Apathy towards one’s literary tradition

Last Saturday I had to conduct viva on Odia language for the officers of the Odisha Subordinate Finance Service (OSFS). The officers of OSFC are selected through a competitive exam conducted by Odisha Staff Selection Commission. The competition is tough. They were all good students. Otherwise, they would not have qualified the test and been selected for the jobs. In the written test they have to translate a passage from Odia into English, and retranslate a passage from English into Odia.

In the viva on the language, I asked the names of the authors of some popular Odia books such as Nilasaila, Amadabata, Matiramanisha, Kaa, Sasthi, Narakinnar, Danapani, Paraja, etc or asked to name any three stories of Phakir Mohan Senapati. Amadabata, Matiramanisha, Kaa, Sasthi have been made into successful films. To my utter surprise, most of the candidates could not name the authors. To be precise, only two out of 60-65 candidates I asked could name the author of Nilasaila, (Nilasaila had won Kendra Sahitya Academy award for the author), and only one could tell the name of the author of Amadabata. No one of 70-75 candidates I asked knew the authors of Matiramanisha (Matiramanisha was made into a film by none other than the great film director, Mrinal Sen), Kaa, Sasthi or Narakinnar. Only two out of 70-75 candidates could tell three of the stories of Phakir Mohan Senapati.

Are the young people not supposed to have some knowledge on their rich literary tradition? Should they be so oblivious to their culture and tradition?

I asked one candidate, “Where do you belong to?”
He said, “Khurda”
“Have you heard the name of Sachi Routray?”
I asked this question to him because Sachi Routray, the great poet, Jnanapeeth award winner, regarded as trend setter in Odia poetry was born in Gurujang, a village very near to Khurda.
He replied, “Yes, perhaps, he is in politics.”
I asked, “Was he an MLA or MP or a Sarapanh of your gram panchayat? What…?”
He kept mum.
I said, “Get out.”

I remember a young man I met in 1999.

I was a Sales Tax Officer working in a circle office at Cuttack. A young man, V. George by mane appeared before me for a firm owned by a person of Keral. The firm had a branch at Cuttack and George was the accountant of the Cuttack branch. I examined the books of accounts of the firm, and to record his statement I asked him his name, age, his father’s name, his village, etc. He told his village Alleppey. I remarked, “Alleppey is a familiar place. I don’t remember exactly, but recently it was in news.”
George said, “Alleppey is the place where Thakazhi Sivasankar Pillai lived. He died recently; perhaps, you have come across the news of his death and read his obituary in the newspaper.”
I looked at him. There was a tinge of pride in his voice. He added, “I belong to the place where the great writer lived.”
George was at 23. He told his age when I had asked for the purpose of the statement I was recording. I became curious. A young man identified a place with a writer and took pride in saying he belonged to the place where a writer lived! If you ask a person of Cuttack about the city, he would say the place famous for its filigree work, it was the ancient capital of Odisha, the city boasted of the first college of Odisha, or anything; but no one would say this is the city where Sachi Routray lived or Jayant Mohapatra resides. The young man of Khurda even did not know who Sachi Routray was, though the great poet’s native is hardly two kms away from Khurda.
I asked George, “Have you read his books?”
He looked surprised. I could read from his look what he had in his mind. Perhaps, he thought the question was irrelevant, rather meaningless. Being an inhabitant of Keral he was supposed to have read the book and such silly question should not have been asked. I added, “I have read his Chemmeen, in English translation. I had enjoyed the novel. Of course, that is the only novel of the writer I have read.”
I clarified. He briefly told the story to convey that he had actually read the book and asked me what other books of Malayalam literature I had read. We discussed for some time on Malayalam literature, the books of other writers I had read. My knowledge on Malayalam literature was limited; I had read maximum one or two books of some of the writers, especially those available in English translation.
The advocate, an Odia gentleman who represented the firm and accompanied him, listened to our discussion and admitted that he had not even read five per cent of Odia literature to George’s reading of his language literature.
A few days later George came with two books of M T Vasudevan Nair. In course of discussion he knew the books of Malayalam literature I had read and what I had not. The books were in English translation. I said, “I had not told you to buy books for me?”
He said, “Sir, you are a lover of literature, please accept the books as gifts. You have read only a few stories of MT from magazines; you can better appreciate him and Malayalam literature if you read his novels.”
I saw the books. The cost of the two books was more than Rs 350. I said, “I would receive it, but you have to accept price of the books.”
His salary, I guessed, would be meagre. I know the amount the private firms like the one he represents pay their employees. Spending Rs 350, no doubt, was too much an expense for him for some sort of meaningless and sentimental reasons. But he was reluctant to accept payment. He said, “How can you say it a gift if you pay for the books. If you insist, I have to receive; but it will hurt me.”
I had to receive the valued gifts with much reluctance not to hurt his sentiments.
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