– N Manohar Reddy and R Srivatsan

Till you published your work, Dalit writing used standard Telugu, more or less. When you wrote, people often said they didn’t understand. So you actually brought a new practice to writing in Telugu. Could you say why you did this?

Yellanna: When I came to academics, I did not find our language in academic subjects. It was to remedy this situation that I began writing—in my language, i.e., the Telangana language, the Telangana madiga language. That is how I began writing.

What is the significance of this writing?

Y: It is through language that community is created. Those roots of community that are now disappearing depend on language. It is for this reason I felt that it is necessary to write.

Didn’t the language of dalit literature perform that task?

Y: No. The principles of poetry they followed were dictated by somebody else. It was not their own creation. So they used less of their own language–they did not understand what was necessary. Now, there is Siva Reddy (an important leftist Telugu poet), his disciple was Madduri Nagesh Babu. If you look at even the titles of Madduri’s poems, they are very close to Siva Reddy’s. Then came Nagappagari Sunderraju , who used the title “Madigodu.” Look at Madduri Nagesh Babu’s use of words: “ One must live like a crow for many years.” “Crow” was also used by the pundits. But the term “Madigodu” was used by a madiga, not by the pundits.

What about the language used by Sunderraju?

Y: That was Rayalaseema madiga language. He came after me. I had written Kakka before he came. I was part of the movement. He came from academics—Hyderabad Central University-and the caste politics there. That was the difference.

Don’t the malas and madigas speak the same language? In my village, the madiga wada and the mala wada are adjacent to each other. Won’t they be speaking approximately the same language?

Y: No. Even within the madigas there are subcastes and differences. There is also the educated madiga and the uneducated madiga. There will be differences. For instance, they don’t eat liver so they have no relationship to that word. Whatever we use in our everyday lives we use terms for those. Don’t we? malas don’t slaughter animals–we do.

If I look at Telugu literature as a whole, more than being a threat to malas, your language is a strong attack on the upper caste language. Do you agree?

Y: Yes. The challenge is more to the latter…

Because till then, the language used in the newspapers and journals was mainly that of upper castes. What were the responses you got when you wrote?

Y: My people are more in number—aren’t they? My own people read this writing and gave me inspiration. It is because they inspire me that I continue to write. No compromise on that. Educated people are few — in hundreds? We are in thousands! I work in the hamalis workers union in the FCI godown…360 people in my union. Now Kalyan Rao wrote Antarani Vasantam as a teacher in a school. There will be 20 people there to read his work. But 360 people of my union read my language. Therefore we create language.

All of them read your writing?

Y: Yes they did. They read it and they also tell us something back, don’t they? ‘Something is not adequate… something should be better’…etc. They read my work even after it was published. They gave me more feedback than the educated readers—so I am able to write. Otherwise, I can’t write. I don’t get that kind of help from upper caste people. One well known writer kept the script with her for three months and returned it saying she couldn’t understand it. Now, just because some established writers couldn’t understand it, I can’t keep quiet can I? I asked some people in my village for money. Kalekuri Prasad covered the cost of my paper—three thousand rupees. We were friends. In fact, quite a few Dalits—intellectuals—said that they didn’t understand my writing—even some madigas said the same thing. But the Hamali workers insisted that I write like this. They said: why do you write for ten people, there are so many of us, write like this and we will understand. They have all read up to the sixth or seventh standard in Telugu.

Didn’t your education come in your way of writing?

Y: I did my MA at Osmania University in Telugu. I am now doing my PhD. During these years, I have also read Vishwanadha Satyanarayana’s Veyi Padagalu (The Thousand Hoods of Vishnu’s Cobra). I had no problem understanding him. But his language wasn’t related to my work, was it? I made it secondary to my interest. That’s why it wasn’t difficult to write in my language, just that I needed patience. You have to write a draft and then mark off places where the standard language has come, and correct it in the next draft. You need to write often ten, sometimes twenty drafts. Occasionally you have to tear the thing up!

But, why does your writing have to be so difficult?

Y: I must write what my readers understand. There is a difference between your writing and mine. I can’t write for ten people, but I can’t not address them either. In addition I have another thousand to address. What is my mistake if I write for them?

Let us put it another way. You have gone through many changes—school , college, university—all these have made you different. A person in your village who hasn’t gone to school would be very different from you. There will be a difference between his language and yours. What we are asking is, did you have to undo all this learning to write in his language? Wasn’t it difficult for you to make this change?

Y: It wasn’t. Now take this person who has come to me from my village—he wants to model himself on me. I have to include him in my project. That way, the language he carries comes back to me, and the language I carry comes to you. That is how language creation occurs—I take it from them and push it forward. Language is never one’s own is it? It can’t be—as you change, language changes too. A person is never static—as a person moves language moves with him.

People criticize your language as abusive—what is your response?

Y: I don’t have one. I have no relation with them.

Some say it is not literature!

Y: They say that of people who write good language too! (laughter) Take Kalyan Rao, who writes good language—Andhra language—other dalit poets ask “What kind of a poet is he?” Now will he stop because of that?

Your main argument is that literature shouldn’t remain in the academy—it should be on the streets. Considering the complaint that your language is full of abuses, do you think such language should come into literature? What is your understanding about this?

Y: Yes it must. Only if it comes, will the language become clear. You will then think, ‘Why is he talking like this? Why was it necessary to speak that language?’ You are a human being and so am I—why am I talking this language—am I happy or angry? You must know.

Only when abusive language is used, will you understand anger? What kind of anger does abuse show?

Y: There will be joy. What else, it is coming out isn’t it? In literature. For example, I will say fuck you. You will ask why. I say Fuck you son of a whore. There is something happening there…There is conflict, and there is good too. Without knowing this, you say this is a mean language (Chandalamaina bhasha). How did it become mean? Now, there is cow dung on the road—people say it stinks. We take this, dissolve it in half a bucket of water and sprinkle it on our swept courtyards. Will it stink then? It will be good, clean. You should know that it cleans shouldn’t you? We think it is bad, but there will be a hundred good things that happen due to it too… Abuse is language—it is new language, language creation. Just as you think dung is bad, you think abuse is bad too. Good happens due to that and due to this too.

You said that only when you write will people understand. However, many of the readers say that they don’t understand your Telugu. How will your purpose be served?

Y: Those who ask me know English. They did not know English earlier. So they learned English, but won’t learn my language? They can and should. If you don’t learn, why do you blame me?

That means what you are saying as an author is that you must learn about my oppression, and in order to learn, you must learn my language. If you don’t, you cannot understand. May be, you don’t want to understand. ‘I will not come across and learn your language’—that’s what you are saying isn’t it?

Y: Yes.

That means that your oppression in your own words becomes knowledge.

Y: Yes, you will then come to a conclusion, and you will also be able to argue with a person who doesn’t believe that this oppression exists. When we don’t write, you won’t understand the issue. Those who oppose this exercise are casteists. We are those who want to eliminate caste.

Isn’t it true that in Marxism and in standard Dalit writing too there is the narration of oppression? Why should it come in your language?

Y: This is necessary because even in movements, people who die belong to our community. We belong to the lowest cadre, don’t we? Now we are progressing and becoming professors—when we begin to speak, we will be able to annihilate caste. There are many of us facing oppression now, and by not letting us speak, you are stopping our progress aren’t you? There is an opportunity for such a person to become a covert (informer) because you don’t let him speak. That’s what happens. When the person is not listened to, that hesitation and indecision provides access to the enemy. This hesitation, double mindedness is created in the cadre. If you don’t listen to me and simply order me to work, I will feel bad. There must be some fruit of my effort. Also money is not the only motivator in all this—there are many different motivators.

What do you think about the necessity to change the language in schools?

Y: The stories that deal with our castes and communities must become subject matter. For example, the Chindu language must go [into education].

So the language is carried with the story.

Y: Now the Dakkali will tell the Jambava Puranam, and so will the Chindu. There will be a difference between them. The way the Dakkali tells the story will be from a very oppressed perspective. What the Chindu tells will be closer to us. When they are compared, a beautiful language emerges. If these languages go into education, the school languages will change.

Now the children from the oppressed castes find it difficult to understand the school language. If these languages come, will they find it easier?

Y: Yes they will—they will learn this. Not English.

But if you need a job after school, you need to learn English… What to do then?

Y: The one who gets employment will go to work. But language doesn’t stop does it? Language creation always takes place. Our terms will go into English. When that happens, that person too will begin to understand. For example what is a Chindu maddalam—which is called a drum in English. Why is this not seen as employment? All our languages must go into schools.

I accept that school languages must change as per your language. The difficulty with schools is that we are talking about modern employment. You need to work in factories, write records, that is the reason why they say a standard language is necessary. If that has to be achieved, how should these languages be brought in? Do we not want those standard languages?
Y: Now, a Dalit like me has come to this [educated] level [gestures with his hand showing a high level]. Behind him, comes his brother, bearing his language with him [gestures again with his other hand showing a low level]. When he is carrying his language and coming to study, he is coming to study too. Now for the sake of standardizing for employment, it would be wrong to stop him because he cannot speak the standard language. Dalit language must be there for the younger brother to come in. The moment the younger brother comes, how can the elder lose all sense of humanity and human connection? Is this fellow not a man, is he an animal? There is a language related to animals too… Step by step, sir.

What you are saying is that even in schools, the language must be changed step by step.

Y: Yes. There is a difference in language within each house too. Now I have an MA degree. I have an elder brother, who hasn’t. His language will be different. He will come, and his children too. They will follow me. Now employment is at that higher level. Now if you stop the employment for them, how will that work? You should not break the ladder called education. In the name of employability if you break this ladder, they can’t make it to a job. Language is unending, limitless isn’t it? It changes continuously. We need to bring that language in. If we don’t and say instead that that language has no relation to us, what does it mean?

One last question, now with this new kind of writing about your caste and community, its language and culture and so on, the old politics of annihilating caste seems to be replaced by a new kind of affirmation of caste. Now Dalit literature is written to annihilate caste isn’t it. So what are your efforts doing? Isn’t there a contradiction between your practice and the goals of Dalit politics?

Y: There is no contradiction. Only when we write about ourselves, does everybody know about it. When you hear about this writing, you will understand that these people are suffering and you will want to eliminate caste. If we didn’t write or spoke about this, you wouldn’t understand would you? We use our language precisely to annihilate caste.

 

Translated from Telugu by R Srivatsan.
Vemula Yellaiah is a prominent dalit writer from Telangana State. His novels Kakka and Sibdhi have led to a debate on the question of language.