1

Introduction

Translation turns an original text, or source text, into a different

language. Substituting 'source text' with text in another language is frequent.

Historically, translation has been called ‘the target text’. New ideas and

experiences become accessible through translation. With considerably diverse

linguistic backgrounds, substantially broadening viewpoints that would remain

completely unknown and this fact is obscured by the formidable barrier of

another language. Translated texts can never be ‘the real thing’ and therefore

they are naturally flawed. Translators are important because they play a key

role in overcoming linguistic, cultural, as well as social barriers for

monolingual speakers.

Human civilization predates translation. Language has been used by

humans to translate our thoughts and ideas since the beginning of civilization.

In order to convey or transfer an idea, thinking, or emotion to the person we

are speaking to, we employ a set of symbols or codes. Translation is present

here as well. We interpret every day in this manner. Our curiosity for the ideas

and emotions of people in far-off places has grown as human society has

developed. In order to translate the thoughts and ideas of people speaking a

different language into our own, we employed two sets of symbols and codes.

Translation as we see and use it now was born out of this today.

Translation history begins in the third century BC. Writers who

translated decrees into multiple languages enabled a large portion of the

empire's official business in the polyglot metropolis of Babylon in

Hammurabi's day (2100 B.C.). Our earliest authors in India were also

translators. Indian literature has been greatly influenced by free interpretations

 2

and adaptations of epics such as Ramayana and Mahabharata. Furthermore,

translations, adaptations, interpretations, and retellings made up the majority

of Indian literature up until the nineteenth century. Our understanding of the

world was expanded by the translation of literary works and knowledge

writings from Sanskrit, Pali, Prakrit, Persian, and Arabic on topics such as

medicine, astronomy, metallurgy, travel, naval construction, architecture,

philosophy, religion, and poetics.

The communicative process of translation involves the movement of

information across linguistic borders. Textual content is transferred from the

source language to the destination language through this method. The target

language (TL) is the language that needs to be translated into, and the source

language (SL) is the language that needs to be translated. A translator needs to

have a strong grasp of both the source and target languages in addition to a

high level of linguistic sensitivity in order to faithfully and accurately translate

the author's original ideas, intentions, and opinions into the target language

(TL).

The practice of translating speech or writing from one language to

another while maintaining as much of the original context, meaning, style, and

tone as possible is known as translation. It entails translating spoken or written

material from the source language into the target language while accounting

for idiomatic, linguistic, and cultural variations between the two languages.

Translation necessitates a thorough comprehension of the target and source

languages in addition to contextual and cultural quirks. It seeks to correctly

and successfully communicate the original message to the intended audience.

Computer algorithms can translate text automatically or manually, but human

 3

translation frequently yields more accurate and nuanced results, particularly

for complicated or culturally unique topics.

India is a multilingual nation where all regional languages coexist on

an equal footing, but English continues to dominate. Over time, English has

taken over as the sole language of communication in all political, business,

and educational matters, so it is crucial that we recognize both English and our

mother tongue in order to connect with both our local communities and other

cultural communities outside of it. This is where translation comes in,

enabling cross-cultural interaction and enrichment.

The Latin word translation, which itself derives from the words ‘trans’

and ‘latum’, which together indicate "a carrying across" or "a bringing across,"

is the source of the English word translation. To put it another way, it is the

process of transferring written content or messages from one text to another,

from one individual to another, and from one language (the source language)

to another (the target language). It can occur between languages or within the

same language (from one dialect to another or from one form to another). It is

best understood as a process of communication in which written material or a

message is transferred from one language to another.

Translators, however, frequently consider translation as

"interpretation," "taking a view," "bringing to life," or "transformation." Every

translation process entails the expression of sensibility, regardless of the

meaning. Although a translation is a text that is thought to be distinct from the

original (the source text), it is also true that the source and translated texts

have the same meaning. Translation is frequently described as giving a piece

of text a new look by transforming it into a different format.

 4

According to backwards orientation, the translated text must typically

maintain the original text's corresponding content. Semantic equivalence is the

term for this kind of equivalency. Semantic equivalence is frequently

insufficient when considering forward direction; instead, we require another

kind of equivalence that considers the translated text's style, degree of

formality, and the way its different parts hang together. The use of language in

a text is characterized by pragmatic equivalency. Therefore, when we claim

that the source and target texts are equal in translation, we imply that they are

comparable in both semantic and pragmatic meaning.

There have been translations for ages. They have played a significant

role in the creation and dissemination of writing conventions, the advancement

of national languages and literatures, the transfer of political power, influence,

and knowledge across national boundaries. Additionally, translations have

supported numerous scientific and diplomatic interactions; they are essential

for the creation of dictionaries, the spread of cultural values, and the expansion

of religions.

Leading linguist and renowned authority on translation, Roman

Jakobson, described translation as "the interpretation of verbal signs by means

of some other language." Texts in one language are converted into texts in

another with the same meaning through this translation process. These

resources include the discrete words of a language as well as the intricate web

of sentences seen in philosophical writings.

Translation is referred to as a science by some academics and as an art

or skill by others. Since all excellent translations are manifestations of the

 5

translators' creative impulse, it is referred to as an art. Similarly, because of

the intricate and technological procedures involved, it is a science.

When translating, a translator uses the forms and structures accessible

in the target language (TL) to replicate the meaning of a text that lies behind

its forms in the source language (SL). Although the form is altered, the

meaning, sense, or message stays the same. Though translators now use

computers to convert one language to another, humans still have a significant

influence on the final product. Computers cannot take the position of humans

when translating literary texts' metaphors, visuals, and emotional sensations.

There is more to translating than just consulting a dictionary for a few terms.

Translation cannot be limited to just one or two definitions. It is

flexible and contingent on the individual performing the translation. It varies

from culture to culture and from language to language. As a result, it is not as

simple as many believe. It keeps its individuality and originality while

attempting to be a distinct variation of the original.

When translating, a translator considers the text's lexicon, grammatical

structure, and cultural context in the source language to comprehend the

meaning it conveys. Then, using lexicon and grammatical structure

appropriate to the target language and its cultural context, the translator

transfers the same meaning to the text in the target language. Every precaution

is taken during this process to guarantee that significance is lost as little as

possible. It was often thought that one of the translators' biggest duties was to

remain true to the source material. However, the translator today takes some

latitude with the original language to allow for some adaptation or

modification in order to keep up with the essence or ethos of the original,

 6

given the proliferation of various cultures, languages, and political viewpoints

in a particular environment.

Translation has grown so important in the postmodern era that it is now

seen as a socio-cultural link between nations and groups. Individuals today

recognize the value of interacting and maintaining relationships with members

of other socio-cultural groups, both domestically and internationally. In light

of this, translation has grown in significance and meets the demands of the

person, the community, and the country.

The intermediaries between the source and destination languages and

cultures are translators. To keep the readers from losing the spirit of the

original, it is their duty to make sure that this connection between the familiar

language and culture and the foreign language and culture is appropriately

formed. Language translation provides access to hitherto unexplored linguistic

and cultural contexts. To meet the needs of the text in the source language, the

translator must also employ new words, phrases, and coinages during the

translation process. In doing so, the individual adds to the language's richness

and increased expressibility while also developing new vocabulary in the

target language.

By introducing the vast wealth of literature and cultures from other

countries, translation simultaneously fosters the development of regional

literature and culture. In addition to enhancing our own body of knowledge,

translating works by great global literary classics like Shakespeare, Homer,

Dante, Valmiki, Kalidasa, or more recent authors like Tolstoy, Dostoevsky,

Kafka, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, J. M. Coetzee, Pablo Neruda, Octavio Paz,

and others also improves the quality of our own local or regional languages.
 7

Most significantly, it allows the weaker, marginalized, and

disadvantaged groups of people - such as the impoverished, women, tribals,

dalits, minorities, the disabled, and others to have their views heard. They see

translation as a tool for empowerment since it allows people to communicate

their ideas, thoughts, and problems in a foreign language, reach a global

audience, and get their points understood.

In order to meet the needs of the local consumers, we must add a local

flavor to texts that are translated from foreign or alien languages into the local

tongue. We refer to this as domestication. Still, when translating a text from a

local language into a foreign or international language for a worldwide

audience, we must consider the cultural context in which we anticipate the

translated content to be accepted. We refer to this as foreignization. The age

group, degree of mental or intellectual maturity, and degree of exposure to the

translated content must all be considered when choosing the target

demographic.

Author Introduction

Janakiraman also referred to as Thi. Janakiraman or Thi Jaa was born

in Thanjavur, Tamil Nadu, in 1921. Being raised in a typical Tamil Brahmin

household, he was greatly impacted by the region's rich literary and cultural

legacy. His literary sensibilities were greatly influenced by Thanjavur, which

is renowned for its classical literature, music, and arts. His early exposure to

Carnatic music and Tamil literature had a big impact on his writing, which

frequently included musical themes.

Renowned Tamil author Thi. Janakiraman was well-known for his

realistic narratives, profound psychological understanding, and compelling

 8

character development. He was raised in a typical Brahmin household in

Tamil Nadu and became one of the most important authors of contemporary

Tamil literature at an early age. His writings frequently examined human

emotions, social mores, and the intricacies of interpersonal interactions, with

an emphasis on women's internal conflicts and men's philosophical dilemmas.

His novels and short stories were incredibly accessible and thought-provoking

because of the subtle humor, delicate emotions, and beautiful language that he

used to enhance his storytelling.

Mogamul (1973), Janakiraman's best-known novel, is still regarded as

a classic of Tamil literature. Unfulfilled love, artistic passion, and the sad

results of human wants are all explored. The novel demonstrates his capacity

to explore the psychological aspects of his characters, as do his other

well-known works such as Marappasu, Amirtham, and Sembaruthi. His works

are ageless because of his distinctive storytelling style, which blended

beautiful prose with profound philosophical overtones. His literary

representations of women were particularly notable because he defied

accepted assumptions and portrayed them as multifaceted people with goals,

weaknesses, and talents.

Janakiraman contributed to Tamil literary criticism and translated

works from other languages into Tamil in addition to creating fiction. His

writing was influenced by his deep knowledge of both classical Tamil

literature and Western literary traditions, which led to a unique blend of

modernism and tradition. His exposure to music, especially Carnatic music,

had a significant impact on his storytelling style as well, as shown by the

many musical themes and metaphors he employed in his works.

 9

Janakiraman led a modest and private life in spite of his literary

achievements. He frequently addressed morality, spirituality, and human

weakness in his writings because he thought that literature had the ability to

reflect and influence society. He received numerous distinguished honors for

his efforts, including the Sahitya Akademi Award for Mogamul in 1979.

Generations of Tamil writers have been influenced by his legacy, and his

writings are still often read and studied in Tamil literature classes.

His works, which are deeply rooted in Tamil culture but universally

relatable, continue to resonate with readers, making Janakiraman an enduring

literary figure whose influence transcends time. His richness of Tamil

storytelling is demonstrated by his ability to sensitively capture the nuances of

human emotions and relationships, solidifying his place among the greatest

Tamil writers of the twentieth century.

Considering his literary accomplishments, Janakiraman's academic

background is still quite modest. He received his early education in Tamil

Nadu before entering the government service and working for All India Radio,

which allowed him to travel widely and engage with a variety of literary and

artistic figures, which further expanded his perspective and gave his writings a

depth and realism that came from exposure to diverse cultures and ideas.

Janakiraman was noted for his deep psychological insight and realistic

storytelling. His writings generally revolved around human emotions,

relationships, cultural norms, and the psychological problems encountered by

individuals. He was exceptionally skilled at sensitively capturing the subtleties

of interpersonal interactions and human behavior.

 10

His depiction of women was one of his writing's distinctive features. In

contrast to how women are typically portrayed in literature, Janakiraman

showed them as multifaceted people with their own goals, feelings, and

challenges. His characters frequently found themselves torn between

traditional ideals and contemporary aspirations, which reflected the socio-

cultural shifts occurring in Tamil culture at the time.

In addition to writing novels, Janakiraman was a superb translator and

literary critic. He made important contributions to Tamil readers' access to

foreign literature by translating works from different languages into Tamil.

His in-depth knowledge of literature allowed him to evaluate and assess a

wide range of literary trends and movements.

Although Janakiraman hasn't published any in-depth biography, a

number of academics and admirers of literature have examined his writings

and life, which has helped us comprehend his literary brilliance. Essays and

research articles on his writing style, themes, and contributions to Tamil

literature have been produced by his admirers and contemporaries.

His writings also showed significant influences from Western literary

traditions and classical Tamil literature, resulting in a distinctive fusion of

philosophical and poetic narrative. His writing struck a deep chord with

readers because it was straightforward but profound and had a lyrical

character.

Works

Janakiraman wrote several acclaimed novels, each exploring different

aspects of human nature and society. Some of his most notable works include:
 11

➢ Mogamul – This novel is considered his masterpiece. It explores

themes of unfulfilled love, artistic passion, and the inner struggles of

its protagonist, who is torn between love and music. The novel remains

one of the finest examples of psychological fiction in Tamil literature.

➢ Marappasu – A poignant story about memory and human

relationships, exploring the fragility of human emotions and the impact

of time on personal experiences.

➢ Amirtham – This novel delves into the moral and ethical dilemmas

faced by its protagonist, offering a deep philosophical exploration of

life.

➢ Sembaruthi – A novel that reflects the changing social landscape of

Tamil Nadu, focusing on the personal struggles of its characters.

➢ Uyirthen – A novel that examines themes of rebirth, self-discovery,

and transformation.

Aside from novels, he was also a renowned short story writer. His

short tales, like his novels, were rich in emotional content and probed daily

human situations with amazing nuance.

Honors

Numerous distinguished honors were bestowed to Janakiraman

throughout his lifetime in recognition of his highly acknowledged

contributions to Tamil literature.

➢ Sahitya Akademi Award (1979): His work Mogamul earned him the

Sahitya Akademi Award, solidifying his status as one of the best Tamil

authors of his era.

 12

➢ Acknowledgement from Tamil Literary Circles: He was regarded as a

pioneer of modern Tamil literature, and his works were highly praised

in literary circles.

➢ Critical Acclaim: A number of his novels and short tales were

incorporated into university and college curricula on Tamil literature,

assuring that future generations of readers will continue to learn and

appreciate his works.

Death

After his death in 1982, Janakiraman left behind a wealth of literary

masterpieces. His contributions to Tamil literature are revered, and his

writings still serve as an inspiration and influence for contemporary Tamil

authors. His works of fiction, especially Mogamul, have been made into plays

and movies, which has increased their level of popularity. His writings are still

relevant today because of his profound psychological understanding, beautiful

narrative, and accurate depiction of human emotions.

The literature of Janakiraman is proof of the depth of Tamil

storytelling. He has gained a permanent position in Tamil literary history due

to his ability to convey complex human emotions in straightforward yet

profound stories. His writings are still read, discussed, and appreciated

decades after his death, making him a timeless literary personality whose

influence transcends time.

 13

Translation of Janakiraman’s Selected Short Stories

Mulmudi

“Are you giving us orders then?” When Kannusamy got up, the crowd

that had filled the hall also got

up.

“I will come sir!”

“I will come sir!”

“Sir! I'll be back, sir!”

A boy in the middle touched his leg and looked him in the eye.

Anukoolasamy suddenly pulled his leg.

“Oh, what is this boy?”

“Let them do it, sir who is going to get them like you? - Say with your

mouth that they want to be good, it will happen,” said Kannusamy.

Seeing that boy, all the other boys touched his leg and embraced him.

Anukoolasamy stood in a crouch.

“All this..?” Kannusamy interrupted before he pulled away.

“Anukoolasamy, you are a real Christian, I am not telling to your face, but for

thirty-six years without touching a stick, without trembling and saying a word,

if you are a teacher, then why can’t they bow down and pray to this deity?”

“Don't say that”

“I don't say it, the whole town says it. Am I sitting at the end of the

shopping street and investigating? Even a child born from one’s own womb

would have been hit at least once. They would have done something, yet even

that is not spoken about here! Who can be like this? In the place where the
 14

children and the god are celebrated, to these children, and even many more

children you gave the respect you give to human beings...”

The boys were bowing down as Kannusamy spoke. Anukoolasamy

could not open his mouth. When he opened his mouth, his voice seemed to

crack and his tongue seemed to slip.

“Shall I come... then?”

“Go ahead,” he opened his mouth with difficulty and closed it

immediately.

“Give orders to us too,” bowed the naayanakkarar. He could only nod

to that.

It took two minutes for the entire gathering to exit through the

doorway.

Two or three boys whispered, “Sir, let both the lamps stay here; we

will come and take them in due time” and moved on.

When he returned from the door, the hall was deserted. That emptiness

and heart-wrenching longing had come once before. The same quality that

came ten years ago when he left Louisa with her groom at home: the same

longing.

Both petromax as 'Bulls' were filling the void.

They left him alone. Tomorrow is Wednesday, but for him Saturday,

Sunday, tomorrow, the next day, the day after that is always Saturday and

Sunday from now on, can't go to school anymore. He is sixty years old, got a

break.

He sat on the swing. Seven or eight framed courtesy papers on the side.

A silver plate, a pen cost four rupees in the shop but this pen has no price here.
 15

Saying it was worth four lakhs or four crores would be meaningless -

somehow, both would feel the same.

Four-five rose garlands of coronation ribbons and silver thread were

rolled up.

Makimai stood holding both swing chains. Did not speak; She stood

looking at him. A view as if he got all these melodious rhythms and rustling

sounds. One minute. She, who was sipping him, quickly went to the door,

slammed the door, put the garlands one by one on his neck and stood looking

at his face about his shoulders.

“You didn't hit me either. You didn't even say word,” she said, resting

her head against his chest.

“It has been in the world for a while, and the easel came to the rain and

did not die. Do you want to beat and coach that time? Who can be corrected

by beating?”

“You don’t want to coach like a giant. Shouldn't you get angry at least

once for being there?”

“Will definitely come?”

“You want to show that outside.”

“That's why you have milkmaids and maids. Do I need another

coach?”

“Is it possible to not be beaten or scolded at school?”

“Yes I can!”

Looking ecstatic, he tugged at his mustache and asked, “Are you

having coffee?” Makimai moved and stood there.

 16

As she rushed inside it was as if her very soul was rushing into another

body. He looked up at the wall. That face with mulmudi was overflowing with

mercy. Four-five pictures away, another picture showed the same face hugging

a lamb.

What Kannusamy said is true. In thirty-six years of service he never hit

a single boy; He didn't speak loudly.

Naturally, he was like that, after Louisa was born, went to school, and

at the age of six was beaten by the teacher for doing some mischief. When the

teacher hit her with the scale, it hit the summer lump inside the shirt.... Dad!

Throbbing pulse that day! On seeing that, Anukoolasamy made a sad gesture.

He paid the price of his life for the sin of all; he paid for all generations

together.

That commitment has survived thirty-six years unscathed. If not, which

retired teacher has been brought home with a Melathalam?

They must have thought that yesterday's praise at school was not

enough, there were forty boys in his class they should have remembered it. It

was that meeting that happened today. They put it on garland by garland. Read

it to them word by word. From then on the verandah sounded the sound of

'Um', followed by a thump.

"What boy, all this?"

"Who else are we going to do it for, sir? Come sir," the big boy

standing like a nattamai called him. That Aarumugam was twenty-three years

old and had not finished school yet. He has been reading for a long time.

Otherwise, the world’s knowledge is vast. Anukoolasamy did not answer and
 17

obeyed his request. Otherwise he will start talking about other teachers. He

even said four words.

“Don't we know, sir? You didn’t say us to raise funds as you are going

to retire; didn’t wear gilt jewelry and take a loan; didn't take a loan by showing

a black card and shed the town's sin.”

He had to change the subject by sending him off by saying something

like, “Okay-get some water.”

He had to keep his mouth shut, but what he said wasn’t wrong. The

city has never shed sin, What if someone slaps, what if the name of debt is

slain? - All are the same. He never gave that violence either.

Naaranapayyar is also like him. Not much wife. A child, a girl. But

that man has come to a point where he has a debt on all sides, also owes

Kaalanaa no respect, from the textile shop to the coriander shop. Even in this

situation, Naaranapayyar was not idle. A relative who works in the office of

the director of education in the town said, 'You have been selected as one of

the examination officers this year. He had written a letter saying that the letter

would come officially in two weeks. When he saw that letter, he borrowed

fifty seventy-five from twenty people. The salary that is going to be available

for that job is about two hundred socham. In the end, the letter was lost. That's

it. Liquor shop Naidu cornered Naaranapayyar and snatched his bicycle, anger

from being deceived, is what plucked bigger? Who is driving the bicycle? The

Teacher! O Naaranapayyar, you are a disgrace to this race!

Can anyone outwit Bank Agent lyengar? The one who takes butter

from the stalled buttermilk! This Saminathan showed his sleight of hand to

him! Believing him to be a teacher, lyengar weighed the chain given by

 18

Saminathan and lent him three hundred rupees for nine pounds. Saminathan

may not speak. If they bring another chain on the fifteenth day, will they hand

over the money without even looking at it? Iyengar got up and said with a

smile while addressing the chain, “What is it, lyerwal! If a boy asks a question

in the school, we can hide our ignorance by saying 'see' more and preaching.

But will it work in the shopping street? I don't know right or what? Wait here,

I will call and come the priest.” Saminathayar had a stomach upset. Was there

no one to call the priest? By the time he was looking for something to say,

priest had arrived. “Constable” has also arrived. When they opened the

treasury room with those witnesses, the chain that I had given last time was

showing its teeth that 'I am brass'. Even at that time, the lyengar teacher

upheld the dignity of his lineage. Unknown to the third person, he had signed

over Saminathayar's sunken pit garden and left the man. Fortunately, constable

did not come in a police uniform and went with a dhoti shirt. No crowd; the

town stopped laughing.

The memory of four-five war still came to mind. Ramalingam scolded

a boy saying, “Stop! Retired; still it's a half quarter stomach meal. That day,

we collected money to our teacher.”

Makimai brought the coffee.

“What do you think? Eat. The heat is fine,” she said, reading out the

courtesy papers one by one, in the middle, she looked up at him with pride.

“Don't think about all that, they've told that I will cry if I can't come to

work anymore... sakkarai mittaayi.”

“I know, but everyone told the truth," said Makimai. "Your hand was

not stretched out; your voice was not raised.”

 19

“Th... Find the great truth”

“When they say talent, it’s true,” said Makimai, Isn't it difficult to get a

reputation without even a stick?

Anukoolasamy thought. That too turned out to be true. It seems that he

even has the right to be proud.

“There is no problem; the same can be the case with the milkmaid and

the companion. Does anyone who is humane, who is wise, trust in beating?”

“Not everyone can!”

“I have been,” he said.

“Sir!” A knock on the door was heard.

“Who?”

“It's me, sir?”

Makimai went and opened it.

“Sir, are you there?”

“Stay... Who? Is it Aarumugam, come!”

Aarumugam alone did not come. Another boy also came. He is a class

boy and also his mother, aged forty, forty two came. Nothing was there in

forehead, ears, nose, hand, Anukoolasamy stood up.

“What's going on, Chinnaiya?”

Aarumugam said, “Sir, This is Chinnaiyan’s mother.”

“Come!”

Aarumugam to bring someone means recommendation. A boy who has

not yet finished school at the age of twenty-three! He has a status like a

nattamai. Why have you come? Not even an exam paper!

“What Aarumugam?”
 20

“Chinnaiya wants to see you, sir!”

“What news... Chinnaiya?”

Chinnaiyan did not answer, but stood with his head bowed. It has been

half a minute after asking, but he cried without raising his bowed head.

“Tell!” said the mother.

Anukoolasamy stared.

The boy's face was nailed; Lip quivering.

Aarumugam said, “Say.”

“It has been throbbing for a year,” said mother.

“Has it been throbbing a year?”

“Yes, sir,” said Aarumugam. “Tell him that he can talk again, sir.”

“Tell me properly, I don't understand!”

Aarumugam looked at the mother and Makimai and said, “Sir has

forgotten it.”

“What am I forgetting?” Anukoolasamy thought and thought but could

not remember anything.

Aarumugam said. “Sir, last year, he stole English book on herbal

medicine and sold it to others at half price in the store. I caught it and brought

it to you.”

The boy whimpered and cried, “Be quiet,” the mother reassured him.

“Then?”

“You looked at him for a long time. You said, 'No one in our class has

ever done anything like this. No one should talk to him again.”

The boy did not stop crying.

 21

“We left him there, sir. No one spoke. Then we hold a party today

right? We collected money from one or two boys. He also came to pay one

rupee. We said no need. We said him not to come to the party. Then he left

without saying anything. Now, when I came here and went home, he was

standing with his mother in the veranda. His mother also said. So he came

crying,” he said chewing and swallowing in fear.

Anukoolasamy remembered that incident. But did we impose such a

severe punishment? He said something. But who should conduct it so strictly?

“Hey Chinnaiya, don't cry!” he said.

“Tell us we can talk to him, sir.”

“For a whole year, he hasn’t been his usual self. He used to always talk

with a smile. But now, he doesn't speak properly. He just says a word and

walks away. We can tell that something is weighing on his mind, you know?”

He hasn’t been talking properly with his sisters either. Only this evening, he

told us everything. At home they have gone to play. He said, only today we

can see the teacher. So I have come, you should be kind hearted.”

Anukoolasamy woke up with his hands caught. His heart was beating

like a worm.

“They said that they won’t accept him. Buy this with your own hands.

When everyone else does, don’t it hurt him...Give it,” said the mother.

The boy started crying. She handed him the rupee she was holding in

her hand.

“Buy it sir” pleaded Aarumugam

He accepted without speaking.

 22

“Very good boy, sir, that day he did without thinking. Then there is no

complaint sir, about him.”

“Tell me, what would you do if you had a big heart and didn't speak at

all? Little right!” said mother.

“I didn’t knew, that this boys will do this” he said.

“They did as you said,” said Makimai.

“That's right,” he smiled lightly. But it was actually his tears that came

out as a smile. Mulmudi, seen in the picture above, pressed his head once.
 23

Manam

The car stops at the opposite door. Looks like Vimala is coming back.

Did it end early today? I don’t see anything. She usually waves her left hand

and says ‘bye-bye’ while leaving, but I didn’t hear that voice today. Maybe

she is just about to leave… The film is releasing on Diwali, it seems.

She said with red eyes that it has been ten days since she slept at night.

Hmm, work and vigilance is like a star’s life. She says that the salary never

exceed three digits. It is unfortunate that she gave her head as a supporting

actress without a sidekick.

A soft voice said 'ma', in our house?

It was the same voice at the window again saying 'ma'.

‘Who?’

'It’s me?'

Neela put on the lamp.

'Who?’

It was Arulsamy...

'Is that your car?'

'Oh yes.'

'What?’

'Were you sleeping?'

'I just lay down and dozed off.'

'Damn it.'

'What?’

‘Open the door.’

Confused about what to say to send him away, Neela opened the door.
 24

I saw you were asleep.' Arulsamy came in.

'What?

‘Get ready to Leave.’

‘Where?’

'To the North Hotel.'

'No need.'

'Why no?'

Not feeling well, shooting starts in the morning. They are going to

perform a puja.'

‘When are they doing it?’

‘Early morning.’

'There’s Rahukalam until nine tomorrow. They will only start after

that. In the meantime, take a couple of naps, take a bath and eat a lot before

going.'

‘Hmm. I don't want to.’

‘Listen.’

‘There’s nothing to listen.’

‘Ugh…’

‘Not feeling well.’

‘Five hundred ma’

'Five hundred?'

'Yes.'

‘Who.’

‘Someone. Not an ordinary person. That's all I know, get up. Get ready

fast,’ he said, taking it from the bag and handed it over.

 25

She bought it like a machine. Three hundred rupees she stood up.

'We can collect the balance there.'

Without speaking she locked it in the box. Washed her face with water.

She took the big comb from the table and combed her hair. She took the cream

and rubbed it on her face with her finger and applied the powder.

She changed her saree. She changed her blouse. She dabbed the excess

powder on her face with a handkerchief to fix it.

She popped two multi-vitamin pills into her mouth and swallowed. She

went inside and closed her eyes for ten seconds to the picture of Murugan,

which was tilted downwards. She came out.

She looked up at the clock on the stand. It was eleven fifty.

'It's been so long.'

'It’s okay, ma.'

'Ugh. There’s a puja in the morning.'

'Can we come back by five o'clock?'

'Hmm' she could only sigh deeply.

She locked the door, pulled the lock four five times and got into the

car. The car left, turned at the corner.

A couple of shops were open. One or two rickshaws were crawling

silently. A bus carrying people who had watched an English film passed by.

Five hundred rupees? Who was it? The three-month rent can be thrown

away tomorrow. She could also pay off the loan shark. He said in the auction

company. The sofa set made from that mattress costs seventy two rupees, she

could buy that too... why... unnecessary expense? She could deposit it at the
 26

post office. It cannot be taken for twelve years. Is the third round still not over

here? Vedavalli is smiling on the advertisement card - Vedavalli...

What does the name Vedhini mean? It is an unusual name. So what if?

She entered as a friend after a month and is now a star. They say she has

signed contracts for seven movies.

Not a moment's rest... Is she really beautiful? Not beautiful at all... A

triangular face, even the nose is a bit round nose... Even her walk is not

straight. Her leg slightly turned outward as she walks. Luck.

The car swerved into the hotel, curving to a halt in front of a small

stand-alone inn.

'Shall we get off?'

'Let's go down.'

The croaking of frogs was heard somewhere. Other than that there is

no sound in the air. It was a bit cold too. The coolness from the rain. A little

light in the front of the hotel and a couple of rooms. Everywhere else is dark.

Neela got out of the car.

What is the hotel, a large hall, that's all? One table, two or three chairs,

and two beds. What huge mattresses! They were as bulky as cement sacks –

could they even be called mattresses? She looked in the mirror. The faucet and

washbasin sparkled... the light dazzled. It must have been more than a hundred

watts; if the ceiling were higher it wouldn't be hanging so low. The eye

doesn’t blink.

Someone entered.

‘Came?’

‘Yes.’
 27

All four windows and doors were shut. Let them stay shut. It is good

for cold. An unexpected chill, an untimely cold. If cold water settled on her

head all of a sudden, and if she caught a cold and sneezed on the first set itself

tomorrow... Would anyone wait for a star to get better? If Neela couldn’t make

it, there were plenty of replacements for this friend role.

‘Shall I come in?’ the man asked.

'Hmm' said Arulsamy.

‘Shall I bring the car?’

‘Why?’

‘Okay.’

'Alright go ahead'

Arulsamy left.

The frogs continued to croak persistently. Hearing that croaking, it was

as if the darkness was chewing on the sun and the light of the day.

She sat on the bed and looked around. When she exhaled, it sank down

softly. It was a high bed. Not even a moan. She touched it. It was Velvet. Like

a cat, like a banyan leaf...

'Can I come ma?' Arulsamy asked and came in.

'Where are you?'

'At the entrance.'

'Okay.'

'Dad' he suddenly shook his hand. His hand hit the lamp, making its

way back and forth. It kept on swinging. And then, that's off.

‘What?’

'Something bit. Maybe ant or something.'

 28

'The light’s gone too.'

'Hold on. I'll turn on the switch. '

I heard a ticking sound seven or eight times. No light came.

‘Seems like it’s a fuse issue... Wait I’ll check the bulb.’

The light flickered on and off two or three times.

'It’s definitely the fuse, ma... Let me go to the manager and get a new

bulb,’ he said and ran out. She was afraid to touch the bulb. However, Neela

bravely waved. No use. Darkness wrapped around her. She sat looking at the

wall. The velvet parting was smooth. She came out. Who? Is that Arulsamy?...

Yes.

‘What?’

'The manager took the storeroom key with him. Only the assistant is

here.'

‘So?’

‘Why don’t you take some other bulb from somewhere?’

'Where can I get one, ma?... I looked around. Everywhere it’s just tube

lights. There are two even in the corridor. We would need a ladder to remove

them...hmm.'

‘What a great manager! Taking the storeroom key with him?’

‘He usually leaves it behind. Look at us for today.'

‘What to do now?’

‘What can we do... hmm?’

'Hmm' Neela sighed deeply.

"Should I at least go to the manager’s house taking the car?"

 29

'Yes now. Searching his house, searching for him... enough. That's

what I said then.'

'Ugh.'

'This is it... I told you then... Looks like someone is coming.'

'Seems like them. Should I leave now?"

'Don't take the car and go off for a ride somewhere.'

‘No no... You go inside... It’s quite chilly out here.’

'I'm going, I’m going...' Neela went back inside.

A minute passed. Two figures were seen at the doorway.

One asked, ‘So, are you coming?’ The other replied, ‘Alright.’

‘The lamp's gone out.’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm... Okay, go on,’ the figure faded into the darkness. The other

entered inside. The door closed. The sound of the latch was heard.

Hmm... ma! What a scent!

She took a deep breath, trying to catch the fragrance.

Oh my!

No trace of that harsh alcohol smell, but something like

magizhampoo... like sandalwood... like rose... all blended together... Wow!

What a fragrance!

They say it's a perfume from Kannauj. It sat comfortably in her

memory—a lingering scent. Soft and continuous, without a break. It felt like it

was filling her throat and neck with each breath.

The car swiftly turned at the gate and came out onto the street. Even

the few shops that were open earlier were now closed. On the sidewalk,
 30

covered with a thin, dirty rug as if loosely woven, laid a boy, probably around

ten years old.

He was sprawled out, fast asleep. Next to him, a small child was also

sleeping. A rickshaw slowly moved down the wide, empty road, carrying

someone. When would we reach home? In five more minutes, we'll be home.

As the car went around a bend, the fragrance of coral jasmine filled the

air.

"Turn on the interior light."

Click.

Stacks of ten, twenty-five rupee notes. She took out only three,

wrapped the rest in the end of her saree, and tucked it securely at her waist.

A foul smell wafted from the sewage pumping station.

The car turned off the main road and onto a curve. The scent of paneer

poo (Indian roses) drifted from the bungalow up ahead. Another Turn.

The car stopped.

"Here you go."

Arulsamy took the note and tucked it into his shirt pocket. What if he

saw how much?

As soon as the door closed, the car sped away.

Neela opened the door, stepped inside, and switched on the light.

She looked at the wall clock. It was three. It seemed like he had aged

ten. The flesh on her shoulders was sagging away from her bones. A single

vein... laughing and laughing... Why do all of them talk like this…but to speak

like that, after being so educated?

What a fragrance! A lingering, tireless scent.

 31

Even her saree had absorbed a faint trace of that smell.

The hot water was lukewarm. She took a sip.

She lay down.

How do they earn so much money! Does it come in thousands every

day? Otherwise, how could they pour it out so easily without a second

thought!

Her mind felt light, a bubbling joy within. She got up, switched on the

light, opened the cupboard, and ate the two remaining Mysore pak pieces and

the kadamba bajji.

She was hungry. After drinking two glasses of water, her stomach felt

full. She took two betel leaves, chewed them slowly. Lay down. Naadabindu

Kalaadhi...

Peace, Happiness. There are good people in this world. There will be

ten misers. There is at least one generous soul somewhere... Sleep is coming.

At five o'clock, the milkman would come. Then, every half an hour,

that girl would keep waking her up. In the third round of sleep, she finally

woke her up by pouring hot water and getting everything ready.

It was six thirty-five. After making coffee, brushed her teeth, drank the

coffee, took a bath, got dressed, and was combing her hair when she heard the

sound of a car stopping at the gate.

Who’s getting down? Bhavani?

"Just now you're combing your hair? We’re getting late."

"I'm ready now."

"You can braid it on the way. Let's go. We need to pick up Urmila too.

That too we should leave by seven-thirty. The producer is very strict. Come
 32

on, we can braid it there. Don't worry. I'll do it for you. Let's go; it's seven

eighteen already."

"In this way."

"Come on," Bhavani pulled and pushed her along. Neela locked the

house and got into the ‘van’.

The chief guest for the opening ceremony arrived just after nine-

fifteen.

What is this?

"For such a traditional producer, did he really find someone like this to

inaugurate the event?"

What a sight!

That very sight drew everyone's gaze. They say he's highly educated. A

lot of money. Yet, no one seemed to have noticed his appearance. Everyone

shook his hand one after another. Alas! The director cleverly bent down and

paid his respects. If he wasn't smart, would he have been able to gather so

much loose change and make a film that people watched ten times?

After the puja, the chief guest spoke. “...I heard the story. I even

listened to some conversations. Excellent story... Excellent dialogues… At a

time when the world lies in darkness, this film is like a new light. Not just for

other film producers but for the people as well. It will be a guiding beacon.

In this day where virtue and morality are crumbling, in this day when

the word God is swatted away like a worm sticking to a shirt, in this day

where the quiet peace is being shattered in the society, I am confident that this

film will instill faith and moral values in people's hearts. Especially for the

women who, in the name of modernity, are lost without direction, unable to
 33

distinguish between good and bad, this story and its dialogues will provide

them with a firm foundation. When producers are running around claiming

that only the indecent stuff sells, a film with such a new vision, one couldn't

help but admire the courage and idealism of this producer who has embarked

on such an endeavor.

May Murugan grant success! ‘Long live this effort...’

After the vote of thanks, the ceremony concluded. The first half-minute

‘take’ was completed.

Fruits, betel nuts, and betel leaves were distributed.

The producer introduced the chief guest to everyone.

The manager shook his hand. The music director shook his hand too.

How were they able to do it without hesitation! The heroine, Maya, was the

first to be introduced.

Then the producer continued introducing all the other actors one by

one.

‘Umabhai.’

‘Ramani.’

‘Usha.’

‘Kandasamy.’

To everyone, the elder merely lifted his hand. He couldn’t fully extend

his fingers. His index finger was bent. A bend that would never straighten

again. What about just the index finger? All his fingers were like that.

‘Bhavani.’

‘Neela.’

What a scent!
 34

‘Oh my.’

Something like the fragrance of magizhampoo (Indian bullet wood

flower)... like sandalwood... like rose... all blended together... Ah! What a

scent.

It felt like a stone had dropped into her stomach. Neela took a deep

breath. That gentle fragrance... it was the same scent. Was it the same? The

same... No. A man like that wouldn't speak like this.

The man moved away.

"Why wouldn't he speak? It's people like him who speak..."

He's coming back... it's the same scent... What a strange feeling… Her

nose twitched... her cheeks and forehead were sweating... The same... No...

This scent is different. Never encountered it anywhere before... The same...

Thin... Aged feeling if touched...

If seen... How old could he be? Forty, Fifty, Sixty, A hundred years…

No age itself had perished. So awkward! So much...

Sin!...

A whiff of incense lingered in the air. Like funeral incense... hmm...

The bouquet in his hand... Maru, Javanthi, Arali, Iruvatchi, Rose...hmm...What

odors...!

It was that same man...!

Lunch was served at the studio itself. Neela washed her hands

thoroughly with soap before returning.

Her appetite was gone.

"Idly and coffee is all just bland mush...!" The voice came from the

leaf in front of her—it was Bhavani.

 35

"Hey…Neela... Why aren’t you eating?"

"My stomach feels off... feeling nauseous."

"You didn’t even stand in the sun. Didn’t sleep well last night, huh?"

‘Mm.’

"Then? will be bile."

The laughter and chatter from the dining area sounded distant, as if

coming from far away.

Neela was staring at something while coming in the car.

"Neela, why are you so quiet?"

"Nothing."

"Shall we stop and get some ginger beer? It might help."

"No need, Bhavani."

"Have a Headache?"

"Yeah."

Bhavani touches and looks.

The car stopped. Bhavani came in and told her to lie down on the bed

"Take care of yourself... Should I get you some hot water?" Bhavani

asked.

"No need, Bhavani. I'll be fine if I rest for a while... You go on. The

car's waiting."

"I’ll send the car away and leave later."

"No need. I'll just sleep for a bit. You go ahead."

"Alright... Shall I come by this evening then?"

"Come if you can. Don't trouble yourself over this."

"What's wrong with you, Neela? Why are you talking like this?"
 36

"Okay come."

"Shall I come then?"

‘Okay.’

"I'll come in the evening. Lock the door properly."

Her stomach churned, nausea rising... She rinsed her mouth and wiped

her eyes.

She locked the door and lay down.

The same…

No. Just the smell...?

She stood before her mother's photograph. It was her mother, indeed

she closed her eyes. If not, would her father have brought her to the city? In

the temple, Thiruppugazh and Thevaram would always resonate as usual for

him.

But what did coming here change? Six months since she arrived, and

everything feels tainted. The same mouth that recited Thiruppugazh, the same

voice that chanted Thevaram... But now, it has become twisted. Was she sent

here to study? Where was this feeling when she was studying? Did it even

notice the person lying unaware of the covering cloth? It only calculated when

he might leave.

The same...!

She touched her ear and checked. She touched her nose. Her palm

itched. She tossed off the saree, scrubbed herself vigorously with carbolic

soap, and took a long bath. She put on the saree again. She stood there, feeling

dizzy, as if gripped by a strange madness.

"The same smell. But the same...? No... No."

 37

She stood before the picture of Murugan hanging slightly tilted on the

wall, looking up at it.

"The same... It's the same smell... The same... Was it him? No... no,

But it was him... Thin, old... His skin felt rough to the touch... No... If it was

him."

She stood there, frozen as if she had seen a ghost.

Why did the lamp go out? Did it go out on its own? Or on purpose...

Could Arulsamy have deceived her too? Why did the manager take the key?

Did he take it?... Arulsamy said he'd go to the car and bring the key... What if

he didn't come back in time?

Was it really him?... No... But if it was? Neela looked at her mother's

photograph. She stared blankly into the void. Her chest tightened with a heavy

sob. Her throat ached. Tears welled up. She gripped the window bars. She bit

her lip. But the sob broke through, escaping from her lips.
 38

Sivappu Rickshaw

I couldn't breathe. Sweat poured down like a river. My shoulder blades

ached as if they were being squeezed. I couldn’t even shift hands. The bag in

my hanging hand felt heavy, and the person behind me kept pushing and

crushing me. The entire tram reeked of sweat and heat. The so-called "peak

hour" was stuffing four times the people into a single vehicle, crushing and

squeezing them. Looking at the exhausted faces, the weariness, and the sweat

of those flying home after a long day's work, I could see time itself standing

before me in this monstrous form. Oh god! Just three more stops. Then I could

get off and breathe fresh air. The woman standing next to me would also find

her freedom. I knew-her house was three doors down from mine, on the

opposite street. Sweat dripped from her, her body swayed unsteadily, and the

flower in her hair wilted and drooped. What fatigue! What suffocation! How

unbearable!

Suddenly, her eyes burned with fire. Her nails dug into the forearm of

the young man pressing against her. They dug deep, tearing into his flesh.

Blood oozed out. No, blood gushed out. Bright hibiscus-red blood; Fresh

young blood.

The god and I only looked at his face. He bit his lip. He closed his

eyes, and gasped. He moved forward, stumbled. The two people in front of

him shifted closer together. I couldn't see him anymore.

The woman wiped the blood from her fingers. I looked at her nails.

Just ordinary nails. But how much rage was in that single finger!
 39

She looked around. She looked at me. I was staring off somewhere,

deliberately. She bent down and gazed out the window. How much anger!

How much pain!

"Sh, it's unbearable! So stuffy! And why is it moving so slowly?" she

complained.

"If they add another rickshaw, it might be better," said a young girl

sitting nearby.

"Even in that rickshaw, they’d probably cram ten more people," the

woman laughed.

What kind of laugh was that? Just like that? Didn’t that same finger,

which had just burned with rage, send a message to those pearl-white teeth?

As soon as my stop came, I got off.

"Thank God!" I wiped my face.

"Oh my! My toes are completely crushed," she muttered as she got off.

"Looks like the blood is still flowing," I said. She suddenly turned,

looked at me, and smiled.

"I don’t think anyone else noticed."

"What else can I do, sir? This is my final year of school. After that, I'll

go to college. Whether it's a B.A., M.A., or whatever, I have to pass and make

something of myself. I didn't ask for a seat the moment I got in. I was ready to

stand. So what if I didn’t say anything?"

"What exactly did he do?"

"He kept pressing against me. Fine, it’s understandable if the crowd is

tight, but why did he have to breathe down my ear? He was checking to see if

my earing swayed when he blew on it; and he touched me. Going to school is
 40

a struggle. Coming back is another struggle. There’s no way to stand.

Shouldn’t he understand all this? And yet, he had to act smart?"

"Well, he didn’t say a word and slipped away!"

"If a thief gets stung by a scorpion, will he scream?"

"Oh no! If I had been pinched like that, I would have collapsed on the

spot and lost my life."

"I didn’t pinch you, sir. If I had, wouldn’t you have published some

news about it? After all, you’re the assistant editor."

"How do you know that?"

"I've only been studying in Madras for a year. Who lives upstairs and

who the neighbors are – To know about all this shouldn’t I get along for at

least four more years?"

I smiled, too much wisdom for her age.

"We live here, sir. Come and go, sir" she said as we reached her house.

I couldn’t refuse. I went in.

"Have a seat, sir, Daddy, Daddy!"

"What is it, ma?" a voice came from upstairs.

"Come down for a bit, Daddy."

Her father came down wearing a vest, glasses, and holding a book with

his fingers inside it as a bookmark.

"Namaskaram"

"Namaskaram"

"Do you know him, Daddy?"

"Hmm…Looks familiar."

"I am living here, right across the street."

 41

"Oh! Is that so?"

"Sub-editor, Daddy! The newspaper you're holding - he works there."

"Oh, is that so? That’s wonderful!"

"You both keep talking, sir. I’ll be back in a moment," the girl said and

went inside.

They had moved to Madras a year ago. Their hometown was

Chidambaram. Her father had retired as a Tahsildar two years ago. They had

many children ranging from a year old to four years, six months, and everyone

passed away. The last incident happened last year. Time had taken away their

eldest son, who was studying in college. Not liking to stay in their village, he

had brought along one of his daughters and his wife and settled in Madras.

"That girl has big dreams. Says she wants to study up to an M.A. If

not, she says she'll become a doctor. I’ve left it up to her."

"Here you go, sir," the girl said, bringing coffee.

"Why ma? I need to go and drink at home too"

"It's okay, sir."

"Is it okay? Fine, why bothering yourself?"

"Does he know you’re a troublemaker?" her father asked, widening his

eyes.

I laughed.

"Why did you hit someone?"

"I didn’t hit, I pinched, till the blood dripped."

"What?"

"Yes, I stood quietly. But he came and blew into my ear. So I dug my

nails into him and pinched. He slipped away without making a sound."
 42

"A brave girl, sir"

"Brave, sir? Is it really bravery, or is it just a struggle?"

"What struggle do you have? If needed, I’ll take care of it. Can my

father come with me every morning? Tell me, sir. I want to study medicine.

I’ll have to perform surgeries. Can I be afraid of hitting someone?"

"Who did you hit?"

"That was a month ago, sir. He kept pressing against me. No matter

how crowded it is; people can still stand respectfully. Doesn’t he know that? I

slapped him hard, again and again. But he was a cunning fellow. He said,

‘Forgive me, I won’t think wrongly of anyone again,’ acting all noble and got

off. Lies, all lies, I knew it."

"Hmm, Rama! Only God can protect you. That makes it two times

now. Don’t do this again, dear. No matter what…"

"Like a scared little doll, is that it? This is the courage I have. If a man

had hit him, he would have grabbed him by the collar. But when I hit him, he

just muttered something and got off."

Rukku was speaking like a warrior queen.

“Can we live in fear forever? My father is always afraid. He was

scared that the accountant would file a petition. Scared that he would report

him to the revenue inspector or the deputy collector. Afraid that the landlord

would demand a bribe. He spent his whole life fearing everything until,

finally, he retired. Here after until I retire he would be scared.” The way she

made her final remark and how her father laughed still echoes in my ears.
 43

Today, there is no tram. Even the tracks have disappeared. No ear-

piercing noise, no irritating racket. The once bustling streets, which used to

sound like a blacksmith's workshop, are now so peaceful.

What a waste! Ration shop closed too?

Rukku is studying in college now. Is this the same old Rukku? So

much change! A soft orange nylon saree!

A border wide enough to gather flowers, a blouse so tight that her arms

looked pinched. A figure that had gained grace and charm, like a blooming

Bangalore sunflower, radiant and full of life.

No way! Is that Rukku?

Since when did she get a car?

A small blue car. Rukku was sitting in the back seat. The young man

driving must have been around twenty-two.

I was waiting for a bus to Mambalam. The guy driving raised his hand

from the steering wheel and greeted the two young men standing next to me

with a casual "Hello!" as he drove past.

"Hello! See you! Good luck! Greeted him, one of the guy standing

next to me.

Rukku! No doubt about it. It was our Rukku!

The same Rukku who once said, "Do you need four more years to

know your neighbors?"

“He’s a lucky man who gets new friendship.”

"Who? I didn’t get a clear look?" said the guy with soda-bottle glasses.

"Our Ganapathi, M.C. Ganapathi."

"M.C.G huh? Okay, okay but who was with him?"

 44

"With him? She danced at the Bharathi function. Inter Rukmini."

"Is that Rukmini?"

"Why are you so startled? Is she related to you?"

"No relation, nothing like that, Just that… she was a really good girl."

"Good girl? Hah! Wild horse, more like it. Wouldn’t even look up

properly."

"Then?"

"Weren’t even the most unruly horses like Pancha Kalyani and

Neelaveni eventually tamed? Didn’t they all find their Desingu Raja?"

Rukku? Our Rukku? Is she wandering like this? With an unfamiliar

face. Friendship with him. Laughing with him. Congratulating him. How

much has she changed! They say she performed a classical dance. Is she

telling a different story now? Perhaps that’s where this boldness might have

started. After giving birth to and raising many children, the only thing left was

a mere pittance for charity.

Has the blood that dripped on the tram floor dried up and clotted?

My blood boiled. Sacrificing children like mere stones? If the hearts

that nurtured them with love and care saw this, heard this, how they would

burn to ashes! What a cruel, undeserved punishment for having faith! One

thing remains; even that has been buried.

The sewage that falls into the Ganges becomes the Ganges; but the

Ganges water that falls into the sewage remains sewage. What magic has

Madras done! If even Rukku has been dragged into this?

 45

Bitterness was never just bitterness. As representatives of flesh, as

representatives of humiliation, as embodiments of irresponsible sins, the two

students were rambling on. Why did poets and philosophers emerge? This

youth reads everything and turns it into a mere shell, what for? To ruin

themselves as the embodiment of intoxication, as an uncontrollable frenzy of

blood? I listen to their talk like a tolling bell. How dull! How uncivilized!

What thoughtless, irresponsible cruelty! Apart from flesh, jobs, and status,

what else do they even believe in? Even that so-called respect seems absent!

They congratulated the one who left in a car, but why didn’t they care that the

person beside them was listening? How disrespectful! How arrogance! Is this

the arrogance of education?

Yes, it is the pride of education, the kind that blinds people. It has

blinded even Rukku. An education that doesn’t even teach one to stand with

dignity and self-respect on the street. An education that has swallowed Rukku

whole.

Unable to bear the students’ ramblings, I wrinkled my face in

frustration and moved away. My heart pounded.

While traveling on the bus, my chest felt heavy. How unjust it is to

parents! How indifferent to the world! Does Rukku really need this kind of

education? Who cried out that she must do an M.A.? That she must become a

doctor? Does the world sink into chaos?

On my way back, I glanced at Rukku’s house. As always, he was

reclining on the chair on the veranda, leaning back comfortably. I felt anger

rising within me. And they say he is afraid! If he were truly afraid, would he

be lounging like this with his legs stretched out in ease? Such a Trust?
 46

Nonsense! You just keep leaning back comfortably. Without even realizing it,

a hand is going to push you down from behind with a sharp blow, the same

hand that once pinched, making blood gush out.

When he entered and washed his face, Rajam said, "Rukku had come."

"When?"

"Just now, about five minutes ago."

"What was the occasion?"

"Nothing special. She just came by to see you. She said if possible, you

should come over. It's nothing urgent. If he doesn’t come, she said, she will

come in the morning."

What is this now?

"Didn't she say anything else?"

"No!"

Even at dinner, I couldn't concentrate. I just scooped up the food and

went.

"What’s wrong, sir?"

"Come in, come in, Rukku! Rukku!"

"What dad?"

"Are you eating?"

"Yes."

"Sir is here."

"Is that Sub-editor sir?"

"Yes."

"Here I am, Sub-editor Sir!"

"What?"
 47

"You have to sit for a while. Only two handfuls of buttermilk rice were

left, and now even that’s over. I've finished eating. I've washed my hands. I've

wiped them dry."

The Tahsildar looked at her with a blossoming smile.

"Have you eaten, sir?"

"Yes, I have."

"Does anger subside after eating?"

"What is this?"

"I know, sir."

"What do you know?"

"I got off at Pandi Bazaar. Your face didn’t look good. It looked

swollen, shriveled, like a calf with burn marks."

"Did you go to Mambalam?"

"Don’t you know? You were the one who saw me!"

"Saw what?"

"That I went by car."

"When? Oh!... in the evening? Yes, I saw."

"Alright, Alright. But how did you know I was going to Mambalam?

You wouldn’t have known that."

"I saw you in the car. But I didn’t know where you were going."

"Even as I was heading towards Ranade Hall, I kept watching you

through the back window. The anger, irritation, thirst, and pain you felt were

all evident. After I crossed Ranade Hall, your face disappeared from sight."

"You’re just saying something for the sake of it; anger, irritation,

pain."
 48

"Haven’t you ever felt irritated? Without playing all these tricks, I

thought the Sub-editor would report the news as it is!"

I couldn’t help but laugh.

"I came looking for you, thinking the Sub-editor might have twisted

things. Mami said you hadn’t come yet."

"Oh, she said that? That’s why I came immediately."

"That’s why I asked if your anger had subsided after eating."

"Going in circles… You came and…"

"What’s this, Rukku? Like a worn-out gramophone record?" the

Tahsildar interrupted with a laugh.

"Alright. I’ll explain, sir. I was waiting at the Sanskrit College bus stop

to go to Mambalam. If I had as little money as you, I would have climbed onto

the bus and clung to it with whatever change I had left."

"Oh my, oh my, oh my!"

"Be quiet, dad. What’s bothering you? That’s how it is said for

newspaper people. If a minister speaks, they’ll print it exactly as it is. The one

who presided, the one who spoke after, they’ll squeeze all the names together

like people crammed into a peak-hour bus. Then they’ll just write, he, him,

they, converting everyone into ‘dignitaries.’ That’s how it goes. It’s your wish.

I was just standing at the bus stop? I stood there for three minutes. Suddenly, a

small new car stopped right in front of me."

"Hey, are you coming? He asked sweetly. A hefty guy, doing his B.A.

Where?" I asked. He said I was going to Mambalam. Wherever you

need to go, I’ll drop you off. I replied, "I’m also going to Mambalam." He

opened the front seat door. But instead of sitting there, I quickly opened the
 49

back door and sat in the rear. I couldn’t bring myself to sit in the front, but I

also didn’t want to refuse and not sit at all.

I couldn’t say, "Let me get down," either, it all happened too fast. He

drove the car straight home. "Are you staying in Mambalam?" he asked. "No,

in Mylapore," I said. He asked for my address. I asked, "Nice car! Did you

buy it new?" That was all. He was so happy; he drove off like a race car.

I saw you near Luz. The car sped up even more. I thought you were

going really fast. Just when I wondered if this was the speed, it started flying

even more; overtaking buses, cars, and everything else, and in the blink of an

eye, we had already reached Mambalam. When we reached Power House, I

said, "I have to get down here." Tell me where your house is, I’ll drop you," he

insisted.

"No, this is fine," I replied. "Alright," he said, opening the door. I got

down, saying, Thanks. "Where in Mylapore do you stay?" he asked. I casually

replied, "Five-three, Rangappa Mudaliar Street." I wasn’t sure if such a street

even existed. Let him search all over Mylapore and bump into something. Let

him burn with frustration. With a casual wave of his hand, he drove off. I was

left with two anaas in my pocket. I went and met Aththanga, then immediately

returned. That’s why I came looking for the Sub-editor, to tell him all this.

"Has your anger cooled down now?" Rukku asked with a smile.

"Why would I be angry?"

"Oh, come on, sir. I know."

"Whether or not you got angry, sir, I certainly did!" My father scolded

me. "If he called you, you should have just said, 'No, thank you!' and stayed
 50

quiet. But instead, you gave that donkey a chance, and now look where it's

led!"

“It sounded strange. I also got on in a strange way. It was like tying a

tin can to a donkey’s tail, it flew around wildly without any sense of direction.

Anyway, what did it matter to me? I managed to hold rendanaa.”

“Whatever, I don’t like this. What if some problem comes up

tomorrow?”

"I'll handle it. You’re the one who called him a donkey, right? A

donkey has no sense. It only acts; then gets kicked. Tomorrow, he’ll go

searching all over the world for Rangappa Mudaliar Street. Maybe he’ll end

up in some number fifty-three, asking around. If they say anything, he’ll take

it up. If he made a mistake, then we’ll see about it. In times when money is as

rare as a donkey’s horn, I was barely managed to hold two anaas, and for that,

he wouldn’t even say a simple 'Right-O,' sir," said Rukku, pouting like a child

in frustration.

"Look at this, sir" the Tahsildar laughed uncontrollably. Who wouldn’t

laugh, listening to Rukku’s talk?

Even I felt a bit embarrassed. How angry we had been! How quickly

had our sense of calm abandoned us? Rukku understood our weaknesses so

well! Every action of hers had a meaning, a thought behind it, why had it

never occurred to us?

When I got home, I felt a deep sigh of relief. It was like being freed

from an eclipse that had gripped my mind. A good rain had poured down,

washing away all doubts and burdens from my heart.

 51

Rukku can handle anything. She can tie a tin can to the tail of manhood

like a donkey and enjoy the spectacle. She can make them scurry like mice,

hiding in fear. She can make them dance like monkeys. She has a rough

nature. But once she starts speaking, her words strike unexpectedly; sharp and

piercing, hitting like a foolproof punch.

Just looking at her brings confidence. Even thinking about her cools

the heart. When seeing this beauty, indifference, and courage, you get

someone who thrives boldly in this city.

I had only seen her that night; it had been a month since I last met her.

I had gone to her house two or three times. She wasn’t there. She apparently

rushed off early, afraid of the morning crowd. There she was now, standing

and watching. A small group of people was standing in little clusters, chatting.

Once the bus arrived, chaos would break out, people would charge forward

like monkeys chasing peanuts, tearing shirts, flinging spectacles, bruising

elbows, and crushing toes to scramble inside.

"Sir!"

"Oh, it’s you! Why didn’t you take the bus?"

Rukku was sitting in a rickshaw. I stepped closer.

"How can one travel in this crush, sir?"

"True, true. Even I don’t know what to do. The crowd looks like its

standing ready for war. You can’t manage it either?"

Rukku laughed.

"I knew you’d ask. Did you notice the rickshaw?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It’s my own rickshaw."

 52

"Your own rickshaw! When did you buy it?"

"Yesterday, From now on, I’m going to college in this."

"Why?"

"I can't handle the rush anymore."

"What? You!"

"Me? I’m alone, what can I do? Wouldn’t it be better if everyone were

like Rukku?"

"That day, a guy stomped on my foot with his boots. My toe injury still

hasn’t healed."

"Oh no! You’ve been limping around with that?"

"I’ve put a plaster on it."

"I’m surprised. Honestly, it even feels a bit unbelievable."

"Of course, sir! You people have the strength of a bull. Until every

woman gets that kind of strength, it’s going to be tough."

"What you have now isn’t enough?"

"It’s enough, sir. I accept that. But is it okay to be alone? Look here, I

spoke at a meeting the other day. Before I could even begin, the boys were

clapping like crazy, banging on the tables, and shouting so loud that it felt like

my ears would burst. They didn’t even let me speak peacefully for four

minutes. I couldn’t arrange my thoughts properly and express them without

frustration. I am learning dance too? It feels like a fox that drank fermented

liquor. If I continue like this, at least there won’t be any trouble. My legs

won’t get crushed. Tomorrow, I’m taking Mami to the beach."

"As a companion?"

"As a conversation companion," she laughed.

 53

"Then I’ll be leaving, sir? Look, sir! I even cut my nails completely.

See?" she said, showing her hand.

The rickshaw moved forward. I stood there, still in awe, watching the

bright red rickshaw disappear. In that deep red, it felt as if the bloodstains

from the tram accident had been hidden.

 54

Problems Faced during Translation

Janakiraman’s short stories contain Tamil words and phrases that can

be difficult to translate into English due to their cultural, emotional, or

contextual depth. One major difficulty lies in conveying the layered meanings

of Tamil words that have no direct English equivalents. In such a situation, we

go for sense-for-sense translation.

Tamil words which lacked equivalent words while translated into

English are:

❖ The word “Petromax” is a brand-derived word, which cannot be

translated.

❖ The words “Kaalanaa” and “socham” are difficult to translate because

they refer to specific historical coin denominations that do not exist in

modern English usage.

❖ The word “Melathalam” does not have a direct one-word translation in

English, especially when referring to traditional South Indian Carnatic

or folk music.

❖ The word “Nattamai” may be transliterated into English when referring

to traditional self-governance systems in Tamil society.

❖ The word “Namaskaram” cannot be directly translated because it

carries cultural, spiritual, and contextual nuances.

❖ The word “two anaas” is related to currency, and it cannot be fully

translated because it refers to a specific historical Indian monetary unit

that no longer exists in modern currency systems.

❖ The word "Rahukalam" cannot be directly translated because it is a

specific astrological concept rooted in Hindu tradition.

 55

❖ The word "Mysorepak" cannot be directly translated because it is the

name of an Indian sweet with no exact equivalent in Western cuisine.

❖ The word "Kadamba Bajji" cannot be directly translated because it

refers to a type of South Indian fried snack that does not have an exact

equivalent in English cuisine.

❖ The phrase "Nada Bindu Kalaadi" cannot be directly translated because

it is deeply rooted in Indian spiritual, yogic, and philosophical

traditions, particularly in Tantra, Vedanta, and Nada Yoga.

❖ The terms “Thiruppugazh” and “Thevaram” are a collection of Tamil

devotional hymns. So it cannot be fully translated because of their

intricate poetry, deep spiritual meaning, and cultural richness.

❖ The flowers like: “Panneer poo”, “Magizhampoo”, “Maru”,

“Javanthi”, “Arali”, “Iruvatchi” cannot be translated because these

flowers are native to Tamil Nadu and India and do not have widely

recognized English names.

❖ The word “Idly” cannot be fully translated because it has no exact

equivalent that captures its unique soft, spongy texture, fermentation

process, and cultural significance in South Indian cuisine.

The other difficulties faced while translating are:

❖ Certain emotions or reaction, like anger, doubt, surprise, hesitation,

greetings, frustration, shock, amazement, confusion etc., cannot be

expressed in the TL.

❖ Phrases cannot be translated from SL to TL.

❖ The Sanskrit verses are transliterated in TL.

 56

Conclusion

In an increasingly globalized world, translation is essential for

overcoming linguistic and cultural barriers and facilitating successful

communication. It makes it easier for people of different languages to share

literature, ideas, and expertise, which promotes collaboration and

understanding between many cultures. Translation involves more than just

changing words from one language to another; it also involves maintaining

context, meaning, and cultural quirks. To guarantee correct and significant

communication, skilled translators must negotiate idiomatic terms, cultural

variations, and language complications. Even if machine translation

technology has become more efficient, human translators are still necessary

for complex and contextually appropriate translations.

The broad range of interdisciplinary and multidisciplinary approaches

that are currently applied to the study of translation in the news media,

spanning fields like translation studies, linguistics, journalism, and media

studies demonstrates the fundamental role that translation plays in the

everyday production, distribution, and consumption of information in the news

media. Traditional translation methodologies that embrace a binary opposition

between source and target are challenged by news media translation.

When viewed negatively, any translation is obviously devoid of

originality since it only provides access to a message that has previously been

published in another language. Translation is therefore a form of secondary

communication by definition. An original communicative event is repeated

during the translation process to help others who would not otherwise be able

to understand and appreciate the original occurrence.

 57

There are often two stages to translation: the first is when the translator

comprehends and analyzes the source material, and the second is when the

translator's interpretation is expressed in the target language. Stated

differently, the translated text is not merely a literal copy of the source

material. As the hunt for fundamental "principles" to direct translators went

on, it became evident that these principles were merely ideals, and that each

individual act of translation would have to compromise these goals.

Frequently, general guidelines were developed as requirements for specific

translators. For instance, in order to produce a "good" translation, translators

needed to be proficient in both languages, knowledgeable about the subject

matter, stylistic, and aware of the original author's aim.

The process of translation involves interpretation. The type of

document determines the type of translation. Compared to translating a literary

text, translating a technical or promotional document is simpler and calls for

less knowledge and experience. The target audience, the source language, and

the document's nature would all be reflected in the vocabulary, grammar, and

sentence patterns. When it comes to acceptable structures or forms or the

proper transfer of meaning from the source text to the target text, a good

translation meets the needs of the intended audience.

Translation has a wide range of applications and significance in our

day-to-day lives. We can learn about advancements in the fields of commerce,

education, literature, science, politics, and the creative arts through translation.

The conventional understanding of the text's fixed, unchanging, and

unalterable nature and meaning has given way to one that offers a broad range

of variations.
 58

A good translation is a translation that can be a bridge of

communication between two languages. This is in line with the purpose of

translation, which is to produce translated works and to help overcome

language differences. The language itself is the source language and the target

language. Therefore, it is said that translation is not an easy thing to do

because of grammatical differences between two languages . In the end,

translation is a potent instrument for promoting diversity, intercultural

communication, and the sharing of information, highlighting its importance in

creating a globalized and multilingual society.

 59

Works cited

Bassnett, Susan. “Translation studies,” Routledge, London, 2002,

https://www.routledge.com

Cronin, Michael. “Translation and globalization,” Routledge, London,

2003, https://books.google.com

Sindhuja, Anto. “Translation Theory and Practice,” 2021.

Thi. Janakiramanin Thernthedutha Sirukathaigal, Sahitya Akademi

Publication, 2024.

wikipedia.org/wiki/Janakiraman

www.dictionary.com

www.translate.google.com

www.translationjournal.net