Pritham Chakravarthy with Rakesh Khanna: it conjures a truly organic speaking voice in Indian English, something many writers working originally in the language seem to struggle with! Moreover, the translation is also wise about what it chooses to leave out, what it does not attempt to find an equivalence for. I have begun to find my way into the Tamil; one of its special features is how it runs and collides an incredibly wide range of languages and registers together, going from classical Tamil to the medieval Tamil of the poet-saint Andal to the jaggedly eloquent swearing of the Madras street or fragments of pop-scientific language, officialese, flashes of Hindi and, certainly, plenty of English, used un-self-consciously in unexpected ways and places.

For all its feints and hijinks, what is striking about Zero Degree is its emergent seriousness of purpose, its truth of feeling, its search for a sense of completeness. At one point early on, it is claimed even that the chapters have been shuffled in random order; however, there is a very telling and ultimately transformative emotional arc if you read the book from beginning to end.


I think we should take it not just as a playful, ironic “postmodern” novel but as a novel of oppositions and contradictions: a deeply autobiographical novel where the self has been scattered, an ironic pastiche novel that speaks to raw experience, a defiantly cosmopolitan novel than nonetheless pins a very particular kind of schizophrenic rage that perhaps—I could be wrong—any Tamilian will immediately recognise.

Nivedita was born and brought up in a Tamilnadu village very near the border of the formerly French union territory of Karaikal. On this side, he told me, Tamilnadu was under prohibition; on the other side, booze and Western classical music. He lived in Delhi for twelve years, where he worked for the rations office, picked up excellent Hindi, gave himself an education in literature, music and world cinema and witnessed the 1984 riots first hand.

Now, living in Chennai with his wife and two very large dogs, he writes full time. His link to the world is partly through a very active presence on the internet, continually writing film reviews, political commentary and the like. Loyal Tamil readers located all around the world purchase and post him all the obscure books he requests; his special interest at the moment is Arabic literature in translation. “In Tamilnadu people get very sentimental when it comes to writers, actors and politicians,” he told me, chuckling. “At a book signing by an Indian English author you will see people quietly queuing up. At my readings and signings, they sometimes break down crying.”

Zero Degree Novel - By Charu Contents and Discription Overview

Description
	With its mad patchwork of phone sex conversations, nightmarish torture scenes, tender love poems, numerology, mythology, and compulsive name-dropping of Latin American intellectuals, Charu Nivedita's novel Zero Degree stands out as a groundbreaking work of South Indian transgressive fiction that unflinchingly probes the deepest psychic wounds of humanity. "Zero Degree takes you apart and allows you to rearrange yourself as you please." — Kala Krishnan Ramesh, New Sunday Express

Zero Degree - Novel by Charu Nivedita

Title	:	Zero Degree
Author	:	by Charu Nivedita translated by Pritham K. Chakravarthy and Rakesh Khanna
ISBN No	:	9788190605618
Price	:	Rs  315.00

Blaft Publications and Zero Degree

One translated book I recently had to add to the 2008 translation database is Zero Degree by Charu Nivedita (translated from the Tamil by Pritham K. Chakravarthy and Rakesh Khanna), which was published by Blaft Publications earlier this year.

I have to admit that until reading Rakesh Khanna’s comment on an earlier post, I had never heard of Blaft, but I really like their mission statement:

Blaft Publications is a new independent publishing house based in Chennai, India. Our releases so far include an anthology of Tamil pulp fiction, a translation of an experimental Tamil novel, a book of drawings, and a book of English short stories.

However, in the future, Blaft has much wider goals. We are planning to eventually branch out into translations of fiction from other regional languages of South Asia, English fiction, comic books, graphic novels, children’s books, non-fiction, textbooks, how-to-manuals, encyclopedias, and kitchen appliances.All of their titles are available in America, but apparently only through Amazon.com, which is  unfortunate. After reading the first half of Zero Degree, I’m pretty sure there are a number of booksellers out there who would be into this book—it’s the first Tamil title I’ve encountered that includes a dedication to Kathy Acker and a reference to the Oulipo. . . . Rather than summarize the book—I plan on writing a full review in the near future—I thought I’d share the translator’s introduction:

We would like to let Zero Degree speak for itself, after taking just a moment to disavow our personal support for any political agenda that this book or its characters may have, and also to point out two idiosyncratic difficulties the book posed for the translator.

First, in keeping with the numerological theme of Zero Degree, the only numbers expressed in either words or symbols are numerologically equivalent to nine (with the exception of two chapters). This Oulipian ban includes the very common Tamil word å¼, one, used very much like the English one (“one day”, “one of them”, etc.). The way Charu Nivedita works around this constraint in Tamil is a notable feature of the original text. However, Tamil has some better substitutes for this word than English does. For instance, there are two pronouns each for he and she: Üõ¡/Üõoe [Ed. Note: I can’t figure out how to get the script to appear correctly online—sorry about that.] (roughly “that man”/“that woman”) and Þõ¡/Þõoe (“this man”/“this woman”). The lack of single-word English equivalents sometimes results in less graceful constructions than Tamil makes possible. We have done our best to make these sentences easily readable without using the forbidden numbers.

Secondly, many sections of the book are written entirely without punctuation, or using only periods. This reminds the Tamil reader of an ancient style of writing, before Western punctuation marks were adopted into the script. However, in English, omitting punctuation, besides being confusing, would fail to give this effect. Therefore, we have inserted punctuation marks in many chapters, except where it seemed important to the meaning of the text to leave them out.

Zero Degree was first published in Chennai in 1998. It is the author’s second novel, and features many of the same characters that appeared in his first, Existentialism and Fancy Banyan. It did well enough for a second and third edition, and was also translated into Malayalam by Balasubramaniam and P. M. Girish. In Kerala, the book generated a great deal of . . .

Zero Degree Novel - Review On The New Ind press

Zero Degree
By Charu Nivedita
Translated by Pritham K Chakravarthy & Rakesh Khanna Blaft Publications
Pages: 232
Price: Rs 315

This book can be compared to a scream. A good, full-throated one for which you would ordinarily need the falling cliffs. And to say that Zero Degree cannot be brought home would be, ironically, a compliment to the author Charu Nivedita and its translators Pritham K Chakravarthy and Rakesh Khanna.

Charu writes about politics within the family, more accurately sexual politics within the family. Since he has done a good job of revealing the uncertainty and violence within families and contemporary personal relationships, it would indeed be a bad idea to bring it home. But for all those feel stifled within a family and a meaningless routine, please read it on your way to work.

Hide it in the deep recesses of your clothes cupboard or in the general chaos of your office desk, if you will, but read it. You should read it for the thoughts that ordinarily get edited out or words that get buried in symbols.

Zero Degree falls within the genre of trangressive fiction, in which authors try to break out of their societal confines by discussing taboo subjects. Anne Soukhanov, in The Atlantic Monthly (1996) described it as “A literary genre that graphically explores such topics as incest and other aberrant sexual practices, mutilation, the sprouting of sexual organs in various places on the human body, urban violence and violence against women, drug use, and highly dysfunctional family relationships, and that is based on the premise that knowledge is to be found at the edge of experience and that the body is the site for gaining knowledge.” Other popular authors in this genre could be Chuck Palanhiuk and Charles Bukowski.

Charu’s book, written originally in Tamil a decade ago, follows no linear narrative and the protagonist of the book is the insanity that confronts you every day. The narrative is so chaotic that it is a relief. And occasionally there is humour.

The first chapter is one of my favourites for its keen observations, pathos and good-humoured acceptance. In it the author addresses his readers, both ‘normal’ and ‘deviant’. There are chapters that layer personal battles with larger political ones; the sudden change in perspective can give you vertigo. There is a chapter that is a questionnaire, which includes subversive questions that ridicule the author, critics and readers, and then it asks you questions that serve no logical purpose.

There are letters and phone conversations and pages that imitate palm-leaf manuscripts. There are chapters and sentences the author refuses to complete. There is a poem on the primordial and powerful Shakthi who was forced to give away her powers to three men. After using her powers of creation, protection and destruction, they return tired and ask her … Well, I shall leave the sentence hanging too.

Occasionally the author drops names of Latin American writers and high-brow philosophers. Perhaps it is to assure the reader that he is not being taken for a ride. That the well-read, literate author is taking the reader on a well-planned tour. Zero Degree takes you apart and allows you to rearrange yourself as you please.

—ashasmenon@gmail.com

Courtesy : The New Ind press

Zero Degree - Words from Paul Zackaria

"Zero Degree"
is a famous Tamil novel
written by Charu Nivedita.
For the convenience of the Tamil readers, this is made available in the form of an E-book. This is a very novel attempt done by Charu to offer his books to the worldwide Tamil community.


Zero Degree speaks to us from the prisons of human conditions in varying voices. The self proclamatory statements it announces are the soundwaves of the gramophone which reads out from the dreams of these prison walls. Charu Nivedita's characters gain friendship, peace, health and mental balance from the tragic locations of historical and spiritual constructions of war, dictatorship, corruption, horror, atrocity, ruthlessness of history, poverty, diseases, boundless miseries of women and the intriguing sexual relationships.

Charu Nivedita is not afraid of castling sex with words. While he looks kicking away the conservative moral scriptures, he dares writing the documents hitherto unavailable in malayalam.

Zero Degree is an open laboratory. In its heat and in its smog and through the magical moments, I enjoyed an adventurous journey fully as a reader and a writer.

Paul Zackaria

Well known Malayalam writer and Media Critic.

Charu - Style As Substance Review on Tehelka

Charu Nivedita’s new novel is transgressive, non-linear and engaging

KALA KRISHNAN RAMESH

CHARU NIVEDITA’S Zero Degree  is difficult in the most interesting way: it appears to be teasing, confusing, pretending, mimicking, and sometimes even misleading, till you see the audacious design that makes this book one of the most interesting deliberations on the business of writing. The writer leaves clues hinting that this story is about literature and how the author relates to material: “There’s been a mistake. The chapters have become shuffled. I might have had some ulterior motive. Perhaps my hatred for Muniyandi and my love for Misra are responsible; perhaps I’ve subconsciously moved Misra ahead and shoved Muniyandi to the background”; “To understand my writing, forget my life. My life is separate and my writing is separate”; “Is this really a novel, or merely a bunch of notes thrown together into a book?”

The writing in Zero Degree appears to be asserting that even in a post-structuralist world, where aesthetic and formal parameters are elastic, style, form and content can still be shocking. Its subject matter is not unfamiliar, neither are its many styles or its use of language, but when it comes together, the reader is both surprised and shocked. Zero Degree insists on the importance of style even where it is an admission of dishonourable intentions.

ZERO DEGREE Charu Nivedita (tr. by Pritham K Chakravarthy and Rakesh Khanna) Blaft Publications 248 pp; Rs 315

Zero Degree’s “mad patchwork” takes the reader on a wildly curving, frequently detouring story made of phone sex, torture, love poetry, numerology, mythology, and what appears to be a decidedly Latin American thoughtscape, and interestingly, in this journey, the reader is both guided traveler and adventurer.

The book is a virtuoso performance by a writer doing voices he loves and hates, including Latin American, Sangam Tamil, meta-textual, magazinese, establishment Tamil, etc. While he dons these many hats, in a postmodernist gesture he also lets us know that he is enchanted and not ‘influenced’ by any of them, by ostentatiously annotating each hat-wearing moment.

The author’s audacity — about content, form and language — is totally charming; the fact that in ‘real’ life, he appears to be as unpredictable, as difficult to locate in a hierarchy of Tamil writers, and is bathed in a glow of speculation, controversy and love-hate makes it all the more intriguing.

The translation by Pritham K Chakravarthy and Rakesh Khanna transcreates what one imagines to be the sting and slap and sharp tenderness of the original, without letting go of the necessary quantity of non-Tamilness. Malavika PC’s cover captures a sense of the intricate madness of the journey inside.

Zero Degree is, without doubt, an unusual experience in reading; unlike most books, it challenges — and inspires — the reader to create a structure from the apparent mayhem of form and content. Or, in the author’s words, “Please, go ahead and search for meaning in the host of words scattered in these pages.”