I did not encounter the name M.T. Vasudevan Nair through books. Instead, it was via cinema that I came across this legendary figure. In my teens, I was developing an interest in Kerala history, devouring every source of information I could find. Among my passions at the time was also historical films, mostly from the 1960s and 70s, black and white. They all told stories from Kerala’s past, but most of them felt tedious and difficult to connect with.
Then my parents brought home a VCR tape of Oru Vadakkan Veeragatha. I was hooked. This movie from 1989 had a solid lead in Mammootty, but it was the story that fascinated me. I knew its outline; of Chathiyan Chandu and his treachery from the traditional accounts. But MT—as he was popularly known—had given it a twist. What if, he seemed to ask, Chandu was branded a chathiyan (traitor or cheat) due to circumstances? What if he was really the tragic hero of the tale? The one who faced a series of betrayals and the cold grip of bad luck?
Any student of history knows that received narratives are to be approached with skepticism. We must question, read between the lines, and see what the story leaves out rather than merely what it includes. In an unusual way, it was MT's take in Oru Vadakkan Veeragatha that so beautifully taught me this lesson. To not swallow what is told and retold, but to try and examine it from a different perspective.
MT, one of Malayalam literature's best-loved authors and screenplay writers, passed away in Kozikode in Kerala on Wednesday. He was 91.
Born on 15 July 1933, in Kudallur in Palakkad district of Kerala, he was numerous national and state awards for his novels, short stories, screenplays and essays that revealed a keen yet nuanced understanding of the complexity of the human condition. Through the years, Kerala remained the landscape for his work, whether his debut novel Naalukettu (1958) or films that he scripted and directed such as Nirmalyam (1973). MT's career spanned seven decades and his writing touched readers and viewers across generations.
By the time I was 25, when my first book, The Ivory Throne, was released, I was, of course, familiar with MT's entire body of work but I had never met him. Then one day, my grandmother rang me delighted—MT had praised the book in a newspaper interview. Others told me this was rare.
Like every first-time author, I had been nervous about my book, full of self-doubt and worry. MT's endorsement meant the world to me. His words also ensured that many others in Kerala picked up the book. The book's success owes much to that short but important statement by MT.
I tried to meet him in Kozhikode a couple of times but he was unwell the first time and travelling the next. I saw him from afar at the Kerala Literature Festival on one occasion but hesitated to trouble him at a large public gathering, with crowds teeming around him.
Last year, at Mathrubhumi’s celebrations for his birthday, I was invited to participate. I met MT in person, some 20 years after I watched that iconic Mammootty film from 1989 and first heard his name as a schoolboy growing up in Pune.
We were seated on stage next to each other. He was listening to all the speeches and addresses very keenly. At some point during the function, he said to me, in English, very simply, “I have read your books. Keep it up.” That was the sum total of our interaction. Strangely, it feels enough. After all, he has left a timeless repository of words in his books. When one has these riches from his pen, why crave more?
MT has now passed into the pages of history. But he is also one of those rare figures who has made history.
Manu S. Pillai is a historian and author, most recently, of Gods, Guns and Missionaries: The Making of the Modern Hindu Identity.
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