Working-Class People Read My Stories: Rajesh Kumar

Your 1,000th novel, Dynamite 98, was based on the 1998 Coimbatore bombings. In Poi Poiyaith Thavira Verondrum Illai, a world-famous spiritual leader receives a death threat. In Flat Number 144, Athira Apartment, every new tenant of a particular house dies of a cardiovascular accident within six months. Vadagaiku Oru Uyir revolves around a professor attempting to revive people who have died within the previous 48 hours. How do you conceive such a wide range of themes?

Crime as a genre has expanded much beyond murder, kidnap, burglary, and bank robbery. My 2020 story Nalliravuch Seithigal Vaasippadhu Durga, for instance, was about malpractices in the pharmaceutical industry. I read about new technological inventions and world affairs to fuel my imagination. Once, I read news about people caught with heroin and ganja and wondered if there could be a drug without a physical form that keeps people addicted. I imagined a “digital drug” for my story and named it Yuddha Satham (The Sound of War). Director Ezhil made it into a film in 2022.

My writing style was also shaped by my contemporaries. Writer Tamilvanan, who was writing detective novels, used pure and sophisticated Tamil. Then came Sujatha, who used specialised vocabulary when dealing with science in his stories. I chose a middle path, deploying scientific concepts as a narrative tool, backed by simplified explanations. I keep my stories pacy, adopt non-linear storytelling where necessary, and leave connecting threads at the end of every chapter that lead to a reveal in the final act.

By God’s grace, I have never faced writer’s block. If a magazine asks me for a story tomorrow, I will deliver it. For serial fiction, publication houses ask for the title well in advance to make their announcement. I keep noting plot lines in my diary. Before this interview, I was writing the sixteenth episode of my ongoing series Vegamaai Va Vivek (Come Soon, Vivek) for Kumudam magazine.

In an interview, author George R.R. Martin asked Stephen King how he manages to write so many books at such a rapid pace. King replied that he writes at least six pages a day. As an author who has produced over 1,500 novels, how many pages do you typically write?

I started writing novels and serial fiction in 1980. From 1970 to 1980, I wrote only short stories. My first novel, Vaadagaikku Oru Uyir (A Life for Rent), was published in Maalaimathi magazine. Kumudam editor S.A.P. Annamalai liked the story and was looking for someone to write for the magazine after Tamilvanan had passed away. I wrote for them. I also wrote serial fiction in Mona, a monthly magazine started by Tamil writer and editor Savi (S. Viswanathan). From 1980 to 1985, I had written seven or eight novels and three serial fiction stories.

Once I became a full-time writer, my days began at 9 am. I wrote until 1.30 pm. After lunch, I resumed from 3 pm to 9 pm. At one point, I worked until 1 or 2 am. There were months when I wrote for almost 20 hours a day. Doctors eventually advised me to reduce the pace for my health. I wrote one novel a week from 1988 to 2010. I worked round the clock, like tailors in Deepavali month. At the same time, I was writing serial fiction for seven different magazines—Vikatan, Kumudam, Rani, Bhagya, Idhayam Pesugiradhu, Devi, and Kungumam—with seven different plots running simultaneously.

Neither of my parents inherited ancestral property, nor did we have a house to our name. Education was my only asset. I wanted to build my own house. So, I worked hard to earn it. My mother and wife have been a great source of support. Today I write short stories for OTT platforms, serial fiction for Kumudam, new short stories for Radio Room, and content for Deep Talks, a YouTube channel that publishes audio novels. I write at least one chapter or 1,000 words a day.

Of the variety of writers published by GeeYe Publications, known for its pocket novels, yours are the only titles printed with the tagline: “The best-selling Tamil monthly magazine in India.” How successful were the sales of your books in the past, and how are they today?

In 1985, G. Asokan, publisher of GeeYe Publications, asked if I could write one novel every month. He was experimenting with the idea of a pocket novel. My first novel for GeeYe, Oru Maalai Nera Maranam (A Death at Dusk), priced at Rs.2, sold over one lakh copies. After its success, Asokan launched a “crime novel series” and encouraged me to write more.

I was then working as a sales executive in the textile business, travelling frequently to Delhi. Earlier, when I was working with my father in the handloom business, we travelled across the country, which helped me source stories from different regions.

Asokan’s success inspired many editors and literary enthusiasts to start their own monthly novel publications. Almost 41 cropped up in a short span: Satya, Sujatha, En Kudumbam, Mona, Niraimathi, Navarathnam, Raja Vikram, Marudham, Suspense, Super Novel, Rekha, Mini Rekha, Idhayam, Narumanam, among others. I wrote for many of them. Most do not exist today.

Publishers started commissioning work and paying me in advance. This motivated me to quit my sales job and write full time. In 2023, my story Nilavukkum Neruppendru Peyar (The Moon, Too, Is Called Fire) was published in Dinamalar newspaper. I received many letters from readers and was told that during weekends, when my stories appeared, newspaper sales spiked. After the serial run, we published it as a book. In the first hour of the announcement, over 250 people booked their copies.

As a writer who has reached five generations of readers, why do you think reading fiction is important today, especially given reports that children and young adults are facing a “literacy crisis”? Who were your favourite writers?

The first book I read was Kalki’s Ponniyin Selvan, followed by Akhilan’s works. I could grasp their stories easily. In English, I used to read Irving Wallace, but I stopped reading English novels after 1988 as their themes were limiting my imagination and ideas.

To the first question: while newer generations may be impatient, reading habits are still alive. If they were not, what explains the book fairs organised every year in Chennai, Coimbatore, Tiruchirappalli, and elsewhere? From publishing my first short story in 1967 to writing over 1,500 novels 58 years later, my audience has only expanded across age groups. Fans of my novels range from porters, to autorickshaw drivers, to university vice chancellors.

The medium for consuming literature has evolved. I write short stories for Radio Room, a mobile application, which converts them into audio-video content. In 2020, the Bynge app, which later became Notion Press, took 25 writers on board, including Sahitya Akademi awardees. I wrote Nalliravuch Seithigal Vaasippadhu Durga (Durga Reads the Midnight News), a crime thriller running for 68 weeks. It was the time of the COVID-19 pandemic, and my story was about a rogue scientist on a mission to eradicate the human species by introducing an incurable viral disease. Over one million readers read this story in a month on the app.

My novels from 1985 are republished as “classic crime” stories today and exported to readers in Dubai and Malaysia. Popular book outlets known for their English collections now also feature translations of my novels.

What do you think your novels do to people? What kind of criticisms do you face?

I want my books to be accessible to all and to stand the test of time. Some critics do not see my work as having literary sophistication. They call it commercial pulp fiction. Can a “pulp fiction writer” write stories for 58 years? I remain relevant only because my subjects are contemporary and futuristic, and my audience connects with me.

Reading fiction is a stress buster for many. Female readers have told me that my novels make them aware of workplace harassment and other crimes against women, and give them the courage to face such circumstances in real life.

Six months ago, a construction worker named Arulmozhichelvi, passing by my house, identified me as writer Rajesh Kumar. She walked up and said she had studied only until class VI but buys my novels from petty shops and old paper marts. She said she learnt basic English words and sentences from my stories and can now understand when engineers communicate with her in English. She added that she learnt how to use the three different “la”s and two “ra”s in the Tamil language. What bigger award in life than this? Working-class people read my stories.

Women like my stories because I do not use obscenity or unparliamentary language. If I make a female villain speak in foul language, my wife insists I remove it to avoid prejudices. She also tells me that to write a woman as beautiful, it is enough to describe only her eyes. My wife proofreads my manuscripts before I send them to publishers.

Under an initiative by the Puthiya Thalaimurai media house in 2018, we started a space called Sir, Oru Sandhegam (Sir, A Doubt), sending forms to schools across Tamil Nadu. I answered students’ questions for 101 weeks. I could do it because of my experience working as a science teacher from 1968 to 1973. This initiative came as an extension of Vilakkam Please, Vivek (Please Explain, Vivek), where I explained scientific concepts in my stories.

Where do you take inspiration from for titles such as Poovil Oru Sooravali (A Storm in a Flower), Thappu Thappai Oru Thappu (A Mistake Gone Wrong), Electric Rojakkal (Electric Roses), Vanakkathukkuriya Kuttram (A Crime Worthy of Respect), Thirumbi Paartha Oviyam (The Painting That Looked Back), India Virpanaikku Alla (India Not For Sale), and Hello Dead Morning?

Sometimes I get titles from public display boards. Near electric transformers, we commonly see warning signs reading “Abaayam Thodaathe” (danger, do not touch). I change it to “Abaayam Thodu” (danger, touch). Phrases like “Valaivugal Abaayam” (dangerous bends) and “Idhu Thadai Seiyyappatta Pagudhi” (this is a restricted area) have the punch to become titles for crime stories.

Sometimes I use poetic licence. For a story in Kumudam Snegithi magazine about a woman, I used the title Oru Thuli Kadal (One Drop Ocean) to signify the depth of her feelings.

Titles are important because they pull readers towards the book. At the same time, the story should be well connected to the title. I give titles to most of my stories before starting to write them. This challenges me to be more creative in my storytelling.

How has Tamil pulp fiction evolved over the years?

I do not see any changes. Only the medium has changed or multiplied. In Western countries, stories printed on cheap wooden pulp papers were once called pulp fiction. The same cannot be said now.

“Pulp fiction” as a phrase is itself archaic today. My serialised story Enakku Naane Nallavan (I Am Good Myself) for Rani magazine in 2023, based on artificial intelligence, ran for 32 weeks. The landscapes and subjects of my stories evolve with time. I update myself with current affairs.

What advice would you give to young writers who aspire to write fiction?

Patience is key. They need to practise sitting in the same place for one or two hours and writing with a pen. Typing does not help. It should always go from the mind to the paper. Our emotions flow out smoothly only when we hold the pen. Young writers should work towards finding their niche. To like to write is not enough; one must love to write.

The ambition to struggle to get their stories published must be in their heart. From 1970 to 1977, I waited to get a story published in Kumudam magazine. My first story, Nyayama Idhu (Is This Fair?), was published after 167 submissions. Some stories were returned; some were lost. It was a time of literary giants like Na. Parthasarathy, Kalki, Punithan, Sujatha, Anuradha Ramanan, Indumathi, and Sivasankari. From 1977 to 1980, my story would appear in the issue every Saturday. My foundational years were strong. Only after that were my stories featured in Vikatan.