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  So, that was that. After some thought, I made some inquiries with various colleagues at work and observed the ‘rich’ women that I could see on Juhu beach, in tow with their children and ayahs.

  The result of the imagination and research led to my first novel, Athirikthe, in Kannada. As I wrote it, I allowed myself to enter the lead character’s mind and feel the joy and pain of her circumstances. At the end, I had to make an effort to exit from the character’s life and return to my own. Thus began my journey in Kannada literature. This time, I went through another publisher who was located in Mysore.

  I continued to write. My subsequent novels, however, were rejected. I figured that if I wanted to grab more eyeballs, I must try my hand at writing a series for a newspaper. To my surprise, even these were rejected. Some papers did not respond at all while others said that my writing wasn’t series material.

  Years passed, and I continued to read avidly.

  One day, I went to a wedding where I saw a young girl with leucoderma sitting in front of me, having a meal. Just then, someone from the family came and said to her, ‘You cannot sit here with the others. You have leucoderma. Please get up.’

  Humiliated, the girl cried and left immediately.

  This behaviour hurt me. I am the daughter of a doctor and I know that unlike leprosy, leucoderma is only a cosmetic disease. It is not contagious and not proven to be hereditary either. Then why do people behave this way with fellow beings?

  The incident provoked me into undertaking some research. As I spoke to people, I realized that many engagements were broken and marriages called off, especially in cases where one or more of the bride’s relatives had the disease but she did not. I had long chats with dermatologists and rebelled strongly against this heinous treatment which does nothing but kill confidence.

  For the first time in my life, I thought of writing about this to create awareness, but in the form of a story. This is how my novel Mahashweta was born.

  Many, many years later, I was at another wedding. To my pleasant surprise, the groom came up to me and said, ‘I have read Mahashweta and today I am marrying a girl who has leucoderma. The book completely changed my perspective.’

  It was the day that I realized that perhaps I could make a difference if I continued to write about issues I was passionate about.

  In the seventies and the eighties, going to America was an outstanding achievement. India wasn’t close to liberalization yet and the number of job opportunities was very low in the country. The American dollar, however, was a magic wand—one dollar equalled ten rupees. People who settled there and came back to India for a vacation almost always looked down upon those here. Even the local families differentiated between the children and grandchildren who were in the US and those who stayed here. It was but natural that the wives and daughters who lived in America got much more attention and importance.

  But I knew by then that life in America wasn’t as green as it was made out to be. Living there wasn’t devoid of struggles.

  So, I wrote Dollar Bahu (or Dollar Sose) in Kannada. The manuscript first became a series in a newspaper, then a book and then a television series. It was even translated into Italian along with other Indian languages. Today, it is still widely available in bookshops.

  My journey with Kannada continued, and the thought of writing in English didn’t even cross my mind.

  The year 1980 marked my very first book launch for Atlanticadacheyinda. The event was held at Mayo Hall in Bangalore. To me, it was like a small wedding signifying the marriage of my book to the publisher. I invited many people. All kith and kin fond of literature came for the launch, including some of my wonderful friends who couldn’t even read Kannada. But they loved me and were proud of the fact that I was an author. One of them gifted me a silver idol of Saraswati, the goddess and symbol of knowledge. For the first time, and what I thought may also be the last, I stood on stage, spoke to my readers and expressed my love for books and Kannada. Little did I know that this would be the first of many public events.

  One day, T.J.S. George, the editor of the New Indian Express, sent word that I should write my columns in English. He simply said, ‘A language is but a vehicle. It’s the person inside who’s weaving the story that’s more important. You are a storyteller. So, just get on with your story and the language will fall into place.’

  With his kind words and encouragement, I began writing in English. My columns, named ‘Episodes’, started to appear in the New Indian Express on 12 November 2000. I was in Shimoga the day I heard someone in a hotel say, ‘Sudha Murty has written a column in English.’ Instantly, I was elevated to being an English writer by a stranger. It took me some time to believe that people wanted to read my columns. This journey continued with other avenues like the Times of India, The Hindu and the Week.

  One advantage of writing in English was that it led me to form friendships with people from different states and walks of life. One of those turned out to be the late President A.P.J. Abdul Kalam. This was 2001, and he wasn’t our President yet. He was a scientist at the Defence Research and Development Organization (DRDO). He happened to read one of my columns in the Week, an Indian news magazine, and said that the humour in my writing was nice and the message strong. He asked how I had learnt the art of ending an article with a gist of the story and expressed interest in meeting me.

  A year later, my first book in English came out as a collection of my columns thanks to George, who introduced me to East West Books Pvt. Ltd in Chennai. George, with his genuine encouragement, wrote the foreword for the book and gave it an enchanting title: Wise and Otherwise.

  I realized that when a book is released in English, it is read by more people and translations into regional languages happen more easily. Today, my books have been translated into all major Indian languages and are read in most states of India.

  As the years passed, the Infosys Foundation’s work provided me with experiences that enlarged my canvas even as the writing continued. I approached many publishers who rejected my manuscripts. They said, ‘Your language is too simple. It is not flowery or sophisticated and comes across as too simple and even naive. Our opinion is that people will not appreciate it.’ A few suggested, ‘You tell your story to someone who has a good command over the English language. They will rewrite it and, together, you both can co-author.’

  But I didn’t agree. I wanted to keep my style distinctive and portray it exactly the way I am.

  Along the way, I realized the importance of a good editor—someone who can take the book to greater heights. I have learnt that a great editor must be a reflection of the author, someone who understands the author. I am extremely lucky to have found these qualities in my young and bright editor Shrutkeerti Khurana, who is a talented engineer and a management graduate with an immense love for the English language. I have known Shrutee since the day she was born because I was friends with her parents even then. I have seen her growing up, she has seen me getting old, and our bond has deepened with each passing day over the years. She reads my mind, tells me frankly where I am wrong, where she is getting bored with my writing and edits as required. In addition to work, we both love reading and discuss countless things—things that are here, there and everywhere.

  I also want to thank my wonderful family who knew of my love for writing and understood it and allowed me to prioritize it over their needs.

  In time, Penguin Random House became my sole English publisher. I was also fortunate enough to get interest from publishers who worked in regional languages, and I have remained with them since the beginning. For the Marathi language, there is Mehta Publishing House in Pune, R.R. Sheth in Ahmedabad for Gujarati, Prabhat Prakashan in Delhi for Hindi translations, DC Books in Kottayam for Malayalam and Alakananda Prachuranalu in Vijayawada for Telugu translations, among others.

  One day, I received an email from a Gujarati reader who asked, ‘Sudha Ben, you look like a Gujarati and you even eat like one. Your books are really wonderf