Note: At the request of several people, I am reproducing below the afterword I wrote (at my then editor, Anita Roy’s urging) for my first short story collection, The Woman Who Thought She Was a Planet (published by Zubaan, New Delhi in 2008 and reprinted in 2013). Although today, in 2021, I would write it somewhat differently, perhaps add and emphasize some things, I stand by the key ideas expressed in it. (And I’ve added, for a bit of colour, a slapdash bit of art I did on Paint while I was thinking about an alien landscape. I make no claim to being an artist, however.)
A Speculative Manifesto
By Vandana Singh
At the dawn of time, the first humans told tales about ten-headed demons, flying chariots, and gods wielding thunderbolts. The earliest writings in almost every tradition are part of what we call imaginative literature or speculative fiction today. The modern descendants of the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Mahabharata are the genres of science fiction, and fantasy, including various sub-categories like magic realism, alternate history and slipstream. They are all stories about what cannot ever be, or what cannot be as yet. Such are tales set on other planets, or on rocket-ships; such are stories filled with impossibilities like faster-than-light drives and magic wands, and people who turn into animals.
But humanity has grown out of its childhood, as each of us grows out of it as individuals. Why not discard the old myths, legends, tall tales, and their modern counterparts, as we discard other childish things? Why not leave them for the children? Aren’t grown-ups supposed to read realistic fiction? What good are these wild tales, anyway?
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Antariksh Yatra 