Growing Up Karanth raises a significant question: Is there really a need for a memoir of the ‘ultimate Renaissance man’, Kota Shivarama Karanth, a quarter century after his demise? This leads to another question: How different, nuanced and critical can this memoir possibly be in presenting one of the early ambassadors of Kannada identity, literature and culture, especially when there is already an autobiography by Karanth himself and several other biographies?
The answer lies in the way the readers are gently led into the personal world of Karanth, which has remained unknown so far, by the polymath’s children K Ullas Karanth, Malavika Kapur and Kshama Rau.
This is not a conventional biography by any means. Indeed, when the subject is someone like Karanth, how can it be. One has to remember that Karanth was a giant of literature who produced 45 novels, 31 plays, six travelogues, six satires, 231 tracts of children’s literature, nine philosophical tracts, eight books targeting adult literacy, 13 books on fine arts, nine autobiographical writings, including two full-length volumes, one Kannada dictionary, 17 popular science books, including two encyclopaedias, five edited books, 16 translated books, four short story collections, two poems and 108 articles, all in Kannada and seven articles in English, besides reinventing Yakshagana for a modern audience.
Honest homage
Of the 10 chapters, Malavika and Kshama have contributed two each, Ullas three. Three others are jointly composed. The forward by Chiranjiv Singh, Karanth’s friend and admirer, adds value. A moving poem by the authors’ mother Leela on her son Harsha, another one on cherished memories by Kshama and other additions help us understand Karanth’s background and context. The book is the children’s homage to their loving father; a compelling personal narrative, it chronicles the life and times of a culturally distinct family. It also sets certain records right, making it at once a biography as well as a cultural history of south India. That said, the book is, at its core, an honest attempt to describe what it is like to be the children of a creative genius, a “rare privilege” as they put it.
The authors make it clear that it was never their intention to write an uncritical hagiography. “We hope an honest account of his personal life covering this period would also be a useful contribution to the social history of Kannadigas and their land.”
They are as honest as they promise to be; they write without hesitation, for instance, that “some of his (Karanth) prolific intellectual output tended to be mediocre.”
Ullas notes; “His opposition to the nuclear power plant in Kaiga in Uttara Kannada, while at the same time opposing coal-fired power generation are examples of contradictions in his environmentalism.” The book also highlights how ill-informed Karanth was about animals and filmmaking. One of the highlights of the book is its intimate portrait of Balavana, the unique experiences it provided and the authors’ emotional journey with their father. Thankfully, there are no chronological recounting of facts and events. For their children, Karanth was “a tender soul who could barely watch anyone suffering for more than a minute, while being a tyrant who yelled angrily at those who disagreed with him. A democratic in theory, who was sometimes an autocrat in practice.”
Each one has the space to reminisce individually. Bits of authors’ own life stories have been woven into the fabric of this book making this partially a personal narrative. They reason,”This, we believe, has ensured that all of us can narrate our individual experiences while also being part of the collective one.”
Malavika brings out how her father was both liberal and stubbornly conservative. Kshama’s narrative highlights how he bridged the two cultures of sciences and the arts. Ullas proves journalist Patil Puttappa wrong about claims he made in his autobiography regarding Karanth’s wedding. They describe the inner turmoil and conflict of their relationship with their father during his final years. Leela finally gets her due as the authors reveal how their Amma greatly supported Karanth’s creative works.
Some parts dealing with Leela, the tragic demise of her eldest son Harsha and Karanth’s last days are truly moving. The ‘transformation of the vigorous and refined Renaissance man into a sad old man engulfed by his singular obsession during the final years’ is hard to digest. The incredible hardships that he faced during his wedding and in the final years of life enable readers to understand him as an individual, father, husband and an entrepreneur. Such intimate details, insights and anecdotes make this biography quite unputdownable. Trying to be intellectual dissenters rather than uninformed flatterers, the authors employ a fluid, non-fussy style that aptly suits the frank portrayal. The book revives Karanth’s well-deserved reputation as an inspirational polymath and documents the awe-inspiring achievements of 20th century Kannada literature.