About the Book
Karnataka is one of India's most diverse states, as rich in literary and cultural traditions as it is in democratic struggles and political churns. The twentieth century witnessed the birth of a modern Kannada renaissance, accompanied by the emergence of a powerful social conscience. One young man's desire to explore this vibrant historical backyard, born out of a feeling of being linguistically unmoored, compounded by worries over an increasingly opaque political direction, leads to an ambitious-no, audacious-attempt to unpack the region's social and cultural histories.
Rama Bhima Soma is an enterprise of translation and rediscovery, packed with stories and conversations. The life and times of legends like Kuvempu and Shivaram Karanth; the fall of Socialism and the rise of the Hindu Right; the intellectual ruminations of U.R. Ananthamurthy, D.R. Nagaraj and M.M. Kalburgi; the wildly popular television serials of T.N. Seetharam and the community-centred one-woman theatre shows of Du Saraswathi; a brief history of Naxalism in Karnataka and glimpses of other complicated legacies of the 1970s' Left-the book explores a dizzyingly wide sweep of Karnataka's contemporary history, seeking, above all, to forge new connections and begin fresh conversations.
Marshalling a diverse range of literary and scholarly resources, framed through biographical sketches and immersive reportage, Srikar Raghavan's genre-bending work of narrative non-fiction reanimates some pivotal moments in the making of modern Karnataka. The result is a sizzling dish of ideas rescued from the deep freeze of historical amnesia.
About the Author
Born in Bangalore and brought up in Mysore, Srikar wrote this book while living in a small village named Parkala in South Canara. Something of that inward trajectory has permeated these pages, he believes. An inveterate bookworm, Srikar fancies himself more of a reader than a writer. He also loves to trek, travel and fiddle around on a guitar.
Prologue
If you were ever a young schoolboy growing up in Karnataka, I'd wager that you have played Rama Bhima Soma. Or you might have encountered some variant of it. It requires only a ball, no fixed number of players, no teams, no designated boundary and no premeditation. Someone throws the ball up into the sky, you wait until it pitches thrice-counted off as Rama, Bhima, Soma-and then the game begins. Whoever is nearest to the ball grabs it and begins hurling it at their choicest target, preferably one close by, at whom a good shot can be had. The others try to dodge the ball, and whoever happens to catch it next repeats the process. The game knows no end, and the ball keeps travelling in an infinite loop across the group, creating an endless web of relationships, until such time as collective exhaustion sets in, or... the bell rings for class. I have only the fondest memories of playing Rambhimsoma, as we would brusquely shorten it; someone or the other would have a tennis or rubber ball at hand, and excitement was always just three pitches away.