MT: A Forest that Moved

People who read literature in India knew him, MT Vasudevan Nair. Language was no hurdle for his works to reach out beyond the state borders of Kerala. While Malayali diaspora took a handful of nostalgia along to the places they went, a little bit of MT was also in that.

Today, the big business of literature finds translators to translate anything that moves. All tetrapods of literature are given awards that stink of corporate imperialistic nexus. But MT belonged to a different era when blood recognised blood, genius recognised genius. He got translated not once but several times.

Basheer, Takazhi and MT were the triumvirate that could transcend the borders and stand tall among the Indian modernist literature. Yes, MT’s literature also had a fair amount of auto-fiction but he hoodwinked it with the magic of text. He was a persuasive minimalist both in writing and in person.

An unsmiling MT could generate generations of readers who could smile through tears. MT wrote about a collapsing social structure that divested the old feudal class with their ill-gotten properties. But their social capital remained intact and could exert a lot of influence among the readers by becoming the surrogate emotional ethos of a transition time of Kerala’s socio-political history.

When society evolved into a different being altogether, MT turned to the treasure trove of myths and itihasas to eke out allegories that explained the pain of loss, of class, roots and love. His literature spat on the face of bigotry, whether it was religious or familial. He was so stoically poised in his literature that none could have challenged him and expelled him from the world of literature.

MT’s literature spoke of love and separation as vehemently as he wrote about the changing social complexions. But he was not sentimental. There was something in his writing that touched some chord in every reader. Before initiating themselves into Ambedkarite politics, the Dalit ideologues also, in their torturous nights of youth, pined for MT’s characters.

Those who call the modernists, Dad Vibes, have really lost the sight of the forest while focusing on shrubs and thicket. MT was a forest that moved, as in the great tragedies. He remained a serious writer while the post modernists fell in the trap of publishers and wrote lightning stories and became laughing stokes.

MT remains, so is the MT critique. That’s the beauty of a great writer’s life and of course, death.