I've
been brought up on a diet of English and American Writing. I first read
Indian writing in English in my late teens, loved some of it, found the
rest quite pedestrian. But this is not about the quality of English or
American or Indian writing.
As
I make my first, tentative attempts at story telling, I've realised
what this extremely western diet of literature has done to me. It's made
me feel unnatural about using Indian names in my stories. At the same
time, I feel false if I try to situate a story in any place but India.
Do you see the dichotomy there?
More
than the dichotomy though, I felt a gut wrenching sadness when I
realised this. I like to think of myself as sufficiently over the
colonial hangover. Of not looking up blindly to the west, of being
sufficiently appreciative and proud of my culture. And here I am,
fighting in my mind over what name sounds more attractive! This is what a
lifetime of exposure can do to you.
I
am left with a sense of envy for authors like Murakami and Pamuk, who
write in their own language and yet connect with audiences across the
world.
