“Friends have been supportive”
A timely tale about religious intolerance and political propaganda, Prelude to a Riot is on the JCB prize shortlist
1
When poet Louise Glück was awarded the Nobel Prize, she said, “My first thought was that I won’t have any friends, because most of my friends are writers.” Is this the kind of thing that bothers you as well? You won the $100,000 Nine Dots Prize in 2019. This year, you are on the shortlist for the Rs25 lakh JCB Prize. Have writer friends started treating you differently?
My friends and I have been very supportive of each other over the years. I cannot imagine that a prize would change how we feel. If it did, then that would tell me something about the sort of friendship it is and I don’t think I’d miss it too much. I know that if one of my close friends was up for a prize, I would feel nothing but joy. And I expect my friends feel the same way.
2
In Prelude to A Riot, Devaki says, “Conversion means someone is unhappy. If people gain freedom, happiness, anything, even money, why should they not convert?” To what extent do you agree with her? How do you respond to the anxiety around ‘love jihad’?
I think that people should have the right to convert to any stream of religious faith they choose, and it is not for us to judge their motivation. What does it mean to belong to a faith if you are held there by force, through not having other options or because you are terrified of the consequences of changing your mind? I don’t think the anxiety around ‘love jihad’ is real. This is a religious-political campaign based on the idea that young people do not have the right to their own lives and opinions. Those who seek to prevent inter-faith or inter-caste marriages are those who think of children as property, to be disposed of as they see fit. This is not about anxiety. It is about disrespecting your own children’s bodies and hearts.
3
I was struck by Mommad’s soliloquy in your book: “Those who do not like the way things are done here, they can leave.” It made me think of the phrase ‘Go to Pakistan’, which is often used to crush political dissent in India. It reminded me of a line from your memoir Bread, Cement, Cactus: “The spiritual fluidity of India is one of the things that gives me balance.” How do you make sense of the exclusions and the confluences that exist simultaneously?
That is Mommad listening to a politician’s speech. In certain contexts, this turns into a ‘Go to Pakistan’ moment. In otwher contexts, it can also be the assertion of regional dominance. It is a bullying sort of statement from the sort of person who assumes that ‘here’ is a place that is his to describe and anyone who doesn’t unquestionably obey him does not belong here by rights. Exclusion and confluence cannot coexist. This is one of the things I have learnt through writing Bread, Cement, Cactus. The spiritual fluidity of India indeed gives me balance, but that is only so long as it exists. Cultural and spiritual fluidity has been increasingly threatened over the last century and as it recedes, it cedes space to a more intensely experienced exclusion.