IndiaStar: A Literary-Art Magazine

Kali for Women: Feminist Publishing in India

by Ray Deonandan

[Ray Deonandan is a Toronto-based writer.]

Writers in India face hurdles that are almost unknown, or at

least more subtle, here in the West. Barriers of sex, class, race,

geography, religion and language are flagrant and sometimes officially

sanctioned in India. It is no surprise that the well-known

subcontinental names are from elite families, from specific ethnic and

linguistic groups, British educated, and are most often male. The struggle

of publishing in India is to uplift the disadvantaged groups to a position

where all voices may be heard.

Still, a writer who is of a lower caste, female and not a Hindi or English

speaker, has a difficult time finding a sympathetic publisher.

Into that struggle has arisen Kali For Women, Asia's first

feminist publishing company. Founded in 1984 by Ritu Menon and Urvashi

Boutalia, and bankrolled by a $100 investment.Kali's first two books set the stage

for its favoured themes: one on Asian women and media, and another on the Indian

women's movement. Now, the house produces 12 titles a year, evenly distributed

between women's studies, general interest nonfiction, fiction, biographies

and memoirs and a range of primers, handbooks and monographs for activists.

"Women's work was not being published," co-founder Ritu Menon declared

when we met in Kali's New Delhi office. "There was some of it in the

social sciences, but little elsewhere. We wanted to cover the totality of

writing with a gender perspective."

Today, Kali is well respected as a producer of high quality fiction,

historical and academic text. The house has helped to develop names that

are now worthy of marquee status in some circles: Gita Sen, in

feminist social theory, and Nayantara Sahgal, a popular fiction writer and

a member of the Nehru family.

Kali's most successful book thus far, however, has been Vandana Shiva's

Staying Alive which is in its 5th edition in India, and in multiple

editions in the U.K. and U.S., plus translations into 6 other languages.

Kali co-founder Urvashi Boutalia recalled how Shiva had balked at the idea

of writing a book. "She said, 'I'm not a writer, I'm an activist!' and I

replied, 'writing is a subversive activity, too, you know.'" Shiva has

since written a book every year for Kali.

The concept of a feminist publisher is a difficult one for mainstream

India to digest. Since Kali is also the name of a Hindu goddess, the Delhi

office still receives calls from families believing the house to be a

religious centre or a marriage registration service. Calls are also

received from women believing Kali to be a counselling centre; such callers

are distressed, depressed, and sometimes face domestic violence or suicide.

This led to one of Kali's early achievements, The Kali Diary, now famous

in development circles, which provides a list of women's organizations,

something difficult to find in a society short on organized information.

It is no surprise, then, that Kali benefits from a loyal audience of

activist women. However, according to Boutalia, "no book publisher in

India knows who their audience is, except for maybe the texbook

publishers." This is because India lacks the information infrastructure

that facilitates business in the West. There is no systematic survey of

Indian book-buying, no reliable market research.

Lacking such hard evidence, the two founders disagree on where in India

their major markets lie. But both seem to believe that the so-called

"Hindi Belt" of northern states is where most of their books end up,

primarily because it is to that population that most of India's media

products are directed. Kali is making a conscious effort, however, to

publish more writers from less vociferous linguistic groups like Bengali

and Tamil.

While the Indian female literacy rate hovers around 40%, Boutalia does not

believe this to be the major obstacle to her books' degree of penetration

into Indian society. "Physical distribution is the real issue," she said.

"In the state of Kerala, the literacy rate is believed to be almost 100%.

Yet women there are published the least and are read the least."

There is no question that Indian feminist activism is alive and vocal, but

where Western feminist organizations have suffered some degree of derision

arising from an inability to coordinate a cohesive vision, the Indian

feminist conception is one of a battle fought on several well-defined and

separate fronts. In comparing Western to Indian feminism, Menon observed,

"the perspectives are different, but the issues are often the same." The

Indian feminist issues of current fashion involve the environment and

globalization, not surprisingly mirroring trends in development work. Kali

books reflect these concerns.

Perusing the shelves of the Kali main office, I catch two titles:

Courtyards Of My Childhood by octagenarian

Romola Chatterjee tells of her childhood in the British Raj, and assumes to

embody "oral tradition in print"; and Hot Death, Cold Soup, an anthology

of short stories by Manjula Padmanabhan, which reads as well as any Vikram Seth

opus, but Boutalia declares that it's unlikely the book will make it to

North American stores. The penetration of Western markets has never been a

priority for Kali.

Award-winning author Moyez Vassanji (The Gunny Sack) once told me that

India produces great writers because their oral traditions compel Indians

to collect stories in their heads. Sri Lankan-Canadian writer Shyam

Selvadurai (Funny Boy) went further to imply that Indians simply write

well, perhaps testament to a classical education system. Kali For Women

builds on the strengths inherent in the Indian writing tradition and adds a

spirit of social urgency. In a nation struggling with political,

ecological and economic concerns that dwarf our petty worries, it can be

inspiring to hear of such a niche-marketed venture that continues to thrive

despite its altruistic motivation.