We were unheeding in those days : An interview with Ashok Shahane

Journal of Postcolonial Writing ISSN: 1744-9855 (Print) 1744-9863 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rjpw20 We were unheeding in those days : An interview with Ashok Shahane Anjali Nerlekar To cite this article: Anjali Nerlekar (2017) We were unheeding in those days : An interview with Ashok Shahane, Journal of Postcolonial Writing, 53:1-2, 108-118, DOI: 10.1080/17449855.2017.1295813 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/17449855.2017.1295813 Published online: 01 Aug 2017. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 234 View related articles View Crossmark data Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalinformation?journalcode=rjpw20 Download by: [37.44.205.139] Date: 24 November 2017, At: 00:28

Journal of Postcolonial Writing, 2017 VOL. 53, NOS. 1 2, 108 118 https://doi.org/10.1080/17449855.2017.1295813 INTERVIEW We were unheeding in those days : An interview with Ashok Shahane Anjali Nerlekar Rutgers University, New Brunswick, NJ, USA ABSTRACT Ashok Shahane is one of the very important figures in the publishing of Marathi literature, both in terms of his involvement in the little magazine movement, and through the Bombay publishing house Pras Prakashan, which has brought out the work of many of the most significant Marathi writers. In this interview, conducted in Marathi in 2015 and 2016, and translated into English by his interviewer Anjali Nerlekar, he describes his admiration for Bengali literature and his early ventures in magazine publishing in Bombay in the 1960s. He goes on to discuss his collaborations with Bhalchandra Nemade and Arun Kolatkar, his own work as a literary critic, and his association with Allen Ginsberg during and after the American poet s 1962 visit to India. Shahane also discusses his little magazine Aso, and the work of Pras Prakashan. KEYWORDS Little magazines; Bengali literature; Phan Thi Kim Phuc; Arun Kolatkar; Bhalchandra Nemade; Allen Ginsberg; Pras Prakashan Rebelling against the establishment (in education, publishing, and in writerly practices), Ashok Shahane continues to be the insurgent of sathottari Marathi literature even today. He has published some of the biggest authors in the Marathi writing world Bhalchandra Nemade, Dilip Chitre, Namdeo Dhasal, and Arun Kolatkar (all of his publications in English and Marathi). He was also part of the beginning of the little magazine movement in Marathi in Bombay with his little magazines Atharva and Aso and is closely associated with two of the iconic Marathi and English writers, Bhalchandra Nemade and Arun Kolatkar. He runs the small press Pras Prakashan that, over the years, has published numerous books that have become part of the Marathi canon today. In September 2016, for two days the corporate giant Facebook censored the Nick Ut image of the naked little Kim ( the napalm girl ) fleeing the bombed village in the Vietnam War (Scott and Isaac 2016). Only a public outcry restored the image. However, in Mumbai a few months earlier in 2016, Ashok Shahane s small press, Pras Prakashan, had put that image on the spine of the latest printing of the book Bhijaki Vahi, in accordance with the wishes of the poet, Arun Kolatkar. CONTACT Anjali Nerlekar anjali.nerlekar@rutgers.edu 2017 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group

JOURNAL OF POSTCOLONIAL WRITING 109 In May 2015, I met Ashok Shahane at the Asiatic Society Library in Bombay and the conversation that started there continued through our brisk walk to People s Book House, and on the phone later in 2015 and in 2016. The interview was conducted in Marathi, and the translation is my own. Anjali Nerlekar (AN): Most people know of your work and history in Bombay. But that is not where you started. Let s begin with some basic questions: where were you born and where did you go to college? Ashok Shahane (AS): I was born in Satara in 1935. At that time, there was no college in Satara, so I came to Pune and enrolled in college there for higher education (I was enrolled in the science stream). I failed the math course in the second year, when surprisingly math was my favorite subject. It s a long story but that experience showed me that formal education is not really my thing. People in my family were extremely upset and I tried another year to continue my studies. However, I realized that what matters in my life is something else, that which is not evaluated in the educational institution. So this was my Ram Ram to college. 1 AN: It is not widely known that Marathi modernism is closely connected in influence and inspiration to Bengali literature. Wasn t this the time when you began to study Bengali and started your lifelong connection with its literature? AS: Yes, one of my friends was attending Bengali classes and he showed me his alphabet charts and class assignments. So I thought to myself, let me also learn this. I also contacted some Bengali publishers in Calcutta and asked for books to be sent at that time, Buddhadev Bose 2 used to publish a journal called Kobita and I got a subscription for that (only because it was very cheap at the time). At the same time, in the 1950s, Jibanananda Das 3 and others were also appearing in print. I was astounded at what I read in all this literature; I realized that there was something terrific here. This wasn t literature I recognized; this was something radically new Jibanananda Das, Samar Sen, 4 Bishnu De 5 and none of them were known here in Bombay because none were translated yet. So for a while, I decided to read only Bengali (no Marathi!) and educate myself in this literature. Here in Mumbai at the time, on railway stalls, they used to sell weeklies like Desh and this proved to be my regular supply of Bengali writing. In this manner, Bengali became part of my baggage, if you will. AN: At what point did you move from Pune to Bombay? AS: There was a person called Behere who used to bring out a journal, Anuwad (which was not a serious literary journal at all). Behere used to pay for this out of his own pocket and it was running into a loss. He asked me one day to start editing this journal and that offer brought me to Bombay. I stayed as a paying guest with one of his colleagues. The journal folded in a few months in 1961, the birth centenary of Rabindranath Tagore. At that time, Sadanand Rege [well-known poet and short story writer] was editing another journal called Rahasyaranjan and he wanted a special issue on Tagore. He asked me to edit that issue and I readily agreed. We included Tagore s own writings but also Ezra Pound on Tagore and other such important content. That issue made my reputation in Bombay. However, the issue came out in May that year and by December the journal had folded due to lack of funds. When that happened, I was out of work and I went back to Pune.

110 A. NERLEKAR AN: One of the fascinating characteristics of sathottari 6 poetry is the intensely collaborative nature of all ventures. Can you talk about the two famous literary personalities with whom you have had close relations and extensive collaborations: Bhalchandra Nemade, 7 and Arun Kolatkar? AS: I had known Nemade since my Pune days. I met him at Café Goodluck where we used to hang out. The group consisted of Madhav Bhagwat (my nephew), Kapoor (an architect friend), Arvind Kulkarni (a poet), and Nemade who was nearby at Fergusson College. Those were good times and a learning period for me. 8 AN: And Arun Kolatkar? AS: I met him in Pune when he came to stay with his classmate from Kolhapur who turned out to be my nephew, Madhav Bhagwat. At that time, Arun was married and did not have any income. When he went home after his marriage to Darshan, his father threw him out of the house. Darshan 9 then went to stay in Bombay for a brief while and Arun came to Pune where he stayed with my nephew. Arun used to spend the entire day reading at the library of Fergusson College. AN: Besides your later publications through Pras Prakashan, you are well known for the then-notorious essay that was hotly debated by all when it first came out in print. How would you describe the literary context in which you wrote that important essay, Ajakalachya Marathi vangmayavar ksha kiran (An X-ray of Contemporary Marathi Literature; Shahane [1963] 2008)? AS: It was quite simple, really. A.B. Shah asked me to write a paper on literature and commitment for the seminar held by the Indian Congress for Cultural Freedom (ICCF). I wrote it in relation to Marathi literature but it was written in English because it was an ICCF seminar. It did not make such a splash then but when it was translated into Marathi and published in [the journal] Manohar, it created a furore among readers. The essay itself has an interesting history. I was not an academic student of Marathi literature then. The details of Marathi literature, the specifics of various texts, those are Nemade s contributions. But the larger conceptual framework for the essay is mine. AN: Just like your cooperative work on this significant essay, can you also talk about your collaboration with Nemade on the publication of his first novel, Kosla (Cocoon; Nemade 1963)? AS: In one sense, it was hardly a collaboration. He wrote the whole manuscript. The publisher was ready to print it. But in the first part of the book, after the narrative was written, there were words (like for example or etcetera ) placed in a way that made them devoid of given meanings that is our collaboration. These were added after the book was written. We added them just for the heck of it, because we wanted to. The apparently purposeless use of these words showed that they had no fixed immutable meanings. It is our minds that confer sense on these words. During our little magazine days in Aso, we also started a section on hard-hitting reviews of books. At that time, Mangesh had a book out called Sharmishtha (Padgaonkar 1960). We sat in a hotel, had some food and through our conversation came up with some material for the review. After eating, we moved to the railway station but there were no local trains for

JOURNAL OF POSTCOLONIAL WRITING 111 several hours that late at night, so we sat there and discussed it more. Then we moved to the local [train] itself, and in this manner, by morning, the review was ready to be published. That was how we worked in those days (see Figure 1 for a sample Aso cover). One of our many interesting ideas at the time (which we did not implement in the end) was the plan to ask for poems from [Mangesh] Padgaonkar and when he submitted one or more, to publish them each on a single page with the following page covered top to bottom with Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram. 10 We were quite unheeding in those days. AN: Where did the printing of the little magazine Aso take place? In Bombay or in Pune? AS: In Pune. At the Sangam Press (which Sujit Patwardhan s uncle used to run at the time). I used to get everything for Aso planned in Pune. We used to meet once every two months or so and my friends from Bombay used to visit me in Pune. AN: To move to Bombay again and continue this narrative, was Arun Kolatkar part of your katta 11 at the Rahasyaranjan office? AS: No. He was working in advertising in an office on Ferozeshah Mehta Road at the time, and he and his friends (like Vrindavan Dandavate) would meet at a restaurant called Sailor Restaurant (opposite Strand Bookstall) where I used to go and see him in the afternoon. This was the afternoon katta and in the evening a different set of people would come to the Rahasyaranjan office. AN: Today those meetings, that still take place every Thursday even after the death of Arun Kolatkar, have become part of the legend of the urban space of Kala Ghoda in Bombay. But the known story of these meetings starts with the Wayside Inn where you, Arun Kolatkar, Raghu Dandavate, Vrindavan Dandavate, Avinash Gupte and others used to meet. Why did the venue change from the Sailor to Wayside Inn? AS: Arun changed his job and moved elsewhere, so Sailor Restaurant was abandoned. The move to Wayside Inn was probably around 1965 or so, I think? Arun used to be a fixture at Wayside Inn, he spent a lot of time there every day. As you know, Kala Ghoda Poems (Kolatkar 2004) got written there, because of these visits. I was working at Karwar Printing Press at the time and because of the shortage of electricity, they had instituted a staggered weekend to different neighborhoods of the city and my weekend leave at the press was on Thursday. That is why we decided to meet on Thursday afternoons, something we have continued to do till today. AN: If you look back, what would you say was the purpose of these regular meetings? AS: Hah, it was a purposeless, freewheeling kind of meeting. Never for the sake of work it was the meeting of jobless minds, that s what it was! AN: Looking back on Aso, what was the motive in starting something like this? And in its brief life, what did it achieve? AS: I don t think we had any direction like that. There was no grand plan. Initially, I wasn t even part of this whole conception. It was the Rahsyaranjan gang, including Sarawate, the one who designed the cover for Atharva, 12 and Raghu [Dandavate], 13 Bhau [Padhye], 14 etc. They thought that we should do something that would match our resources (I had moved to Pune at that time). So they figured out the subscription structure 12 people who would

112 A. NERLEKAR Figure 1. The front and back cover of Aso, 9. Note the collaborative effort between Ashok Shahane and Bhalchandra Nemade seen in the text from the back cover (translated above). pay Rs. 10 each and collect Rs. 120 so that Sangam Press would be able to print a 16-page magazine (this included the cost of paper). They collected 12 such people in Bombay, and asked me to edit it. They would not let me rest in peace, and hence I relented.

JOURNAL OF POSTCOLONIAL WRITING 113 AN: And what was the vision of such a venture? AS: The idea was to collect writers who never imagined they were writers. To publish work by non-writers, if you will. Everybody has a story to tell, they will have at least one such narrative of their own. If you look at the contents of Aso, there are more non-writers than writers. When they are not professional writers, they bring raw expression to the text and it leads to an experimental style of writing. We also thought that the written language should be as close as possible to the spoken one the two should never stay separate in any piece of literature. AN: One of the notable influences on modern post-independence Indian poetry is that of the Beat poets. You too have a particularly close connection to the Beats yourself. Can you talk a little about your connection with Allen Ginsberg? How did you end up publishing his poem September on Jessore Street in Bombay? AS: Allen in his visit to India had given a poetry reading in 1962 at the behest of Theatre Unit chief Ebrahim Alkazi, who later became the director of the National School of Drama in Delhi. The Theatre Unit was famous for being the only group in Bombay that performed plays in English so it was somewhat of an elite institution at that time. Nissim Ezekiel, who later headed the English Department at the University of Bombay, edited a bulletin for the group. Anyway, one of our friends, Nandkishore Mittal, who worked as a share broker in the market here, had attended the poetry reading and it was through him that we met Allen. By the way, we had already read his poems earlier, thanks to Strand Book Stall which stocked all the City Lights Books. So a meeting was arranged through this friend and we knocked on the doors of Radhika Jaykar, the daughter of Pupul Jaykar (who used to head the handloom sector for the country) with whom Allen and Peter [Orlovsky] were staying. We carried some charas (an Indian variety of hash) with us and demonstrated how it was smoked through a chillum and it was great fun. I remember Allen expecting the cops to break in at any moment! We conducted a tour of Bombay for the benefit of Allen and Peter. I remember Allen was amazed to see a couple of cows, as well as goats, moving about leisurely in the Flora Fountain area. One couldn t dream of this in New York, he exclaimed. Allen was enamored of the so-called Hawai chappals, the cheap flip-flops at the time, and bought himself a pair or two, and on returning to the United States, flaunted them in New York s Central Park even when it was snowing! I remember Sham Lal, then editor of Times of India, entertaining Allen and Peter at his house one afternoon and we happened to bump into them at a coffee shop on the other side of the street. After we finished our coffee and Allen and Peter were to go to Sham Lal s place, Allen suddenly had this idea of having us tag along (we were three of us, Arun, me and Raghu [Dandavate]). We were a bit reluctant because we were not invited to the party, but then Allen said, They expect us to behave in an outlandish manner; so it is alright for us to barge in uninvited. And we went along. Sham Lal had invited an Urdu poet, Sardar Jaffri, as well and there was some polite conversation about the ghazal as a poetic form in Urdu. Sardar explained how one couldn t use the word water in an Urdu ghazal and that when one wanted to say water one would still end up using the word sharaab as a metaphor. Upon which Allen suddenly stood up and said, I have just now composed

114 A. NERLEKAR a couple of lines for a poem. The lines go I always put on my belt whenever I go out/ because I own everything below it. So, how do you like these lines? Will they qualify to go in a ghazal? Sham Lal s friend, the Urdu poet Sardar Jaffri, stood up in a huff and walked out without saying a word. Obviously he was offended. The formal meeting ended in a fiasco and we had a hearty laugh as we came out. So this is how the links were forged. Allen left Bombay for Calcutta and, while leaving Calcutta for home, sent me a stack of little magazines in Bengali as a gift. The next ten years or so were quiet on every front till the Bangladesh issue cropped up and there was a deluge of ten million refugees pouring into the adjacent state of West Bengal and settling down on both sides of the roads in the open there. There was a massacre in Bangladesh and people had to flee to save themselves. There were vivid photographs of the atrocities committed and I posted a couple of photographs to Allen. It was because of this that Allen decided to visit Bengal once again and see the situation for himself. The outcome was the poem, September on Jessore Road. On getting a copy from Allen I thought of bringing it out as a broadside, maybe as a tribute to the City Lights Books which had a couple of broadsides in its catalogue. I got R.K. Joshi to design the poster, printed it without putting a price tag on it and left it to the reader who wanted to have a copy to give whatever he thought proper and the money would go the Bangladesh aid committee in Bombay. I sent Allen some ten copies of the poster-poem as a royalty. AN: And so, to your biggest project. When did you start Pras Prakashan? And why? AS: We started Pras in 1977. Arun already had poems in Marathi that he wanted to publish and Ashok Kelkar 15 was a huge help in supplying Arun s poems to us. You see, when he was in Madras, in the mid-1950s, I think, Arun used to send his poems to Ashok and Ashok diligently kept them for almost 20 years! AN: And the second edition of Jejuri (Kolatkar [1976] 1977), how did you end up publishing that? AS: That was a stopgap arrangement at the time. You see, the Clearing House had published the first edition. But when the book won the Commonwealth Writers Prize in 1977, the demand for it grew. Jejuri sold so quickly that it was a big job keeping it in print. At that time, I offered my services because I already knew the work (I was working at Karwar s Printing Press) and the printing press that had published the first Clearing House edition was still there. They knew how to print this book and it was not like printing something from scratch. AN: How did you keep Pras afloat all these years? AS: This was a small and personal affair right from the beginning. The purpose was never to make any money. All the books we published were always by those we already knew. I never went around soliciting manuscripts from anyone. The friends were mostly writers, Arun was a graphic designer (as was Vrindavan Dandavate 16 ), I knew the printing business, so that is how it kept going. At one point I thought, This is enough, let s shut down this thing! and finish off the money we had. So to use up that money I published Chirimiri by Arun Kolatkar (2003b) and Raghu Dandavate s (2004) Vadhvel and two other books, and what do you know, several of these books sold out and made

JOURNAL OF POSTCOLONIAL WRITING 115 Figure 2. Back and front cover of Chirimiri: Arun Kolatkarchya Kahi Kavit (Petty Theft: Some Poems by Arun Kolatkar, Pras Prakashan 2003). The cover was designed by the poet himself and visually references the practice by Balwant Bua, friend and muse of Arun Kolatkar who, as a petty helper to a vegetable vendor, used to try to steal money by hiding it inside green peppers or tomatoes. more money and I had to go back and bring out new editions (see Figure 2). We never wanted to make money from this whatever we made in the selling of these books, I always put back. AN: To come to your recent publications and future projects you brought out a new edition of Bhijaki Vahi with a changed cover. Can you discuss that change and why you felt you had to do it? AS: The new cover of the third printing of Bhijaki Vahi has the image of the little girl, Kim (from Nick Ut s Vietnam War photograph). We thought that this would be such a novel concept, having the image of the girl on the spine of the book with nothing else besides the title on the cover. When Arun and I planned the book and realized it would be 300+ pages, we realized that it would have a large spine and Arun wanted the image of Kim on that spine; he felt that the image would fit exactly on it (see Figure 3). At that time, Arun was already diagnosed as a cancer patient and at that age and time, it was difficult for us to secure the copyright permission for the use of the image. We could have downloaded the image from the Internet as so many do in India, but Arun refused to do so. So at that point we went with the image of the weeping eye then from the sketches made by Arun (2003a).

116 A. NERLEKAR Figure 3. The front and back cover of Bhijaki Vahi (3rd printing). This is different from the cover created in 2003 for the first edition, which had the image of an eye/scarab on the front (a smaller version of this image can be seen here in the upper left corner). A translation of the text from the back cover (which also serves as the epigraph to the book) is given below the illustration. That image also has a story. There is a dictionary of hieroglyphs at the Asiatic Society. Arun xeroxed the relevant image of the eye and you know that when you enlarge the small image, how grainy and uneven the line becomes. The grains tear apart when you blow up the image and it looks like a rough-hewn image on a stone, but Arun did not want to smooth it out at all. Therefore the image of the weeping eye on the first edition has those jagged lines. 17 When the second printing was sold out and we had to bring out the third printing, Vrindavan Dandavate and I revisited that idea and Edwin Frank from the New York Review of Books helped me find the Associated Press (AP) copyright for the image. You know the rest of the story, Anjali you also helped with securing that copyright for us. Both you and Edwin Frank are mentioned in the acknowledgements in the third printing. AN: Yes, of course, I am aware of the history of this cover, but I think it is important to record the enormous importance that these book covers had for Kolatkar and the

JOURNAL OF POSTCOLONIAL WRITING 117 enormous skill and effort that went into the crafting of each of them. How do you see this new cover of Bhijaki Vahi as different from the older one with the weeping eye? AS: I am the publisher and the craftsman, so I put a lot of importance on these things. And Arun too was always invested in the graphic design of his books. The idea appealed to me tremendously when Arun first proposed it to treat the spine itself as the cover by putting the image there and keeping the actual front and back cover blank with a plain black coloring. The new cover puts the body of the naked, fleeing young girl Kim on the spine of the book (although her outstretched hands come one on each cover but that cannot be helped, the image is such). It references the Kim poetic sequence within the book where the poet is asking Kim to forgive him. Remember, at the end of the Kim poems the poet asks the young girl, burned by napalm and running away from her home, to forgive the poet not just the poet, though, but also the photographer, the soldiers, the bystanders, everyone. Arun seems to say and what does the poet do? He only writes poems while the young girl gets bombed. Arun has juxtaposed the real world with the poetic world here through this cover. Therefore everybody connected with the image and the incident there is a list of all those people is asking Kim to forgive them. AN: What are the forthcoming Pras projects now? AS: We will bring out some of Arun s juvenilia we recently discovered a whole bunch of these and once we finalize the texts (they have multiple versions) we will be able to publish the book. I also want to bring out a collection of Kolatkar s interviews in both languages. Finally, there is the prose book on Balwant Bua by Arun. Arun had already finalized the Marathi book, the way he wanted it. Let us see how it all goes. Notes 1. In Marathi, Ram Ram is a way of saying goodbye. 2. Buddhadev Bose (1908 74), noted writer and editor of little magazines and journals. 3. Jibanananda Das (1899 1954) is one of the best-known modern poets of Bengal after Rabindranath Tagore. 4. Samar Sen (1916 87), noted modernist Bengali poet and journalist. 5. Bishnu De (1909 72), a prominent Bengali modernist poet who won the highest national awards for poetry. 6. Sathottari means post-1960 in Marathi and stands for a certain rebellious modernist writing philosophy in Marathi that rejected traditional ways of linguistic usage and accepted modes of writing. Here, the term is also a period marker that points approximately to the years between 1955 and 1980. 7. Bhalchandra Nemade is one of the best-known modernist novelists and poets in Marathi. 8. For a description of these meetings, see the interview with Bhalchandra Nemade in this issue of Journal of Postcolonial Writing. 9. Darshan Chhabda, also sister of the painter Bal Chhabda. 10. This is a popular Marathi religious chant that names and praises Lord Ram. Here, the plan of covering the recto fully with the chant is employed as a sarcastic gesture to indicate meaningless repetitiveness and conservative politics. 11. In Marathi, katta implies conversations on the stoop, or meetings of an informal structureless kind. 12. Atharva (1961) was a Marathi little magazine, started by Shahane and his friends. It had just one issue, but it featured there some of the best known writers in Marathi today.

118 A. NERLEKAR 13. Author of Vadhvel and Dubuk, Raghu Dandavate (1933 2009) was a poet and a close friend of Ashok Shahane and Arun Kolatkar, and brother of graphic artist and playwright Vrindavan Dandavate. 14. Bhau Padhye (1926 93), Marathi novelist, close friend, author of novels Rada and Vasunaka, among others. 15. Ashok Kelkar (1929 2014), scholar, linguist, close friend of the poet Arun Kolatkar. 16. Vrindavan Dandavate is a close friend of Ashok Shahane, a playwright in Marathi, a graphic designer and a collaborator on several books published by Pras Prakashan. 17. See Nerlekar (2016), Chapter 4 for a detailed analysis of this cover. Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author. Notes on contributor Anjali Nerlekar is an associate professor in the Department of African, Middle Eastern and South Asian Languages and Literatures (AMESALL) at Rutgers University, with research interests in global modernisms, Indian print cultures, Marathi literature, Indo-Caribbean literature, spatial and cartographic studies, and translation studies. She has published articles on the poetry of Arun Kolatkar, A.K. Ramanujan, Dilip Chitre, and David Dabydeen, and is the author of Bombay Modern: Arun Kolatkar and Bilingual Literary Culture (2016). In collaboration with Dr Bronwen Bledsoe of Cornell University, she has also created an ongoing collection of documents and manuscripts related to English and Marathi Bombay poetry titled The Bombay Poets Archive. References Dandavate, Raghu. 2004. Vadhvel. Mumbai: Pras Prakashan. Kolatkar, Arun. [1976] 1977. Jejuri. Bombay: Pras Prakashan. Kolatkar, Arun. 2003a. Bhijaki Vahi. Mumbai: Pras Prakashan. Kolatkar, Arun. 2003b. Chirimiri. Mumbai: Pras Prakashan. Kolatkar, Arun. 2004. Kala Ghoda Poems. Mumbai: Pras Prakashan. Nemade, Bhalchandra. 1963. Kosla [Cocoon]. Pune: Deshmukh Publication. Nerlekar, Anjali. 2016. Bombay Modern: Arun Kolatkar and Bilingual Literary Culture. Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Padgaonkar, Mangesh. 1960. Sharmishtha. Mumbai: Popular Prakashan. Scott, Mark, and Mike Isaac. 2016. Facebook Restores Iconic Vietnam War Photo It Censored for Nudity. New York Times, September 9. https://www.nytimes.com/2016/09/10/technology/ facebook-vietnam-war-photo-nudity.html?_r=0. Shahane, Ashok. [1963] 2008. Ajakalachya Marathi vangmayavar ksha kiran (An X-Ray of Contemporary Marathi Literature). In Napeksha, by Ashok Shahane, 3 30. Mumbai: Lokvangmaya Griha.