CONTENT

CHAPTER TITLE PAGENO

I INTRODUCTION 01

II TRANSLATION OF VACANAI BY

SUNDARA RAMASWAMY 17

III PROBLEMS FACED DURING TRANSLATION 43

III CONCLUSION 44

WORKS CITED 47
 1

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

Translation is the process of translating what is being said in one language into

another. Translation is the communication of meaning from one language (the source) to

another language (the target). Translation refers to written information, whereas

interpretation refers to spoken information. The purpose of translation is to convey the

original tone and intent of a message, taking into account cultural and regional

differences between source and target languages.

Translation has been used by humans for centuries, beginning after the

appearance of written literature. Modern-day translators use sophisticated tools and

technologies to accomplish their work, and rely heavily on software applications to

simplify and streamline their tasks.

The word ‗translation‘ comes from a Latin term which means ―to bring or carry

across‖. Another relevant term comes from the Ancient Greek word of ‗metaphrasis‘

which means ―to speak across‖ and from this, the term ‗metaphrase‘ was born, which

means a ―word-for-word translation‖. These terms have been at the heart of theories

relating to translation throughout history and have given insight into when and where

translation has been used throughout the ages.

It is known that translation was carried out as early as the Mesopotamian era

when the Sumerian poem, Gilgamesh, was translated into Asian languages. This dates

back to around the second millennium BC. Other ancient translated works include those

carried out by Buddhist monks who translated Indian documents into Chinese. In later
 2

periods, Ancient Greek texts were also translated by Roman poets and were adapted to

create developed literary works for entertainment. It is known that translation services

were utilized in Rome by Cicero and Horace and that these uses were continued through

to the 17th century, where newer practices were developed.

It is argued that the knowledge and findings of Greek academics was developed

and understood so widely thanks to the translation work of Arabic scholars. When the

Greeks were conquered, their works were taken in by Arabic scholars who translated

them and created their own versions of the scientific, entertainment and philosophical

understandings. These Arabic versions were later translated into Latin, during the Middle

Ages, mostly throughout Spain and the resulting works provided the foundations of

Renaissance academics.

The need for translation became greater with the development of religious texts

and spiritual theories. As religion developed, the desire to spread the word and encourage

faith means that religious texts needed to be available in multiple languages. One of the

first translated religious texts is known to have been that of the Old Testament which was

translated into Greek in the 3rd century BC. Translation refers to ‗Septuagint‘, which was

a translation of the Hebrew Bible into Greek, with Septuagint coming from the Latin

word ‗Septuaginta’, which means seventy. This text is therefore often referred to the

‗Greek Old Testament’. Without the use of our modern practices and tools, this

translation was carried out by no less than 70 scholars who painstakingly converted the

text into Greek and this became the basis for future translations of the Bible in multiple

languages.
 3

Religion played such a critical role in translation development that the church

even names Saint Jerome as the patron saint of translation. Saint Jerome created a Latin

bible in 4th century AD. The Bible became the predominant text used by the Roman

Catholic Church. With the introduction of Protestantism, the need to translate the bible

and other religious texts into European languages heightened, Through the rapid

translation and distribution of the bible during the Protestant Reformation, Christianity

had two clear paths – Roman Catholicism or Protestantism. One of the clearest

differences between these two forms of the religion was the disparity in texts and the

differences between crucial words and passages of the bible.

Translators have often been hidden characters, unnamed people who have paved

the way for some of the greatest contributions to the dissemination of ideas, knowledge

and theories throughout the ages. In some cases, working as a translator was incredibly

dangerous and some even lost their lives because of their work. This included famous

translators such as William Tyndale, who was executed in Holland in 1536 because he

worked on translating the bible into English. Other famous translators include:

Roman Jacobson‘s methods of translation were divided into three distinct types

such as Intra- lingual translation or rewording, Inter-lingual translation or translation

proper, Inter-semiotic translation or transmutation. Intra-lingual translation is an

interpretation of verbal sign by means of other signs in the same language from the

shape into another. Inter-lingual translation is an interpretation of verbal sign by

means of some other language from the one language into another. Inter-semiotic

translation is an interpretation of verbal signs by means of non-verbal sign systems.

Literal translation is a kind of translation. It literally translates words. It is a verbally

 4

exact reproduction of the original both lexically and synthetically. Literal translation is

called word for word translation for Inter-linear translation. The translator searches

for the equivalence of the words. Literal translation is considered erroneous. Literal

translation lies between Rank-bound and free translation. Catford also speaks of other

modes of translation like - Phonological translation, Graphological translation,

grammatical translation and lexical translation.

Phonological translation is a restricted translation. SL phonology is replaced by

equivalent TL phonology but with no replacement of SL grammar and Lexis.

Graphological translation is a restricted translation. SL graphology is replaced by

equivalent TL graphology but with no other replacement. Grammatical translation is

restricted translation in which SL grammar is replaced by equivalent SL grammar but

with no replacement of Lexis.

Dryden defines three types of translation: Metaphrase, which is literal and

word for word; Paraphrase, which captures the general sense or meaning; and

Imitation, which is a more liberal adaptation. He calls the first and last extremes, and

claims that the middle way is the way to go. (I would call this the Goldilocks ―Just

right!‖ principle). Schleiermacher and many others have continued or come up with

similar structures and theories.

There are three ways of translating. One gives primary importance to the author,

second importance to the text and the third to the reader.

AUTHOR-CENTRED Translation stresses the primacy of the translator‘s

familiarity with the author. It helps him guess the intention of the writer of the original

text. If the author belongs to a period in time where the translator has direct access to
 5

him, then the method is author-centered. It is an error to divorce a translation from the

socio - cultural context of the author‘s time. Or if there is enough information available to

help the translator arrive at the author‘s intention, then it is author - centered translation.

Text-Centered Translation stresses primacy of the text. A legal document or a

treatise on science does not require Author - Centred translation. There, the intension is to

convey the truth and to keep the readers well- informed. Informative texts are Text-

Centred. All types of fact oriented, scientific and knowledge based writings.

READER-CENTRED translation stresses the primacy of the reader. The first

priority in reader - centred translation is the reader‘s response. Any translation is

ultimately meant for readership. The translator is interested in creating an effect as

equal as the effect on the Source Language Reader. Vocative or imperative texts are

reader - centred.

There is a difference between Translation method and Translation procedures.

Translation methods are related to the whole text but Translation procedure related to

the translation of sentences and the other smaller unit of the language. The translator

can use only one method either free or Literal or Adaptation. But in the translation of

the same text, the translator might use any of the translation procedures. Translation

procedures are varied.

Transliteration is the process of transferring a word from the alphabet of one

language to another. Transliteration helps people pronounce words and names in

foreign languages. Unlike a translation, which tells you the meaning of a word that‘s

written in another language, a transliteration only gives you an idea of how the word is
 6

pronounced, by putting it in a familiar alphabet. It changes the letters from the word‘s

original alphabet to similar-sounding letters in a different one.

Transference is a translation procedure. Newmark defines Transference as a

―prosess of transferring an SL word to a TL text‖. In the absence of an equivalent in

the TL for an SL word, the translator resorts to Transference or Transliteration.

Transcreation means ‗translating‘ and ‗recreating‘ the original text in a new

language whilst making sure it is still appropriate in the context for which it is

intended. The person producing the transcreation must understand the desired outcome

thoroughly, and be given the freedom not only to translate the original but also to

make significant changes to it in the process.

Transposition involves moving from one grammatical category to another

without altering the meaning of the text. This translation technique introduces a

change in grammatical structure.

This project is an attempt to translate the short stories of Vacanai by Sundara

Ramaswamy from Malayalam to English.

Sundara Ramaswamy was born in 1931 in Nagercoil, then part of the

princely state of Travancore. He grew up in Kottayam and, later, cent ral

Travancore until the age of eight, when his family moved to Nagercoil in 1939

just as the news of the World War II was breaking out. Sundara Ramaswamy

spent the rest of his life in the town of Nagercoil, passing away in 2005.

Situated barely 20 km from the Indian peninsula‘s southernmost tip,

Kanyakumari, its district headquarters was described once as ‗the last outpost of
 7

Indian literature‘. It was not until 1956 that Travancore was reorganised as part of

the modern Kerala state. The Tamil-speaking regions of south Travancore

present-day Kanyakumari District joined the then Madras State, now Tamil Nadu,

in the same year, after a bloody, popular struggle.

Growing up in the cultural intersection of Tamil Nadu and Kerala,

Sundara Ramaswamy grew up ‗half-knowing‘ Malayalam, Sanskrit, and English.

An attack of juvenile arthritis and subsequent indifferent health (a recurring

theme in his writings) saw him barely reach the school final. Tamil, which he

used with such consummate mastery and nuance, he did not learn until he was

about 18.

This bilingual milieu of Tamil and Malayalam is central to Sundara

Ramaswamy‘s writing, and he is one of the few writers in India who is widely

regarded in two linguistic cultures as their own. Ramaswamy was introduced to

the path-breaking writings of Malayalam‘s greatest writers at the first signs of the

dawn of modernism in Malayalam literature. His first literary endeavour was to

translate Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai‘s Thottiyude Magan (The Scavenger‘s Son)

into Tamil. His translation of another of Thakazhi‘s novels, Chemmeen, continues

to be in print half a century after its first publication. Sundara Ramaswamy was

closely associated with M. Govindan, the offbeat Malayalam cultural critic, and

maintained intimate relationships with many Malayalam writers. He translated

many Malayalam poems into Tamil and kept Tamil readers informed of cultural

happenings in Kerala with his comparative commentary. When Sundara

 8

Ramaswamy passed away, the leading Malayalam daily, Malayala Manorama,

wrote in its editorial that his death was a loss to two language communities.

Sundara Ramaswamy made his literary debut in late 1951, with the

publication of an edited volume in memory of Pudumaippittan (1906 –1948), the

fountainhead of Tamil modernity, and an undying influence on his work.

In the early 1950s, Sundara Ramaswamy was drawn to the (undivided)

Communist Party of India and came to know P. Jeevanandam, its leader and

litterateur, a charismatic personality and legendary orator. Another key influence

was T.M.C. Ragunathan, progressive writer and biographer of Pudumaippithan.

Sundara Ramaswamy‘s early fiction was published in progressive literary

journals. He made his mark with short stories in the monthly Shanthi (1954–56)

edited by Raghunathan. After Shanthi folded up, he continued to write short

stories in another progressive literary journal Saraswathi (1955–62). His first

novel was also serialised in this monthly. Saraswathi, edited by the communist

thinker V. Vijayabaskaran, was an exciting journal marrying art with Left

politics. But in the years following Khrushchev‘s secret address to the Communist

Party of Soviet Union‘s XX Congress, exposing the brutalities of Stalin‘s

regime and the crushing of the democratic Hungarian Uprising (195 6), Sundara

Ramaswamy distanced himself from the Left movement. These were difficult

times when, with the sectarianism characteristic of the Left, he was is olated and

subjected to calumny this continued to colour the Left movement‘s relationship

with him until his death nearly half a century later.

 9

Around this time, Sundara Ramaswamy came in contact with Ka. Naa.

Subramanyam, a writer of the Manikodi group who had a controversial reputation

as a literary critic for celebrating ‗art‘ and running down popular writing and

agitprop. Sundara Ramaswamy held him in high esteem, despite the many

differences between them. As he moved away from the Left, Sundara Ramaswamy

increasingly identified himself with the avant-garde modernism that functioned

through little magazines. This moment also coincided with the growing hiatus

between popular literature appearing in mass magazines and self -conscious art in

little magazines, and a widening rift between progressive liter ature and the little

magazines. The little magazines were also a reaction to a dominant strand of

Tamil identity politics that had a strong non if not anti—Brahmin streak to it.

Although never prolific, Sundara Ramaswamy kept a consistent stream of

free verse (he is considered one of the most prominent poets of the literary

monthly Ezhuthu, edited by C.S. Chellappa), and critical and polemical essays.

Employing the pseudonym ‗Pasuviah‘ for his free verse, his early poetry is

memorable for its declamatory style. With occasional bursts of poetry, he wrote a

little over a 100 poems in his career, most of them short and still recalled by

readers. With the folding up of Saraswathi, he published in the little

magazine Deepam edited by the popular writer Naa. Parthasarathy; it was under

his editorship that he also published in the popular weekly, Kalki.

In 1966, Sundara Ramaswamy completed his first novel, Oru

Puliyamarathin Kathai (The Tale of a Tamarind Tree), which combines oral lore
 10

and history to narrate the story of change in a small town. The tamarind tree is the

central character until it falls prey to the machinations of local business and

politics and is ultimately poisoned to death. The disillusionment of the post-

Independence era is writ large over this novel, and it manifests an acute

understanding of time and the changes its passage ushers in through human

agency. In this narrative, oral lore and folk traditions are skilfully wove n.

Characters are carefully etched with a clear sense of their social location. The

narrative brims with humour and satire and the dialogues convincingly capture the

dialect of the region for the first time in Tamil literary history. One of the earliest

dialect novels in Tamil, it successfully employed the demotic language of the

region. Oru Puliamarathin Kathai remains a classic despite being ignored by

contemporary critics. The publication of this novel marked the end of the first

phase of his writing, a phase characterised by the combination of social criticism

and artistic refinement.

What followed was an interregnum of silence lasting seven years until

1973. Sundara Ramaswamy announced his return with the combative ‗Savaal‘

(Challenge), arguably one of the most quoted of modern Tamil poems, in the little

magazine Gnanaratham. His short stories of the time, collected and published in

book form, Pallakku Thookkikal, reveal a tighter language and a conscious

attempt to experiment with form and content. His later oeuvre of short fiction

alternates between the storytelling of the first phase and the experimentation of

the second phase. In all, Sundara Ramaswamy wrote around 80 short stories, in
 11

which definite shifts in his writing style and a determination not to repeat his

artistic successes can be easily discerned.

Ever a stylist, employing a language, consciously crafted shorn of

traditional rhetorical devices, but brimming with satire, parody, humour, and

metaphor Sundara Ramaswamy‘s enquiring perspective marked him out

distinctly. By the 1970s, he was the figure that the progressive literature camp

loved to hate. Further, Sundara Ramaswamy developed an increasing

dissatisfaction with the state of Tamil literature and culture.

Despite his artistic success with short stories, what made him a literary

hero of sorts was his second novel J.J.: Sila Kurippukal (J J: Some Jottings). In

its form and content the studied mastery and precision of its language, and the

sensitive and provocative formulation of ideas the novel was a rupture in the

narrative tradition of Tamil fiction. The novel structured, complete with footnotes

and appendixes, as the biography of a fictional Malayalam writer, Joseph James

(J.J.) created a literary sensation.

The Tamils like the English, but unlike the French do not have the

stomach for ideas dressed up as literature. J.J.: Sila Kurippukal is a single

swallow in that Tamil literary intellectual summer. Its literary brilliance

notwithstanding, it is very much a novel of ideas.

Appearing in 1981, the novel with its overt intellectualism created a stir.

Since then, despite a poor distribution, in the beginning, the novel has entered its
 12

19th edition, which is a considerable achievement by the standards of serious

Tamil literature. Almost every reader of that time would remember the shock and

exhilaration the novel caused on its first reading. The clever way i n which the

novel is structured almost a Künstlerroman (novel narrating artist‘s growth to

maturity), complete with notes and appendixes of the fictional Malayalam writer

left readers gasping. The detailed depiction of the Malayalam literary world,

while being rather novel, simultaneously triggered the search for Tamil parallels.

Unfortunately, many readers got lost in this wild-goose chase, missing the import

of the novel. The novel is nothing less than a thoroughgoing critique of Tamil

culture and society and, by extension, much more. With the pretext of talking

about the Malayalam literary world, the novel indulges in deep introspection o f

Tamil culture. Wrestling with the pressing philosophical questions of its time, it

provides insights into ideas, institutions and individuals, and the souring of

idealism.

J.J.: Sila Kurippukal, therefore, represents Sundara Ramaswamy at the

peak of his writing prowess.

Sundara Ramaswamy wrote one more novel. After the dazzling J.J.: Sila

Kurippugal, readers wondered what he would offer next. In 1998, he

published Kuzhandhaigal Pengal Aangal (Children, Women, Men), a tome

compared to the slim volume of his earlier two novels. And uncharacteristically,

it was set in a family, within the four walls of a home. At a time when

postmodernism was a rage in Tamil literary circles, and the death of realist
 13

writing was being declaimed from rooftops, and writers were experimenting with

non-linear narratives and metafiction, Sundara Ramaswamy opted for a

deceptively direct narrative.

Set in the years before the outbreak of the Second World War in

September 1939, it is transparently autobiographical with a large dose of

intertextuality evident to a reader of his earlier work. The narrator of J.J.: Sila

Kurippugal, the Tamil writer Balu, figures as a boy and a major character. The

long novel narrates incidents and ruminations in a Tamil Brahmin family in

Kottayam, torn as it is by the cataclysmic changes unleashed from political and

social forces from all over the world, over which the characters have little

control. Written in over 100 short chapters, which can be seemingly dropped or

interchanged, the reader can almost dip into the novel at any point.

Underappreciated by readers and critics alike, its artistry is deceptive, concealing

great craftsmanship.

Sundara Ramaswamy started writing essays only mid-career. At the

invitation of Ka.Naa. Subramanyam, in 1963, he wrote his first essay—on his

engagement with Subramania Bharati. For the next two decades, he wrote essays

occasionally; during the 1970s, in the heyday of the little magazine, he also

indulged in polemics. Though much of it has lost relevance, his critical review of

Akilan‘s novel Chitrapavai when it received the Jnanapith award (1975) is a

classic. Sundara Ramaswamy‘s eponymous first collection of essays, published in

1984, was a slim volume with just 15 essays and included a list of another 10.
 14

These numbers were to change dramatically in the next decade and a half, and his

views would win him both cloying admirers and vicious detractors.

In the early 1990s, Sundara Ramaswamy withdrew from his family

business, a retail textile shop started by his father at the time of the Second World

War, and handed over its reins to his son. Sundara Ramaswamy‘s lifelong dream

of devoting time entirely to writing and contemplation was now a reality. From

the early 1990s, Sundara Ramaswamy began to spend time, annually, with his

wife, in Santa Cruz, California (later dividing his time at his youngest daughter

Thangu‘s home in Connecticut), and read and wrote in near solitude.

This period also marked Sundara Ramaswamy‘s emergence as a public

intellectual. His early youth in the decade immediately after Independence had

been spent in public, attending cultural events, and affiliated to the Left

progressive movement. His distancing from the Communist Party in the early

1960s was followed by immersion in a narrow literary world, cut-off from the

larger public sphere. This changed dramatically at the turn of the last decade of

the last millennium.

In February 1992, early in her first term as Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu,

Jayalalithaa visited the temple town of Kumbakonam during the once -in-12-years

Mahamakam festival. Enjoying her newfound Z-plus security, her callousness in

the midst of crowded watershed led to a stampede. Over 50 pilgrims died and

many more were injured, a tragedy worsened by Jayalalithaa‘s lack of remorse.

An angry Sundara Ramaswamy shot off a searing op-ed article to Dinamani,

 15

terming it a padukolai a massacre. Dinamani‘s editor Kasturi Rangan decided to

carry it in the literary monthly Kanaiyazhi rather than in the mass-circulated

daily. From that time, Sundara Ramaswamy maintained a steady stream of essays

and reviews.

In the 1990s, he enjoyed robust health, something he said h e was not used

to his entire life. He was an active correspondent, writing letters every day. At

one time, he even maintained a steady correspondence with a TADA convict

which drew unwarranted attention from the state, but he was not deterred.

Sundara Ramaswamy was legendary for being parsimonious with praise.

Authors who sought his endorsement became angry when it was not forthcoming,

and the enemy camp swelled. When he occasionally lauded the work of a young

writer, it only infuriated other writers.

In 1987, he had launched a literary review, Kalachuvadu, which folded up

in two years, after publishing eight substantive quarterly numbers, and a bumper

signing-off number. In late 1994, his son revived Kalachuvadu in a different

form. Within a year, he had also launched a publishing imprint of the same name,

primarily to publish Sundara Ramaswamy‘s writings, and to publish reliable

editions of the collected works of Tamil modern greats such as Pudumaippithan

and G. Nagarajan. Despite his reputation, Sundara Ramaswamy had been unhappy

that his works were out of print most of the time, and these developments gave

him energy to write anew and consolidate older work. For instance, his earliest

effort, the translation into Tamil of Thagazhi Sivasankara Pillai ‘s Thottiyude

 16

Magan, was retrieved from old volumes of Saraswathi and published in book

form. The response of readers, starved of his writings for decades, delighted his

heart and gave him the energy to crank up his literary production.

With his strong views and uncompromising stance, Sundara Ramaswamy

was the object of vicious and motivated criticism, complicated by the fact of

some of his self-proclaimed protégés turning against him. The success of an

international Tamil literary conference—Tamil Ini 2000—

that Kalachuvadu organised in September 2000, widened the fault lines. Sundara

Ramaswamy was forced to expend his energies writing rejoinders, clarifying his

views, and correcting willful distortions.

Sundara Ramaswamy was passed over for many awards. The only r eal

award, despite the minuscule purse that came with it, was the Asan literary prize,

named after the Malayalam poet Kumaran Asan. In the last years of his life, the

University of Toronto conferred on him the inaugural Iyal Award, for lifetime

contribution to Tamil; and the Delhi-based publishing house and NGO, Katha,

awarded him the Katha Choodamani.

 17

CHAPTER II

TRANSLATION OF VACANAI BY

SUNDARA RAMASWAMY

OFFERING

Around seventy-three forty-seven. He wants to earn five rupees by that night.

Only then can you head home. Ponnammai‘s face can be seen. I can see her smiling.

After all, you can celebrate a child‘s birthday.

He came to the junction. He left the junction and came around the ring road. It is

the same junction.

On the side of the main Rasta, a man and his wife stood looking at each other for

ten minutes before crossing the Rasta. She is a child in Okkal. It was clear that they were

going to the temple.

This is how she wants me and her to go to the temple tomorrow,‘ he thought. How

much she wants to celebrate the child‘s birthday! He remembered every word

Ponnammai had said that evening. Her desire is strange. He contemplated her

interpretation of the scene of her carrying the baby down the street.

‗You have to wake up at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Bathe the baby in hot

water. Put on a silk shirt and knit it with colored thread. A single rose in that braid - just

one - has its own beauty. When we both take the child to the temple, the women who

sprinkle cowdung on the street and the women who weave kolam should all look up. I
 18

want to see them look up. I want to look and see you. You see what everyone else sees.

want Look and see me.

Seventy-three forty-seven One minute he forgot where he was standing and

laughed. Don suddenly shut up. The couple went beyond Rasta. But all the gold-plated

projects need five more rupees to change the mass. Fifty rupees will cost. But

Ponnammai asked him only five rupees. The clothier came on loan. She also gave it to be

stitched overnight. She took the ticket money and bought a garland for the child. She will

sell the milk and store it as well. She asked for the money for her birthday expenses. Five

rupees. There is no kalana at home. The date is twenty twenty.

Seventy-three forty-seven stood tapping his cane on his boot, and it was funny to

see her. Those who have seen him once will never forget his face. Measles scar on face

that does not heal. Thick eyebrows. Mandi grew and both eyebrows joined together. Fur

on the edge of the ear. Powdered moustache, like a blackhead sitting under the nose.

His gaze darted and circled like the shadow of a low-flying hawk. The cross also

flowed.

―Nothing‖ caught. Sweat ran down his neck. tired in the face.

After joining the service, there has never been a day like today. He wondered

whose face he had woken up with. When he woke up, he remembered seeing his face in

the opposite wall mirror. He smiled.

A flood of people poured into the streets after the Pataksha cinema ended. He

stood back from Therisal. He walked again when the crowd thinned. The movement

started at four o‘clock. The clock struck seven gone Eight will strike in a few minutes.

The time was passing. ‗The time was passing without catching anything.
 19

On, You can‘t ride a bicycle without a light. One of the popular pee alleys has

been haphazardly crossed. The eyes of those who entered the alley stood and watched.

All that was left was the foot pain. Not a single child went to one.

In the past, our people were ordinary people. Now they have become citizens.

Long live responsible citizens!

Seventy-three and forty-seven face down

Kondan

Again leaving Jama, he walked towards the north. He stopped eating. She

walked a little and stopped.

He walked, stood Anger became angrier.

He flagged down all the taxis that came in front of him. All are properly

licensed. Three people are going in a carriage that is meant for five people. Only the

driver is going in a four-person cab.

Bash! No more policemen needed in this country.

Coolies can look at anyone. Let‘s see someone. The day the new movie starts.

Let‘s see someone.

All donkeys earn money in cinema.

As dusk falls, the ‗spirit‘ trade begins at the ‗Cool ring‘ shop. It is a place where

alcohol prohibition is in force. Even if you stop at the door of the store, the monthly step

will fall into your hand. Birthday can be missed.

But the shop is locked!

 20

His grandmother had a baby! Shouldn‘t we see eye to eye on business? A horse

carriage turned from the alley and went up the main street. Sarathi Surupayal,

Unsprouting pea.

He also has a lamp!

The cart came near.

The horse stopped.

―Where‘s Ongappan?‖

―Come on,‖

―Why?‖

lie down‖

―What the hell?‖

―It‘s a pain.‖

―take how much‖

―No consent.‖

Saying ―inna parum‖ Payal stood on the ground and tied the garment well.

―Look at Morai. There is a horse-drawn carriage

Khan‘s horse-carriage, the one who is in need of re-sana, get on it by the sky

The horse moved.

He came to the post office, seventy-three forty-seven, sat down on the bench of

the opposite betel nut shop, took his hat and put it on his lap. He rubbed his head. All

hands are wet. Can‘t stand the irritation. He kneaded and kneaded and wiped his thigh

with pain. He looked west and east.

 21

Then a heavy figure was seen coming towards the post office. It was like a face

seen somewhere. Is Krishna the temple priest?

Krishna temple priest entered the post office.

Seventy-three and forty-seven he observed closely. A long sheath in the priest‘s

hand. He got up and went back. The priest went to the post box.

Wow!‖

He returned suddenly.

―Here we go.

I will come wearing this.‖

―Botama will come.‖

The priest stopped.

―Coming here‖ is a thump. The priest hesitated.

No heavy body, plump body. The whole body glistens as if oiled. Visible belly

for baby shower.

The priest stood in front.

―What‘s in that hand?‖

―Cover.‖

―What do you attract?‖

―Nothing, Sadak is covered. I‘ll add postage.‖

―Kondarum Poppam,‖

He bought it. There was a card with the envelope. Card, written by someone to

someone. Longitudinal cover is local TS. B. I have to go to the office.

Seventy-three forty-seven The priest stared at the face,

 22

The priest‘s face turned red.

He kept looking without blinking. The priest‘s face grew redder. Seventy-three

forty-seven is the only doubt. Only happiness.

His daughter is lucky!

―How did this cover get stuck in your hand?‖

There was authority in the voice. The priest stood with his lips locked. The face

is drooping.

―Cucumber in your mouth?‖

Not posted for that either.

―If you put a fly on a fly, it won‘t fly. Plant it to the station‖

When the word ‗to the station‘ rang in his ears, his body shook.

The priest held his back and pushed lightly.Seventy-three forty-seven.

The priest began to speak with a thud. ―What I‘m saying is, have a little big

heart.

Please ask. It‘s time for me. If not…‖

The pull will come to a head.‖

―It‘s time for me not to fight. If not, at this time of the juncture, Natta Tukku

would be something like a thief, something like a bandit, like a rowdy, like a robber.

―Oh, shut up! The matter is far away. The man who looks twice,‖ ―Here, I went

to collect this card. To the temple.

A mailbox hangs on the side. Hanging mail

I kept this card in the box.‖

―I left this cover lying on the road in Pora Valli.

 23

The priest will come and measure!‖ ―What I said is a little big hearted and ask

please, I went to put this card in the hanging post box. I can‘t put it‖

―Wrinkle your hands?‖ ―No. The mouth was hanging over this long-cover

hanging mailbox.‖

Yes! Kondarum Gedeya‖ ―No story. I‘ll tell it like it is. This long cover got

twisted and twisted in the hanging post box.‖

―I pushed in until this card appeared.

I hesitated. I will not go in

Tell me.

―Tell me tell me.‖

―I took out the door of the hanging post box with only two veerales inside and

out until the length of the house.‖

―Great brain!‖

―I will listen to you. Even if I make a mistake today, I will not go to the wrong

place. I will know if I come to Warukulu and ask. We have four Talamoraya

Radhikrishnan temple pooja. Even until this date...‖

―Oh, it‘s too far to summarize the matter, sir.

―Manusan is hammering the checkbook.‖ ―I left only two fingers on the door of

the post box and took out the envelope and tried to put the card and the envelope

together. Can‘t.‖

Can‘t can‘t.‖
 24

―I looked away. I closed the cover and closed my mouth. I don‘t know what is

muddy. I woke up. I looked up and down, I thought that I was muddy. Well, I made a big

decision to bring it to Tabalabeel and wash it.‖ Andap Bluku‖ said Seventy

Three forty seven.

A single servant will not be told so. All I said was clear. I don‘t know how to

speak, but this is a magic tongue. No lie.‖ Ok ok. Let‘s go to the station.‖

The priest begged seventy-three and forty-seven by the hands. His agitation was

evident in his speech. It was palpable. The corpses were slapped on the face. ―I don‘t lie;

I don‘t make a mistake.

I am telling the truth. Nadhikrishnan Temple Moolavikram

I testify. Am I lying, Swami?

Not idle. The eyes will snap. Hand and foot will disable.‖

―Don‘t worry about it. I‘ll go to the station.‖ He started walking holding the

priest‘s hand.

The priest slowly pulled his hand away and followed. His whole body was

tingling. Embarrassed, he walked away. It was as if thousands of people he knew were

standing around and having fun. Everyone stared in amazement.

You have to cross the bazaar to go to the station. He knows all the traders. On

the Janma Nakshatra of the merchant, he would perform pooja in the temple and take

prasad to him. Everyone values him. They should walk ahead. Everyone will eat at the

shop door.

Archagar felt as if he was holding the prison bars. Wife and children stand in

front and weep. A policeman comes and pushes them out with a stick.
 25

The priest wondered if he would fall prostrate at the feet of seventy-three and

forty-seven. Kui or method and whether we will call a meeting. A hundred people will do

it. A hundred people counted. If there are only ten people who know what to do, won‘t

they come forward and say, ‗What is this injustice?‘

But if you open your mouth

Slap on the back

He was afraid that And his throat was blocked.

Minute by minute something heavy rose from the stomach and pressed against

the chest. He swallowed and swallowed his grief. He was afraid that he would cry on the

road. The main road is yet to come. The neem trees that grew on both sides cast darkness

Dull. Wipe the face with the priest‘s towel

After going some distance, Archagar stopped and the light of the street lamp fell

on his face. Seventy-three forty-seven saw his face. The eyes were red. The priest wiped

his nose with a handkerchief and said:

―I haven‘t made a mistake. I haven‘t made a mistake,‖ he cried as he said this.

―What can I do? I am a man who looks after my duty correctly.

―Don‘t you believe me?‖

―This is nothing to do with my brother. Come to the station. You will tell the

matter to the inspector. I will arrest the inspector.‖

―Will the inspector leave?‖

―What fortune-telling do I know?*

―The inspector won‘t do anything?‖

―What?‖
 26

―No... come... like this... he was ashamed to say it. Even bigger coward in such a

big body.

He laughed inwardly at the thought of being drunk.

Seventy-three forty-seven

―Often, it all depends on the case. Is it legal to be beaten? If in doubt, pick the

bone and take it out. Even so, the inspector who has come here is a badass, poisonous.‖

―Oh, I don‘t know what to do,‖ exclaimed the priest. That voice struck seventy-

three and forty-year-old‘s mind.

―I‘m so happy to see you.‖ ―Then leave me alone. You have a million

blessings.‖

―Is that possible? Can you leave Pudich in the case? Well

Is it a singing thing? The job will be expensive.‖

The priest stood like a statue.

He started talking again at seventy-three forty-seven.

―One thing can be done; that is Bhavamenu Pathuch to do

Let‘s talk about the case and let‘s talk about it.‖

‗Head Constable,

―Then tell me. You will be fine. Nadhikrishnan opened Om‘s eyes and opened

his eyes.‖

―Should go ahead and let it go. He is a very smart man. He will immediately

climb up. He will put his foot on top of it.‖

―Their must say for me, otherwise I will be humiliated and destroyed. I am a

samsari who has no livelihood to run a cash register, and I am a samsari who comes and
 27

goes to work. I will live to win the lottery for a swan. A man cannot face. You are saying

this. I will remember you and Krishna and Sethu and you.

―That‘s right, there is no mercy for the dusty fly in your stomach. And the big

amount.‖

―What?‖

―If you bow down and make an offering, the Lord will bless you. It is for this

reason that I do not go to Vallisa‘s advice to that man.‖

―What do you want to give?‖

―Fifty.‖

‗Afraid? Ten?‖

―Would a ten-rupee coin rest in a case?‖

―Ten bucks!‖

―Why do you?‖

―Where can I go now with ten rupees?‖ ―I will do it if I want. Otherwise, you

have to wait and see.‖

The priest walked away speechless. He started talking again at seventy-three

forty-seven.

―What? What did you say?‖

―Ugh. Where would I go for ten bucks?‖ The priest said in a serious voice.

Seventy-three forty-seven was angry.

―Can you tell who is going to give us food now? Someone has put a bribe on the

table. Take a tour. You should go before the inspector goes home. Drink some potion for

you who are getting better.‖

 28

―You‘re just talking.‖

―after going a little distance he started talking again. Seventy-three forty-seven.

―I remember now. My mother received a letter from the D.S.P. office.

Everything from the D.S.P. office is magically forgotten. They wrote in the posture of not

dying while lying on the ground. Do you know the matter now?‖

―What?‖

Do you know?‖

Shut up, shut up. If you open your mouth, I will put it in powder. He entered the

station

―There‘s nothing to be gained.‖

―God has given way‖

Both have reached the station side. At seventy-three forty-seven he started

talking again. ―This is no time for other people. Ethuvani

Time for fear. ―There shall be no mercy.‖

―Why?‖

―Look, you got pierced like a mountain. Not even a coward will believe what

you say. A man who bathes in a temple doesn‘t know if he is going to be beaten and

kicked and humiliated. If you say the idea that you are going to go away, you won‘t

listen. All your friends will know. Tell me and don‘t stab me, time is like that.

The priest laughed.

―will see that you should give up easily. That wisdom should be beaten with

sandal.‖ He said seventy-three forty-seven.

 29

―You are right. You have a great desire to protect me. That HC is a very greedy

person. Let him be greedy,

Am I supposed to be Ashtatritra?‖

―Man, if you leave the stone inside and lock it, you will know the noise of

Ashtatritram Paswan has passed away, I have been talking to him day in and day out for

fifteen years. I will decorate it in various ways. Bowed his head fell on the forehead. Let

that wretched payal take a beating. If you want to count the wire

Let it be.

The priest spoke quietly.

Seventy-three forty-seven looked back at the priest‘s face. There was no trace of

fear on his face. He walked faster now. He walked, waving his hands.

Will the bread do something?‖ he asked

What?‖

I can do something for you.‖

―Let‘s make things clear. Why, Suddich

Do you want to bend the hammer?‖ asked the priest.

Seventy-three forty-seven. ―You‘re like Tata, Birla, etc. You‘ve been putting off

time somehow.

Seventy-three and forty-seven were struck by Pitarieth. ―H. I want to take the

seat and finish the sluwa. I will take five rupees. I will take satnu. I have other work.‖

He decided to buy the money without giving the priest a second thought. The

priest said more calmly than before.

 30

―What kind of talk is this! Can I give you five rupees or not give you ten? Why

would I go to kill Thik Krishna if I had all the arrows. And now what I have stolen,

robbed, or dragged my hand to go on the road - what wrong have I done, Umm H.C.‘s

head will turn red.

Seventy-three forty-seven can cut the priest to pieces on the spot. It was like

―You are Asamiya, the great rascal!‖ He said.

―What mud? That‘s how I was He.‖

Who is he?‖ ―He is above, he is.‖

Both arrived in front of the station. At the betel nut shop in front of the station,

while he was talking to the shopkeeper, seventy-three and forty-seven began to speak

harshly to him, calling him ‗Annachi‘.

The priest was standing behind. He was speaking fluently to Annachi. He did

not move or look back at the place where the priest was standing. It was as if he was

standing in the posture of saying if he is going, let him go. But he stood there like a stone.

Annachi got bored of talking.

Seventy-three and forty-seven turned to the priest and said, ―Sammy, if you are

going, go, you can look back.‖

―Let‘s wrap up the business,‖ said the priest.

―Come on Sammy, I‘m just saying I‘ll take a look later. You‘ll catch me.‖

―What‘s the matter?‖ Annachi asked.

―Nothing. Tomorrow is the day of my death. It says that I should celebrate it by

making a prayer. That is what I have been hearing from him. Don‘t buy goods. But where

will the money go?‖ He said to himself, ``Adi Sakke‘‘

 31

priest.

Annachi suddenly said good-bye and went away because there was a talk about

money.

Seventy-three forty-seven to the direction where the priest stood

She started walking in the opposite direction. The priest ran after him. ―look

here, a little oil, what is this? the middle

water sings the string -

―Oh right. Bomaiya.‖

―What is this, I don‘t understand anything‖ Bomayya looked at the house. Put it

and buy it.

―You said something. Oh eighty-sixty

You said two. Now go away and drive away‖

Seventy-three and forty-seven were furious. Eyes red. The veins on the forehead

bulged. The priest stared unblinkingly at his face. The priest also looked unblinking. He

was a bit scared. But at the same time there was uncontrollable laughter. A faint smile

graced his lips. Seventy-three forty-seven noticed that the priest stifled a laugh and a

smile formed on his lips. He was laughing.

Seventy-three forty-seven laughed heartily, and she giggled. He laughed out

loud. He laughed like a child,

The priest laughed with him. Seventy-three and forty-seven Standing very close

to the priest, I smiled at his face and said:

―Let‘s go home. I‘ll go home too,‖ the voice was very quiet. The priest looked at

his face. Just ahead, he was nothing like the man before him.
 32

Archakar even said, ―I want to go to that side too, we will go together.‖

―Yes, that person is some Janma Nakshatra

You said, is it true? showed

Left for drama?‖ asked the priest. ―It‘s true Vey, tomorrow is the day after

tomorrow.‖

―What bro?‖

―Bombshell.‖

―Is it the head?‖

―Yes. At least eleven years since the marriage!‖ ‗Oh, what‘s the name?‘

―Honey,‖

He said, ―Our Swami needs a name very much.‖

priest.

Seventy-three forty-seven smiled.

Yes, what are you going to do about it?‖ The housekeeper tells me to do

something. I am the one who is stuck.‖

―Why do you have to take it? A lot

The next day, Swami opened his eyes and gave him his hand.

There shall not be a diminution of it; You have the power to keep

―No,‖ said the priest.

―Is that right? Who says it isn‘t? But there‘s no handshake.‖

What is the harm if the raptnikkaran, Swami Glub catches Pattaravan? Giver of

offerings. You can make a thick paste with anchovies. If you like, you can wear rice
 33

shawl, eagle eye vest, gold chain. What a man you are, you must know even this,‖ said

the priest.

Seventy-three forty-seven grinned. ―The hand is tangled in a cow. I looked at the

dog. Even after it was born, it was in a different state of mind. I saw the priest. You

spread your hand! You are a wicked mother.‖

―I also have asthma, am I too bad to be with ten men? Seventy-three and forty-

seven will make you not know what tuldu is and what tuldu is.‖

―It‘s because of the kick! Someone just a little while ago

Crying, who is that? Pallu telegraphed someone.

to whom ―I was a little scared at first. Why should you lie, you‘re going to roll

and roll anyway!‖

―What are you doing, Sammy? This is just for old age

All these things. Or else held her nose

Just for example. ―Doubtful? What do I strive for in the temple? When you get

inside the temple, do good deed, Swami will get up and run to the back. Devotee

Chikamanillas like that will come. I went to her and smiled at her. I will ask if you have

left. Alvar Nayanmars are bad. Finally, I notice whether he puts two or four on the go.

The priest said, ―I will attach the lamp to my waist in the tirtha.‖

Both laughed together.

The two men walked and reached the post office junction.

Seventy-three forty-seven said, ―I will come with this letter.‖

―Look, someone in a khaki shirt is going to make a duck. Who‘s going to get

sick at home?‖ said the priest.

 34

After putting the letters in the mail, he came to the betel nut shop in the opposite

wing at seventy-three forty-five. He plucked forty-five fruits from the mulberry bush.

―Eat, eat,‖ he said, reaching out to the priest.

The priest held out both his hands. Both of them put betel leaves. ―Put it on the

counter,‖ said Seventy-Three Forty-Seven, to the shopkeeper.

―I have written,‖ said the shopkeeper.

―Just write and let it take two days. I‘m going to die.‖

Eventually, the two men reached a point where they had to part ways.

―Sammy, then say goodbye to me. Nothing

―Don‘t hide it in your mind,‖ said seventy-three forty seven.

Archakar said, ―What a shame. Khaki caste is like this.‖ ―All are the same

caste,‖ said seventy-three forty-seven.

―Alright, what are you going to do tomorrow?‖

―Understand what you are doing. Wekkamayir will have a thousand memories in

front of his face. ―Okay, I‘m dry,‖ he said and walked seventy-three forty-seven.

―Hey, come here,‖ said the priest country

The priest unbuttoned his half robe lightly. Now a cloth belt was visible on the

stomach. Rubbing every spot on the cloth belt, he suddenly took his hand out as he

reached his back.

Five rupee note!

―Indra too, stretch out your hand,‖ said the priest. Seventy-three forty-seven

hesitated for a minute and reached out to take it. ―I know that there will be no shortage of

children‘s birthdays. said. priest.

 35

―Sami, very kind, very kind,‖ she said

Seventy-three forty-seven. His voice faltered.

Don‘t let Ananda Pashpam do anything. Archakar said, ―When you get your

salary on the first day, you will return it.‖

―Of course I will.‖

―Definitely give it.‖

―I will.‖

Both laughed.

―Tomorrow he will come to our temple. Nathikrishnan will be very happy when

Kannamma comes. I will gather and pray.

―Okay, I‘ll put it together.‖

―Then I will come. Remember the first date.

Saying that, the priest walked in the dark. Seventy-three and forty-seven he died

He stood watching.

Saraswati,

WINDOW
 36

The bed I was lying on was near the window. A few months ago, one day in the

evening, I slipped and fell on the bed. Couldn‘t get back up. I never thought I would be

able to stay in bed for so long. Five six months have passed. No, there will be more. I

can‘t say for sure. I don‘t know what month it is. I don‘t know the date, I don‘t know the

day.

I have been lying on this bed near the window for a long time.

My legs and arms became stick models. The body is relaxed. One day my

younger sister came to the side of the bed and looked at me for a long time without

blinking and then ran away saying, ‗Brother, you look like a lizard‘. I felt as if I had

jumped out of bed and fallen back down. It‘s been a long time since I looked at myself in

the mirror. Don‘t bring me glasses. I want to look at my face for once. The only itching in

the mind. No one is listening to what I say. It seems they think that maybe I will shed

tears if I see my face. However, I am tempted to take care of my face once in a while.

Because the ribs have become a basket model

Spruce up a fluffy foam mattress. A hollow below the neck, where fleshless

bones jutted out. Likes tap water. I can‘t wrap my arms around my legs; Can‘t move.

Nodular swelling of the hands and feet. A bed is just a bed.

Sometimes the pain is rolling and throbbing. Tears flow from the eyes. I won‘t

open my mouth though. I have long-term practice of chewing on pain and suffering with

my mouth shut.

It happened one day.

 37

A wasp flew from the ceiling and landed on my chest. There will always be

someone watching over me, sister, mother, father. Tragically - no one was there that day.

What will I do?

A wasp chest from the top roof - planted in the middle

It‘s over. The fallen wasp was circling the chest.

Around the neck. I looked down.

I do not know. Assault the wasp‘s senses

There is no one in the room.

Make noise. No sound. Swelling in the throat,

The sound does not jump. The pain is throbbing.

The wasp came crawling closer to ear. If it goes into the ear...?

Mother!‘

There was no sound.

Tears flowed from the eyes and the pillow got wet.

By that age he had grown up drinking so many tears.

Whatever unseen Mahashakti went and recited in Amma‘s ear - she came

running. She came to my room like it was on fire. She came as if someone had pulled her

by the hand.

The wasp climbed up the nostrils and crawled towards the forehead.

―Mother!‖

My voice echoed in my inner ear. Just then my mother came to the door.

―Ambhee!‖ She came to me shouting. She fanned her face with the saree cover.

She wiped her face with her sari head.

 38

Blood flowed from her eyes. My room is sour to my eyes.

How long have you been staring at a yellow wall? I kept looking at the four

black dots clearly visible on the wall. In two places, the limestone burst and rose like an

oyster, waiting to fall now or then. One fell off two months ago. This too will fall off.

There was only one place where the nose was rubbed at the height of the bed. It was dry

and unpleasant to touch. Every day I wish to never see it. A must see every day.

A tripod on the side of the mouse. If you feel like reaching out, you can touch it.

In which the patient‘s monopoly assets. Circular rings where the coffee grounds are

placed. Two are not clear.

Eleven uttar blocks over my eyes. Of those logs...enough! I‘m bored.

My room was sour before my eyes. The same scenes, the same pattern every day

disgusted me.

The bed I was lying on was near the window. It is not that the window is large;

Little is nothing. But for my eyes, the window was giving the view bigger. It was

something I couldn‘t respect back then.

Four wires per window. Before that a festival,

A picket fence. I will keep looking at the leaning bamboo in that pandal. I

noticed several holes in the unsplit round bamboos. Who put those holes? One day I

counted the holes. Seven. Ten days passed. I counted again. Ten... Addisaka! What is this

magic? Noticed every day. Then one day at noon someone came. There is no other way.

A beetle,.. Oh, Neera you are doing this work. Bale Alaiya water! The beetles make a

‗sss‘ sound, ‗swirling around and making holes for days. Besh, so sad!
 39

Next to the pavilion is the compound wall. Pot it two roses, one growing; And

the problem is small. Mother Rose; Baby Rose.

When I wake up in the morning I count rose buds. The next day they bloom and

sway in the breeze. New buds again. Rose in the morning, when it rains, she takes a

shower and smiles at me. Laughing.

Balkari‘s lady came and stood beside the rose plant. Usually the girl‘s mother

brings the milk. It seems to me that at this hour they will go past the sunny day. If I ask

Kalosai, I will look back, deciding in my mind whether or not. It will be as I thought. I

am proud of this That day the milkmaid came to the side of the rose plant. How did she

know I was lying there on the porch? After looking around, suddenly pick a rose flower

and put it in a glass of milk. She raised her head and looked at the window. The face is

gone. I am embarrassed. I will not tell anyone‘ I said with my eyes. She ran away

laughing.

Sometimes I look at the banana plantation opposite. Calves were planted the day

I fell into bed. They grew before my eyes. Grown up. It was like a house mummy. Each

banana. The leaf is large; Bigger than my mattress. Pushing the flower behind. Beautiful

huts. At dusk, bats roam around the banana plantation. The sight of sipping honey from a

banana flower is wonderful. I don‘t know how to say. It will be very wonderful.

My eyes do not know the road. But the head of the electric poles and the wires

running along the head are visible. I‘ve noticed it recently when I fell into bed. The wires

are more sagging now than before. I thought that people would come to pull the wire.

When I looked back, it was as stiff as before. Acharyaam. I don‘t understand the mystery.

I told my mother. She didn‘t understand either. She said what is magic.
 40

At Charal Samayangan, the water cascades run down the power line for a short

distance and fall. Then it is enough to beat the young sun. It will be wonderful. Open a

dival a thousand times in water. I only got to see it once. to me

The car moves relentlessly. But my eyes did not know the carriage was going.

When the hay carts go, only the hay is visible. Sometimes a person sits on it in the

‗Nantanda Raja‘ posture. Illness is also one I also decided to go for a hayride for the day.

Tenant must inform Thanu Malayan.

Only one side of Iyer‘s roof is visible. Sometimes flocks of crows gather there.

Like a school of cuckoos, a single cuckoo somewhat larger and shorter in the cuckoo

species will sit conspicuously in a crowd. He should be the headmaster. While I was

watching, the big crow pecked a small crow. If you don‘t do your homework, that‘s it!

Sometimes the roof of Iyer‘s house would smoke heavily. A musty smell

emanates from the plant. I decide what to curry and what to eat. Then the mouth will

water. There is also a flow on the cheek without knowing me. Mother will come and

sweep.

I would stare at the sky for hours. Oh, how beautiful! Clouds are colored by

groups of pilgrims. Where are you going? Sometimes laziness will set in. There is no

movement. I want to lie on a cloud. looks like It is as if you have to put your head

through the cloud. Pure white, faded black, solid black, gray white, fresh new disguises.

Transforms and transforms and falls into form. Like a peacock, like a giant lying down,

like a horse flying on all fours, like a giant banyan tree.

One is a golden chariot with six horses. The chariot runs without a driver.

Another minute melted away.

 41

In just one day, the cloud has gathered like a bed. In it lies a hollow, stick-like

body. Seeing it that day, I longed and wept.

Ambuli cannot always be seen. Every once in a while it comes into the circle

visible through the window. It will disappear in a few days. Again one day suddenly the

edge of Ambuli can be seen in North Kodi. I‘ll be blown away that day. Later it moves

towards the south coast day by day and comes in the middle of the window. There was

only one celebration that day. It was as if Ambuli was looking at my face. It‘s like calling

out to me. After a few days it will start to fade again. I will watch you closely for a

couple of days with great difficulty. Even if you look back like that, it will disappear.

Only one or two Nakshatras are visible at first glance. It will increase as you see.

If you squint your eyes, a ray of light joins the eye and the retina. Nakshatras seem to

blossom within the eye.

At dusk, chickadees fly like plus signs at the window. Golas up and down and

cast spells in witchcraft.

Through the window from widening to squinting

I will keep watching.

I don‘t care; Don‘t get bored.

It was that window that gave meaning to all the past moments.

But...

One day I woke up and saw the window. There was only a wall. what is this?

Where is the window?

My mother stood by and said:

 42

―Yesterday, the doctor came after you fell asleep. He told me to pull the bed and

put it against the wall.‖

I winced ‗O‘ and cried. I cried.

The family is gathered in the room. Mother, father, sister, sister, brother,

brother...

―Oh, the kid doesn‘t know what he‘s doing?‖ Mother waved her hand and

everyone started crying.

Dad was shocked.

―Why are you crying? Tell me what does it do? Say Luda, I will fetch the

doctor.‖

Tears were flowing down his cheeks. ―Tell me why? Tell me if it‘s not my eyes

Mother begged. I grumbled. Mother is my ear

She kept it in her mouth.

I murmured:

―I‘m out of breath

Everyone shouted ―Doctor! Doctor!‖ They shouted.

 43

CHAPTER III

PROBLEMS FACED DURING TRANSLATION

There were few problems faced while translating the short stories of Vacanai.

It includes the vocabulary, cultural aspects in the SL text and there were no equivalent

words found for some of the Tamil words. The major difficulties include:

 Dialect is, without a doubt, one of the most challenging aspects of this

translation process, and if it‘s not handled right, it can lead to materials being

incorrectly translated, or even losing their meaning and intention.

 Some dialogue was unfinished in SL, so felt some difficulty to translate it into

English.

 Words like ―nysa‖, ―adisakka‖, ―kalana‖, ―Prasad‖, have cultural connotations

which have no equivalent words in English.

 Word for word translation was not applicable for many sentences. There was

no way other than opting sense for sense translation.

 It is difficult to find the equivalent textual and literary material of the SL in the

TL.
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CHAPTER IV

CONCLUSION

Translation has established itself as a serious discipline in the present century.

The theory and the practice of translation has gained immense popularity as the activity

helps in bringing about a cross-cultural exchange. In a globalised world the role of

translation has become even more challenging and interesting. New theories are emerging

with the production of translation from different parts of the world. The practice of

translation in the west and in the post-colonial world contributes towards different

debates on it. The area is enriched through all the deliberations and theories proposed and

opposed at different moments. Translation as a process involves a careful reading of the

texts to be translated. This process of reading is foremost in the activity of translation as

it is not influenced by external considerations like market forces, if done in the right

spirit.

Every language is set inside a defined structure with its own agreed upon rules.

The complexity and singularity of this framework directly correlates to the difficulty of

translation.

Translator‘s job is not transferring words for words, but it is the transfer of the

meaning of sentences to the target language. Each language has different rules and

structures that need to be followed in order to to maintain the same meaning. Without the

correct language structure, it is easy for a sentence not to make any sense in the target
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language. As a result, translators frequently have to add, remove, and rearrange source

words to effectively communicate in the target language.

Idiomatic expressions explain something by way of unique examples or figures of

speech. And most importantly, the meaning of these peculiar phrases cannot be predicted

by the literal definitions of the words it contains. Many linguistic professionals insist that

idioms are the most difficult items to translate. In fact, idioms are routinely cited as a

problem machine translation engines will never fully solve. Ideally, publishers should try

to limit the number of idiomatic expressions contained in content they hope to translate.

But if they insist on keeping these potentially confusing phrases, cultural familiarity must

be a priority in translator recruitment.

A language may not have an exact match for a certain action or object that exists

in another language. Sarcasm is a sharp, bitter, or cutting style of expression that usually

means the opposite of its literal phrasing. Sarcasm frequently loses its meaning when

translated word - for - word into another language and can often cause unfortunate

misunderstandings. Ideally, a publisher would remove sarcasm from the source text prior

to translation. But in cases where that style is central to the content requirements, the

publisher should explicitly underscore sarcastic passages.

For the basic work of a translation knowledge of both source language and the

target language, along with the socio-political-cultural nuances and connotations is

essential for quality product. At times the use of a team of translators, rather than an

individual seems to be a better option for translation procedure. In this project, there

emerges a problem that though the source language is Assamese, the target language
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being English does not only aim at the western reader for its reading public. In India, with

its multicultural and multilingual readership, English has become the language through

which the voice from a region can be made public. So the goal of the translators should

be to make the readers aware of the voices of a particular time therby making the time

get reflected through the translated works.

Moreover, it became evident that the study of translation could be of great value to

the further development of linguistics, as it could bring out certain features and

possibilities in a language which could not be discovered in any other way. The linguists

realized that translation is a sort of dynamic comparison of languages in action which

gains a new insight into the way languages function in speech and reveals much of both

their universal and specific features. The obvious conclusion was: ―Any comparison of

two languages implies an examination of their mutual translatability; widespread practice

of interlingual communication, particularly translation activities must be kept under

constant scrutiny by linguistic science.‖(V N 37)

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WORKS CITED

Primary source

Ramaswany,Sundara. Vacanai. Kalachuvadu publications Chennai, 2011.

Secondary source

Bassnett,Susan. Translation Studies. Routledge, 2013

Net source

Komisarov, V N. ―Language and Culture in Translation: Competitors or Collaborators?‖

TTRdoi.org/10.7202/037080ar