Review: The Essential UR Ananthamurthy by N Manu Chakravarthy and Chandan Gowda

Yet, there are few English equivalents to the Hindi granthavali, the Bengali rochonaboli, or the Urdu kulliyat, with the notable exception of The Complete Works of Shakespeare and the occasional omnibus. One can, however, still find shorter anthologies of Indian authors’ works translated into English. There are at least four collections in English of Kannada writer UR Ananthamurthy’s work, with the latest being The Essential UR Ananthamurthy, edited by N Manu Chakravarthy and Chandan Gowda. The former, an associate whom the author also mentions in his memoirs, has edited UR Ananthamurthy Omnibus (2008) as well.

The Essential UR Ananthamurthy compiles excerpts from four of his novels, short stories, poems, essays, speeches, memoirs, and interviews. The expansive selection presents a cross-section of Ananthamurthy’s thoughts and preoccupations. It is interesting to see how these evolved over half a century along with the themes he chose and his writing style.

The fragments from the novels are short, but manage to give a glimpse into Anathamurthy’s fictional universe: “characters in conflict with tradition, idealism, and modernity in a rapidly changing independent India”. The excerpt from Samskara, longer than the others, captures one of the pivotal moments in the narrative and presents an incisive critique of Brahminical mores and the caste system.

As someone who has mostly read Ananthamurthy’s novels, what I found most interesting in the anthology were his short stories. These are woven around a variety of themes: maltreatment of widows, economic distress, political scheming, and being true to oneself in a world that demands conformity to one’s station. However, common among them is Ananthamurthy’s compassionate lens that painstakingly unravels the gamut of motivations and emotions beneath surface appearances. There are no plot pyrotechnics — the form does not take precedence over the content, nor is there experimentation for the sake of experimentation. Instead, there is a steady stream of insights into Indian society and the human condition, culminating in smouldering denouements.

Ananthamurthy’s essays reinforce why he was regarded as one of the leading public intellectuals of India. He opines on a range of topics, from the literary situation in the country, nationhood, fascism, and creativity to the place of traditions in a scientific worldview. There are plenty of prescient observations that stand the test of time along with those that did not age as well.

One of the most intriguing essays is Why Not Worship in the Nude? Ananthamurthy discusses a custom in Chandragutti village, Karnataka, which the government banned from the mid-1980s onwards. Every March, men and women of all ages would take a dip in the Varada River and then run naked five kilometres up a hill to worship the goddess Renukamba. With most “educated middle-class rationalists” taking a patronising and moralistic stand against the “superstition” of “illiterate believers”, the question of agency seemed to be largely missing from discussions. Ananthamurthy, however, parses through different viewpoints to highlight the import and ramifications of the practice and takes a more nuanced position. His essay becomes a meditation not just on Chandragutti but also reconciling different worldviews.

Ananthamurthy’s memoirs and interview with Chandan Gowda are equally illuminating. He not only talks about literary and political influences, Marxism, and life in the UK, where he did his PhD, but also about his favourite cuisines, drinks, and films, embarrassing moments, and places he wished he had visited. What emerges is a fascinating sketch of the author that highlights aspects readers might not have inferred from his other writings.

The only section in the anthology I found lacking was the poetry. Consider the verses on the Dalai Lama, written in 1992: “The Dalai Lama’s compassionate Tibetan Buddhist followers / apparently believe that truth alone triumphs in history, / the Realized Ones; / Whatever triumphs in history alone becomes the truth, / so it seems believe the Chinese, the cunning worldly ones.” It reads like an attempt at a witticism flailing in verbosity. Perhaps, their essence was lost in translation or they were stilted to begin with. Either way, the five poems in the collection pale in comparison to the other writings.

The anthology’s editors have written a short introduction summarising Ananthamurthy’s life, work and thoughts — useful for readers unfamiliar with the author. However, instead of the brief exposition, I would have preferred a more comprehensive overview and deeper insights. But since both editors have extensively written and spoken about Ananthamurthy’s work, perhaps they were trying to avoid repeating what they had expounded on earlier.

I would have also liked to know more about the rationale behind why they included certain pieces and excerpts, as opposed to others. Besides, while they mention the year of publication for the novels and short stories, it would have been better if they had added dates for all writings to help readers better trace the writer’s chronology.

Most of all, I wish they had included a note on translating Ananthamurthy, especially since the anthology largely comprises translations from Kannada. There are numerous translators for the different pieces, from the editors to AK Ramanujan, Vivek Shanbhag, Narayan Hegde, and Judith Kroll. Again, many have spoken about translating Ananthamurthy and associated considerations, most notably Chandan Gowda and K Satchidanandan in a conversation published in the e-journal Guftugu in 2017.

While these would have been good to have, their absence does not make the anthology any less compelling. It remains an engaging read, especially for a newer generation of readers who might not have encountered Ananthamurthy’s work earlier.

Syed Saad Ahmed is a writer and communications professional.

Publishing a compilation of everything an author has written is common in many Indian languages, but conspicuously absent in English. While it is the more celebrated authors that get compilations, these generally run into dozens of volumes since they include every writing and utterance — from famous works to diaries, speeches, and fragments. They provide an overview of the author’s trajectory and trivia, which help better contextualise their work.

Yet, there are few English equivalents to the Hindi granthavali, the Bengali rochonaboli, or the Urdu kulliyat, with the notable exception of The Complete Works of Shakespeare and the occasional omnibus. One can, however, still find shorter anthologies of Indian authors’ works translated into English. There are at least four collections in English of Kannada writer UR Ananthamurthy’s work, with the latest being The Essential UR Ananthamurthy, edited by N Manu Chakravarthy and Chandan Gowda. The former, an associate whom the author also mentions in his memoirs, has edited UR Ananthamurthy Omnibus (2008) as well.

The Essential UR Ananthamurthy compiles excerpts from four of his novels, short stories, poems, essays, speeches, memoirs, and interviews. The expansive selection presents a cross-section of Ananthamurthy’s thoughts and preoccupations. It is interesting to see how these evolved over half a century along with the themes he chose and his writing style.

The fragments from the novels are short, but manage to give a glimpse into Anathamurthy’s fictional universe: “characters in conflict with tradition, idealism, and modernity in a rapidly changing independent India”. The excerpt from Samskara, longer than the others, captures one of the pivotal moments in the narrative and presents an incisive critique of Brahminical mores and the caste system.

As someone who has mostly read Ananthamurthy’s novels, what I found most interesting in the anthology were his short stories. These are woven around a variety of themes: maltreatment of widows, economic distress, political scheming, and being true to oneself in a world that demands conformity to one’s station. However, common among them is Ananthamurthy’s compassionate lens that painstakingly unravels the gamut of motivations and emotions beneath surface appearances. There are no plot pyrotechnics — the form does not take precedence over the content, nor is there experimentation for the sake of experimentation. Instead, there is a steady stream of insights into Indian society and the human condition, culminating in smouldering denouements.

Ananthamurthy’s essays reinforce why he was regarded as one of the leading public intellectuals of India. He opines on a range of topics, from the literary situation in the country, nationhood, fascism, and creativity to the place of traditions in a scientific worldview. There are plenty of prescient observations that stand the test of time along with those that did not age as well.

One of the most intriguing essays is Why Not Worship in the Nude? Ananthamurthy discusses a custom in Chandragutti village, Karnataka, which the government banned from the mid-1980s onwards. Every March, men and women of all ages would take a dip in the Varada River and then run naked five kilometres up a hill to worship the goddess Renukamba. With most “educated middle-class rationalists” taking a patronising and moralistic stand against the “superstition” of “illiterate believers”, the question of agency seemed to be largely missing from discussions. Ananthamurthy, however, parses through different viewpoints to highlight the import and ramifications of the practice and takes a more nuanced position. His essay becomes a meditation not just on Chandragutti but also reconciling different worldviews.

Ananthamurthy’s memoirs and interview with Chandan Gowda are equally illuminating. He not only talks about literary and political influences, Marxism, and life in the UK, where he did his PhD, but also about his favourite cuisines, drinks, and films, embarrassing moments, and places he wished he had visited. What emerges is a fascinating sketch of the author that highlights aspects readers might not have inferred from his other writings.

The only section in the anthology I found lacking was the poetry. Consider the verses on the Dalai Lama, written in 1992: “The Dalai Lama’s compassionate Tibetan Buddhist followers / apparently believe that truth alone triumphs in history, / the Realized Ones; / Whatever triumphs in history alone becomes the truth, / so it seems believe the Chinese, the cunning worldly ones.” It reads like an attempt at a witticism flailing in verbosity. Perhaps, their essence was lost in translation or they were stilted to begin with. Either way, the five poems in the collection pale in comparison to the other writings.

The anthology’s editors have written a short introduction summarising Ananthamurthy’s life, work and thoughts — useful for readers unfamiliar with the author. However, instead of the brief exposition, I would have preferred a more comprehensive overview and deeper insights. But since both editors have extensively written and spoken about Ananthamurthy’s work, perhaps they were trying to avoid repeating what they had expounded on earlier.

I would have also liked to know more about the rationale behind why they included certain pieces and excerpts, as opposed to others. Besides, while they mention the year of publication for the novels and short stories, it would have been better if they had added dates for all writings to help readers better trace the writer’s chronology.

Most of all, I wish they had included a note on translating Ananthamurthy, especially since the anthology largely comprises translations from Kannada. There are numerous translators for the different pieces, from the editors to AK Ramanujan, Vivek Shanbhag, Narayan Hegde, and Judith Kroll. Again, many have spoken about translating Ananthamurthy and associated considerations, most notably Chandan Gowda and K Satchidanandan in a conversation published in the e-journal Guftugu in 2017.

While these would have been good to have, their absence does not make the anthology any less compelling. It remains an engaging read, especially for a newer generation of readers who might not have encountered Ananthamurthy’s work earlier.

Syed Saad Ahmed is a writer and communications professional.