A writer of mixed origins, Chhimi Tenduf-La is half-Tibetan and half-English, and has lived in Sri Lanka on and off in the last thirty years. In his third book, Loyal Stalkers, following up on the novels Panther and The Amazing Racist (both from 2015), he presents a handful of interlinked short stories, all of which paint a compelling and at times confounding picture of present-day Sri Lanka. In particular, the book makes an eager case for coming to terms and moving on from the horrors of war. In an email interaction, the writer spoke of his concerns over writing honest stories about life in the island nation.
It's never easy to digest war. How did you work that certain urgency of moving on into your stories?
I actually made a conscious effort not to dwell on the war because I hoped that literature from this country did not have to be defined by it. Yet, it is hard to write an honest story about Sri Lanka without the shadow of the past hanging over us. It is easy for us in Colombo to say we have moved on because we did not live through it like people in the North did. To be honest, I rarely hear people in Colombo even mention the war. People seem to be living in the moment, worrying about their own lives and jobs and trying to keep up with the fast-pace of development. Similarly, in Loyal Stalkers, I felt that each character’s problems were big enough and urgent enough to be a distraction from the war.
It can't be easy for most Lankans to speak of life in the country in as accepting, and perhaps distanced, a manner. Tell us about the reactions you've had from readers in Sri Lanka.
My stories touch on topics such as homophobia, abusive relationships, and how we treat our domestic help. I am not sure I know anyone who wouldn’t agree these issues exist. I did get a bit of abuse here and there for my earlier books because some people felt it harder for them to stomach my observations because I am a foreigner. On the most part people say, at least to my face, that I have got things right. One or two people have been angered by my books, but at least they read them to the end. I would be more upset if people said my books touch on lovely, rosy topics but that they got really bored reading them.
Discussions over cross-cultural affairs must come naturally to you. In reality, how do you see Sri Lanka's international relations improving?
There are some exceptionally talented, intelligent, articulate and compassionate younger people who I hope rise up the ranks. Most people I speak to are not too proud of their politicians – even the best of them, and there are some fine ones, have to work with others of questionable ethics who buy votes with arrack bottles and lunch packets and promote fervent nationalism to strengthen their own base. Yet, I am still optimistic about the country because there is a great deal going for it and the people are very smart and resilient. Foreign visitors love Sri Lankans; it is just a question of the people who represent us providing the world with a better reflection of how wonderful this country is.
Your books are vital for giving us a glimpse into present-day life in Sri Lanka. Do you wish to make your stories more journalistic in approach? Or are you consciously aware of not doing that?
I am careful not to make them journalistic because in essence they are based on hearsay. I write as if I am the nosey aunty spying on my neighbours. I don’t want to disguise what I write as fact, yet I think readers from other countries can learn about Sri Lanka from my stories. These are tales a tourist may hear by spending a day in a tuk tuk, or by reading Sri Lankan based social media.
How possible, would you say, in reality, is it for people to fall in love with a war in the backdrop? What role does fiction, and new literature, serve to change perceptions about life in the country?
I assume that it may be easier to fall in love during war because you need that ray of light, that hope, that shoulder to cry on. Our lives in Colombo during the war seemed very normal to us; as a teenager I was much more concerned with my love life and biceps than I was with peace talks. If you watch news reports of a country at war you forget these are normal people with normal emotions. If I visit a country I like to learn about it by talking to people there, or from the literature. I love to be reminded that a country is not defined by what we see on CNN.
And how difficult is it to retain a sense of humour about everything? Did it bother you to think that you might - to some people - risk coming across as insensitive in your approach?
Sri Lankans are real jokers who are always laughing and smiling. I cannot speak at all for what things were like in the actual warzones but down south you would be hard-pressed to know the country was in trouble because people remained upbeat. I find it very difficult not to bring humour into everything I do but I felt that was appropriate for Sri Lankan life. Sri Lankans make fun of each other a lot, and that was something I tried to encapsulate in my books – the danger is it may look like it is me, and not my characters, making fun of people for cheap laughs but that is definitely not my intention. There are also times I realise I have to be sensitive – that what some people can joke about others can’t. It is all a learning process and I hope I am getting the balance right.
How did you come upon the thought of bringing in a hatechild into the book? How much of a reality is a story like Sending A Night Breeze?
It just seemed to me to be a natural part of life here. I have had people working for me who have been forced to give up children. It is painfully obvious to me that here, in India and even with my Tibetan family, what others think of you is very important. In this story a family was more willing to abandon a child than have their neighbours point and question them. Often, in such instances everyone else knows the truth anyway, but people still deny it to live up to their public image and to avoid awkward conversations.
The name, Loyal Stalkers, in itself, while being very creepy, seems indicative of state surveillance - but that's an issue that you don't dwell on. Do you a draw a fine line in your writing, when it comes to staying on the safe side of things?
I am not just touching on the idea of state surveillance, although that is certainly part of it. I am also highlighting how so many people here are more concerned with other people’s lives than their own. I only think about my wife, kids, and how to lose weight; I couldn’t give a damn if my neighbour has a new car or if Gamini Uncle’s second son’s future wife is in the school choir. I think I play it safe when I write, but it is pretty hard to do. There are a couple of characters I completely made up who people think are based on some dangerous real life people, but luckily such people are too busy being dangerous to read my books.
In other words, how real is the possibility of a writer being clamped down upon for their stories about the war in Sri Lanka? Have you ever had to fear for your personal security?
Not many people are too concerned about what I write. I think if any of my books got made into a movie screened around the world then people may get on my case. Yet I have not taken sides and have tried to avoid bringing up the war unless necessary as a setting rather than a story. I have tried to write about issues that are serious and need to be addressed and can’t always be brushed under the carpet. I have seen some incredibly brave journalists being critical of the most powerful people in the country and they seem to get away with it now, which is a sign of great progress for this country.
How would you picture one of your stories translated into a movie? Have you got any particular people in mind in the film industry, to work with?
When I write, I visualise each scene as part of a movie; I can hear the music and sound effects and see the scene changes. I would be shocked if anyone wanted to make my books into movies but if they did I can picture Danny Boyle making them in the same vein as he did Trainspotting and The Beach – sort of energetic and quirky. Alternatively I would love to see them made in India, possibly as movies, but also maybe as different episodes on Netflix. I am not saying my books are good enough, but they are episodic and might be easily translatable to the screen.
Loyal Stalkers, Chhimi Tenduf-La, Pan Macmillan India, `499