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    I have talked with many, ordinary people, friends and strangers, readers, writers, administrators, politicians of all type, orthodox and modern, conservatives and optimistic ,children and grown up and people belonging to different regions and nations  speaking other languages. So the difference between nations, regions, castes, races, men and women does not exist to me. I can make friends with all. It is the benefit of a little travel, and reading. I like villages the best .because each one has its identity. But as for cities, almost all are alike for a visitor. I like small town for their individuality. But I prefer to live in a village, which I do according to my whims. I do not want to leave a friend ship. Born and bred in a suburban village, the imagery of my writing is dear to me, nothing acquired, but assimilated to my self.

I always ask myself, why should I write ?I can pass away my time like any other woman, working at home, and working for an earning, visiting relatives and friends, who have a little leisure time to share with me. But, I cannot. My mind is always full of thoughts not about my self but about the time and space I move. It has always surprised me that I go out of my native place and want to come back and settle down at my birth place, which I am lucky to do. I have worked as a teacher only in my native town. I have worked almost all years of service, where I had studied. I have worked with my teachers and my mother’s teachers as well. Throughout the whole life I was never disturbed of a shuffling. It does not mean I had no severe experiences. The experiences come from inside and outside. I feel I have a deeper social sensibility. That is why I accept an invitation to talk, to write something, not only fiction but other things too. I cherish all the memories of a girl.
Born into a compound family of several members, I can share my feelings and thoughts to others easily. I am lucky that my father who was hard working did never allow us to experience the pangs of poverty and hunger. Even at a time, when ration of food articles were scarce, we had enough to eat. It was during my higher studied I was in trouble for money, yet I came over.

About my home:
We are six children to our parents. I can remember that I saw my mother with a book on hand day and night, in the kitchen, in bedroom, on the veranda and the back premises of our peaceful home. She read anything. Be it a large sheet of news paper appeared as a wrapping of jaggery, chilies, fruits, crackers, sweet meats, clothes stationery articles, banana chips, halwa.ctc, She would spread the sheet of print on the dining table after lunch or dinner and smoother it out carefully not to scratch a word on it. , then roll it and take it to her bed room. to read and relax at the same time after heavy domestic cores. An d I shared the reading without disturbing her, winding up my talkative tongue. This we did first in days of my father, did not approve of much reading. According to him reading poetry or Ramayanam or such things was good. You could read news papers also. Reading fiction would spoil children, he thought in the early days. But when my writings appeared in Mathrubhumi, Deshabhimany, Janayugom he was pleased. And was happy to receive, my friends from the literary circle. There were only four or five books in my home as our own. Ramanan by Changampuzha, which was my mother’s private property, Ramayanam, Vadakkan paattukal. A book on Ayurveda, Periodicals, like Mathrubhumy, and Sanjayan Masika and a book on Chess. All of these were perused by us, very many times, until our luck appeared in the form of a book binder as our neighbour. He was there always, but he began to bind the library books belonging to the only library in the neighbourhood as a supplement to his small job in the town. Every weekend a bundle of books containing fifty numbers were brought by Balan Nair newly bound but with uncut edges not becoming by appearance, yet welcome to the readers. Once I wanted to see the same books in neatly cut and pretty form, but Balan   Nair did not oblige. I feel the smell of those books in shabby coats even today.

My paternal Grandma recited the folklore, Vadakkan Pattu every night, when she came to bed to get me rid off the horrible cry of a hyena from the hill on the back of the parental House. The hill was packed with cashew trees. I met with my characters since my early childhood. Who had stood in wait for me to Write about them in future days. All my characters came to me from life situations and experiences of my own.
My house visits with my Grandma in those days instilled in thirst to see more and more people who provided me with a variety of characters and their lives. The horse carriage took me to a relatives house, the pond and the river in which I used to bathe, the tall green thick cluster of bamboo thicket on the banks of  the  river, the long   tailed  white migrating bird hidden  in the thicket  the huge man hiding and looking out at the nude bathing girls, the boy gulped down the shell of a fish without knowing how to eat it, and the green seeds of the cashew nut in the wet spongy soil rising and looking out at those enemies, men or animal to eat them before they enter this world, the long waiting for the post man with packets of magazines, the great winds and showers, the monsoon entering the valley ravishing, the cry of the sheltered birds disturbed in their sleep made my mind full of emotions.. Thus I began to write for my sake only. Taking, into confidence, all things around me   and all people I know. I have a world to myself when I enter writing.
Family: Married, M. Appukutty, a teacher and colleague, who did always help on various trips and travels and both live at the same place during the whole of married life. And have two children:
First, daughter, Dr. M. A. Mini, A medical practioner, at Mukkom, Kozhikode,
Second, a son, living, and working in New York, as sr. software Engineer and consultant. Single, Son-in-law: Dr.K. Niña Kumar,.
Father, Kanangot Chandu, Mother: Eliparambath Padmavathy