Saturday, July 30, 2022
Dilemma - Translation - in Defunct Magazine
Swaing, Flowing - Short story in Spillwords Press
Gautam remained silent, hesitant as to whether the words he would utter might reveal his uncertainty about the place he’d arrived. “How many days have you been practicing?” said the man opposite him.
“For two years… Only intermittent practices. Sometimes, there was even a break of three months. But in spite of my regular stints at the practice, I wasn’t able to enjoy its benefits.”
“What do you expect as benefits?”
“I certainly didn’t get into meditation expecting supernatural powers. I’ve got no desire in attaining them. My mind refuses to be under control. It wanders restlessly all the time. Holding its tail, I too am wandering behind it. I hoped I could focus my mind through meditation.”
Karma - Short Story in Impspired magazine
Peter felt that there was something amiss in his lawnmower. Initially, it kept struggling for every ten feet and now it was difficult even to push the machine. He turned it upside down and thoroughly inspected the bottom but couldn’t find anything fishy. The clippings stuck on the bottom effused a sweet, sharp smell. He especially liked the fragrance of the fresh-cut grass, one of the reasons for his being perfectly regular at this task. But at that moment, lawn mowing was proving to be highly arduous.
Monday, May 9, 2022
Prrasantu - Translation - Piker press
My translation of the acclaimed writer Jeyamohan's short story Prrasantu has been accepted and is out now in the Piker Press literary magazine.
What if mercy is more powerful than punishment?
~~~
"Man! Had I had your dexterity, I would've dragged that fellow Appasami into the court case. He would've been convicted. I would have retired with honor," said Siromani. "But it didn't occur to me to drag him into the case. I wouldn't have had the courage even if it did."
"But you need prrasantu for that, right?" said the young man.
Thursday, April 28, 2022
An Untold Story - Flash Fiction Published in Spillwords
Tuesday, April 26, 2022
Ocean's Nearby - Translation
Ocean’s nearby
He was lying inside that large house, which had always been dark so one could never see dawn or dusk, on a straw mat propped up on a century-old wooden cot. He’d piled up books on the cot, which was large enough for four or five people to comfortably lie and roll. The books were scattered throughout, leaving space only for him to lie down, and were full of dust.
Saturday, March 19, 2022
Over The Fire - Translation
OVER THE FIRE
written by: B. Jeyamohan
@jeyamohanwriter
translated by: Jegadeesh Kumar
I
Millions of years ago, the earth split open like an eyelid, beneath a dark, frozen sea. Lava erupted from it like a giant tower of fire. The sea around it was eternally turbulent while steam rose and stood on it like silver strands.
Steam continued to pour down on the erupting lava. The lava cooled down and closed the rift and the eye went into a deep slumber. As the lava cooled down entirely, it turned into black soil. Then birds came to disperse seeds and microorganisms. Then came the man. He turned the place into a town.
Last Machine - Translation
Last Machine – இறுதி யந்திரம்
by Jeyamohan and Translated from Tamil by Jegadeesh Kumar
The Chancellor had reserved for him an hour, from eight twenty.
In the guest room, the skinny, bald-headed man waited with his equipment, a square-shaped machine with an eyepiece made of glass and a few buttons on the front. The guest room was extremely cold. It seemed the freezing cold would pierce your bones no matter the kind of clothes you wore. There were still five minutes left for the meeting. The clock’s hand moved painfully slowly. He checked his equipment once again and appeared satisfied. Taking off his monocle, he nervously wiped it several times with a silk handkerchief. The call came when he wore it back again. A guard, wearing a red uniform and several gold medals, walked in slowly and majestically and said, “Your time, comrade.” His heart began to pound hard when he got up hurriedly to enter the meeting hall.
Wednesday, March 16, 2022
Kurt Vonnegut's SciFi story - A Summary
2 B R 0 2 B by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (narrativemagazine.com)
The story happens in the 2200s. No war, no diseases, no slums, no insane asylums, no poverty, no cripples. Mr. Wheling waits for his wife’s delivery. X-rays reveal she has triplets. He was young, 56. People go on living since there is no old age. One has to volunteer to die if a child needs to be born. The waiting room was being redecorated as a memorial to a man who volunteered to die. A 200 year old painter, who looks 35, depicts a mural of a garden he doesn’t like. An orderly comes in singing a song and marvels at the painting. It includes the faces of important people. Dr.Hitz, who founded the Ethical Sucide Studios, the Federal bureau of Termination, was one among them.
But the painter says the world is not the happy Garden of Life as is depicted in the picture, but rather a dirty drop cloth that is on the floor. The orderly says if he doesn’t like it here, he can call 2BR02B, the number of the federal bureau of termination.
The painter says if it’s time for him to go, it won’t be sheepdip meaning he will do it himself. The orderly says not to leave any mess to clean after him. The painter says the world could do well with a little mess. A formidable woman with facial hair, clad in purple walks in. She is Leora Duncan, who works in the FBT. She’s come to model for the painting. The painter finds a place next to Dr.Hitz. She is elated.
Dr.Hitz, 240, walks in as Leora was posing for her portrait. She says she is honored to be in the same mural. Dr.Hitz says the triplets have been born. She exclaims over the implications. The triplets need three volunteers if they were all to live. They had one, Wheeling’s maternal grandfather. Wheling is not very happy, since he has to pick one of the three children to live.
Dr. Hitz explains the benefits of population control and the ill effects experienced by over population 200 years earlier. Wheling says he wants all three of his children and his grandfather to live. Leora doesn’t like the doctor calling FBT the catbox. Dr. Hitz continues to explain the good things happening because of the arrangement. Suddenly Wheling draws a revolver and kills Dr.Hitz. “There is room for one,” he says. And kills leora, then himself, making room for all three of his children.
The painter ponders the mournful puzzle of life and its demands. He decides he’s had enough and takes Wheling’s pistol to kill himself. But he does not have the nerve. Then he calls the number 2BR02B and schedules an appointment for termination. The hostess replies, “ Thank you sir, the planet thanks you. The future generation thanks you.”