As organizers of the Imbarvari Literary Circle and ardent readers of the ancient Tamil poet Kamban, we express our deep distress over the conferring of the prestigious Jnanpith Award on lyricist and self-styled ‘Kavipperarasu’ Vairamuthu.

We would like to remind readers and the public that the title Kavi Perarasu (the king of poetry) is a direct allusion to the title Kavi Chakravarthi (the poet-sovereign) famously attributed to Kamban by the literati of the Chola era. The practice of conferring grandiose titles on film artists and politicians is not new in India, particularly in the southern part of the country. There has long been a tendency to attach such monikers, ranging from “superstar,” “natural star,” and many others – to figures from popular culture.

Cinema is, by its very nature, a medium for the masses and for general consumption. Even within popular cinema, only the finest works endure the test of time. Yet, in our haste to manufacture legacies, heroes are often elevated to the stature of leaders. It then becomes an unfortunate but predictable progression that ordinary lyricists, too, are elevated to the rank of poets. This happens partly because those who celebrate them as poets have seldom read serious poetry in their lives. They have not attempted to understand the world of literature or to distinguish between contributing to cinema and contributing to literature. The former, as we all know, is often a lucrative profession with the promise of fame. The latter is usually a thankless pursuit, subject to intense scrutiny and criticism from the literary intelligentsia.

Why, then, can one not consider film lyrics to be poetry? After all, Bob Dylan was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature (2016) for his songwriting. It is worth remembering that he was recognized “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition,” and not for poetry in the conventional sense. Even then, the literary world was deeply divided over the choice. We have our doubts too. 

Furthermore, can Vairamuthu truly be compared with Dylan? Dylan is a singer-songwriter who conceived both the lyrics and the accompanying music. A film lyricist, by contrast, usually writes within constraints: the situation is given, the melodic tune is often predetermined, and sometimes even a phrase or rhythmic pattern is provided to be filled with words.

This is not to deny Vairamuthu’s contributions to Tamil film music, especially in the period following great lyricists such as Pattukottai Kalyanasundaram, Marudhakasi, Kannadasan, and Vaali. He has, at times, creatively adapted expressions from classical Tamil poetry and coined memorable lines of his own. Nevertheless, lyrics written for cinema is plot driven and must follow strict rhyming constraints dictated by the tune. This is why we notice the composers themselves turning into lyricists sometimes. Today we even see actors such as Dhanush and Sivakarthikeyan writing lyrics for their films. This illustrates an uncomfortable reality: film lyrics, however popular, cannot automatically be equated with poetry or literature. To conflate the two is ironic and contemptuously dismissive of the real poets and writers who have dedicated their lives to literary art. His two notable works, Kallikaattu Ithihasam and Karuvaachi Kaaviyam, do not live up to the grandeur of their titles and fall far short of the literary stature they claim to achieve.

In the past two days, as we have followed the debates surrounding this award, it has become evident that many voices in the Tamil literary world share similar concerns. At the same time, these debates also reveal an undercurrent of mistrust and rivalry within the literary community itself. Some may dismiss this as petty jealousy, but one must remember that serious writers rarely receive the recognition they deserve. Such writers would do well to remember that influence in literature grows through sustained engagement and the cultivation of a genuine readership – though, undeniably, a fair measure of luck also plays its part.

But, one cannot help noticing another pattern – certain critics seem less interested in the merits of the debate than in targeting Jeyamohan. Does this disproportionate hostility serve any purpose on this occasion? If these voices are so concerned, why are they not striving to reform an ecosystem so rotten with corruption and mediocrity, rather than turning every discussion into a spectacle of blame and fracture?

The issue is further complicated by longstanding controversies surrounding Vairamuthu. There have been accusations that he has appropriated the works of aspiring poets and young lyricists, and complaints that were quietly settled without transparency. Moreover, following the #MeToo movement, singer Chinmayi and other women from the music industry publicly accused him of using his influence in the film industry and his proximity to political power to exploit them sexually. Since then, he has reportedly been distanced by figures such as Mani Ratnam and A. R. Rahman.

These issues – arrogance, questions of intellectual integrity, and concerns about moral accountability – make his selection for such a prestigious literary honour deeply troubling. It is almost paradoxical that an individual disqualified on so many grounds could be elevated by the award committee. Here is a man whose ostentatious posturing and cultivated influence masks a complete lack of true literary substance. One cannot help but suspect the presence of unseen hands orchestrating such questionable decisions. Might I remind readers of a famous thanippadal (standalone verse) Mannavanum neeyo, attributed to Kamban. In it, he delivers a righteous outrage against a Chola king who refused patronage. The irony and audacity of this verse are hard-hitting even centuries later, and it serves as a timeless reminder of the tension between literary integrity and worldly authority. “Are you even a king? Is this kingdom truly yours? Was it you I relied on in my pursuit of Tamil?” He dares to ask. Where is the pride in grovelling for awards and honours? We wonder. 

Many people unfamiliar with the world of literature argue that we should simply be proud that the award has gone to someone from Tamil Nadu. But the matter is not so simple. When a writer receives an award of this stature, it sets the literary benchmark for generations to come. Their work becomes representative of the language itself. It is translated into other languages and circulated widely.

It is difficult to imagine that a reader in Marathi or Bengali, encountering the Tamil Jnanpith laureate, would expect to find cinema lyrics – often replete with double entendre – presented as the pinnacle of Tamil poetry. Yet, some might ask, are we forgetting some of his best lyrics? If he were truly a literary artist, one could indeed devise meaningful ways to evaluate such works. But because these are film songs, often written without the spontaneity of feeling that Wordsworth associated with true poetry, they are likely to be perceived as constrained and derivative.

From Kamban and Kapilar to Valluvar and Bharathi to the modern giants like Pramil, Gnanakoothan, Devadevan and the rest, Tamil literature has produced towering poetic figures. In modern times too, novelists of immense stature – such as Ashokamitran and Ki. Rajanarayanan – passed away without receiving this honour. That reality makes the present decision all the more painful.

In this context, we welcome the initiative announced by Jeyamohan to institute an annual one-crore-rupee award honouring writers under the banner of the Living Tamil Award for World Literature. At the same time, it is unfortunate that a writer of Jeyamohan’s seniority and stature must take upon himself a responsibility that universities and governments ought to fulfil. Surely, there must be more creative ways for him to invest his time and energy. 

The commitment to an annual one-crore-rupee award is enormous, even for someone of Jeyamohan’s prodigious standing and influence. While prolific writers such as Jeyamohan, supported generously by friends who organize literary festivals from their personal resources, manage to sustain literary initiatives, the scale of this award is unprecedented and stretches beyond the capabilities of individual patrons. In his emotional letter announcing the award, Jeyamohan mentions that several readers, especially women, expressed their anguish and even volunteered to donate their jewellery to support the cause. He writes that he accepted their tears as a command. To some this may appear excessive or sentimental. Yet history often records its bravest chapters not through weapons, but through tears and persistence. 

This is a formidable challenge that Jeyamohan has undertaken. Those who know his work understand that he rarely abandons a cause once he has committed himself to it.

We therefore urge readers across the world to set aside their differences with Jeyamohan and support him in this historic endeavour. In nurturing literature, we nurture our language, preserve our culture, and honour the voices that define our shared heritage.

Dear Jeyamohan, Kamban stands with you.

Team Imbarvari

16.03.2026