He is the only contemporary writer to have a cult following and adulation that rivals that of a movie star. No mean accomplishment in these days of mediocrity and celebritydom and the decline in reading habits. Sujatha’s writing proved the silly notion that the vernacular is unsophisticated, wrong. He could induce pathos, revulsion, nostalgia, romance, tenderness, ruefulness over the tragi comedy of our lives and predicaments, including his own. His genre was vast, including novels, short stories, poems, literary essays, plays, outputs for literary publications and small magazines. He also wrote scripts for Tamil cinema for Mani Ratnam, Kamal Hasan and Rajnikanth. In later years, he showed steadfast commitment to disseminating information and bridging the gap between a digitalised world and its human inhabitants, and towards using Tamil as a language of communication in a world of distances and the predominance of English.

Sujatha’s important contribution was to give shape to the young and modern Tamil’s identity, especially the Tamil male. He brought out the contradictions in a man who was earthy and modern; quick to technobabble and slow to drop tradition; who could be elegant and vulgar, who carried his sharp suit well but could hint at the rippling beast beneath.

There was huge female adulation for his writing. He was not immune to the feminine facets of grace and grit though he doubted the aggression of the traditional feminists of the ’60s.

At the end of our first meeting, he introduced me to his nom de plume, his wife Sujatha, saying, “She is my sharpest critic”.

... contd.