tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20597999599441618442024-03-19T02:55:51.125-07:00jegadeesh kumarSpiritual, creative and academic writingUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-80862978607059962222023-05-25T06:32:00.002-07:002023-05-25T06:32:38.181-07:00The Fall - Translation in Defunct Magazine<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><span style="--tw-border-spacing-x: 0; --tw-border-spacing-y: 0; --tw-ring-color: rgb(59 130 246 / 0.5); --tw-ring-offset-color: #fff; --tw-ring-offset-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-ring-offset-width: 0px; --tw-ring-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-rotate: 0; --tw-scale-x: 1; --tw-scale-y: 1; --tw-scroll-snap-strictness: proximity; --tw-shadow-colored: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-skew-x: 0; --tw-skew-y: 0; --tw-translate-x: 0; --tw-translate-y: 0; background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1qq9wsj xo1l8bm" href="https://www.facebook.com/appadurai.muttulingam?__cft__[0]=AZVzL4io75_e9Q2cHE3nh6QNjKjuzaZPufOzq6EOfn3b04GY9XjMuQAC_Ctep7H6JYmsMj8RRwL8L7j4a1KxwJBEy_hszhe8XRpRRyOfrqIYcgALWv-Jna53ci1D5JdUBMo&__tn__=-]K-R" role="link" style="--tw-border-spacing-x: 0; --tw-border-spacing-y: 0; --tw-ring-color: rgb(59 130 246 / 0.5); --tw-ring-offset-color: #fff; --tw-ring-offset-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-ring-offset-width: 0px; --tw-ring-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-rotate: 0; --tw-scale-x: 1; --tw-scale-y: 1; --tw-scroll-snap-strictness: proximity; --tw-shadow-colored: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-skew-x: 0; --tw-skew-y: 0; --tw-translate-x: 0; --tw-translate-y: 0; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0"><span class="xt0psk2" style="--tw-border-spacing-x: 0; --tw-border-spacing-y: 0; --tw-ring-color: rgb(59 130 246 / 0.5); --tw-ring-offset-color: #fff; --tw-ring-offset-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-ring-offset-width: 0px; --tw-ring-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-rotate: 0; --tw-scale-x: 1; --tw-scale-y: 1; --tw-scroll-snap-strictness: proximity; --tw-shadow-colored: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-skew-x: 0; --tw-skew-y: 0; --tw-translate-x: 0; --tw-translate-y: 0; display: inline;">Appadurai Muttulingam</span></a></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">ayya's beautiful story in my translation out now in Defunct magazine. This magazine, formerly an Iowa University's brain child, now comes out from the Long Island University's creative writing department. This is my second appearance in the magazine. Thank you editors!</span></span><span class="fullpost">
</span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA3FOuYzU8piGQa8X6SMqx0zSQloXyJaVqabIwfIOYG__cdsgPFukvsMeWKo6b5HUn0gLf-dU_mnSauY9-hsJLz9paxZnoyf4PITRAtfSCBOInHkbZ3olCDo9aMhpFc_mjnJRkd530M-Ys7XQV7rbsy3ViztGAJT-q4uyzrVhmKyZcayLB_58d2EvTQ/s960/defunct.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="960" height="532" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA3FOuYzU8piGQa8X6SMqx0zSQloXyJaVqabIwfIOYG__cdsgPFukvsMeWKo6b5HUn0gLf-dU_mnSauY9-hsJLz9paxZnoyf4PITRAtfSCBOInHkbZ3olCDo9aMhpFc_mjnJRkd530M-Ys7XQV7rbsy3ViztGAJT-q4uyzrVhmKyZcayLB_58d2EvTQ/w640-h532/defunct.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHb5_933CXSPrqb1zp1lX_i0tLcFkU40cYHbB8QThV9AzrYE-Wy4agvQp5xv1-3dx-fmA-J0ebMc1cfYXQRAHxfjiuHFBO0NMWjniN96SUKnRUwAQQk1_zu9z1c01YKf-R6GnVhaW7xlfbCqi3wrPSFF3-Pm-ukoEPdxrKb9PbDvIN4MZytGsyxwnJbQ/s725/the%20fall.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="725" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHb5_933CXSPrqb1zp1lX_i0tLcFkU40cYHbB8QThV9AzrYE-Wy4agvQp5xv1-3dx-fmA-J0ebMc1cfYXQRAHxfjiuHFBO0NMWjniN96SUKnRUwAQQk1_zu9z1c01YKf-R6GnVhaW7xlfbCqi3wrPSFF3-Pm-ukoEPdxrKb9PbDvIN4MZytGsyxwnJbQ/w640-h294/the%20fall.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzgPXtYOtL6745G9jPhSFKwbReWxOrAMaQ_dXwXwkbeivuxNJAkNtjQNRt01RwRRicIYnQXwapkB-4xyKCkZS_sAoDgqBBUIZ49d9NUm4jhhngSzRfoUHW4r7ALqVWOtjVYneLSH3tn6YoE8hEZMk9D9GELpJBGcjNjaq5s-8UDanWyUnbEg5xLuZbA/s829/the%20fall2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="829" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzgPXtYOtL6745G9jPhSFKwbReWxOrAMaQ_dXwXwkbeivuxNJAkNtjQNRt01RwRRicIYnQXwapkB-4xyKCkZS_sAoDgqBBUIZ49d9NUm4jhhngSzRfoUHW4r7ALqVWOtjVYneLSH3tn6YoE8hEZMk9D9GELpJBGcjNjaq5s-8UDanWyUnbEg5xLuZbA/w640-h184/the%20fall2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://defunct.site/issue/12/authors/154/appadurai_muttulingam/479/%E0%AE%87%E0%AE%B2%E0%AE%AF%E0%AE%A4%E0%AE%B0%E0%AF%8D_%E0%AE%95%E0%AE%B2%E0%AE%AE%E0%AF%8D" target="_blank">Continue reading in Defunct...</a></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-89257583748161014072023-05-25T06:27:00.006-07:002023-05-25T06:27:44.077-07:00SPOTLIGHT ON WRITERS – JEGADEESH KUMAR - Spill Words Interview<span style="font-size: x-large;">Spill words Press interviewed with some interesting questions. It was a good opportunity to ponder about my inner processes as writer.</span><span class="fullpost"></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8FoczxgMZ1--OqdiSJ5mUhYIbfc4I5TrRhh6baHjRqLCfJxjdMKHS-j6L39i26IT2uqBORsKzdweGbpid8g8s65lv9X8KRyi0purTbs4bQbUW85ZdW6UJuioonbbSb57hngzSJZCdiG9tAvfzuOJvdgcPOjpWFFvIGry5O9WPgWY6vrk3fvs7NWdhQ/s1320/Spotlight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="1320" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8FoczxgMZ1--OqdiSJ5mUhYIbfc4I5TrRhh6baHjRqLCfJxjdMKHS-j6L39i26IT2uqBORsKzdweGbpid8g8s65lv9X8KRyi0purTbs4bQbUW85ZdW6UJuioonbbSb57hngzSJZCdiG9tAvfzuOJvdgcPOjpWFFvIGry5O9WPgWY6vrk3fvs7NWdhQ/w640-h338/Spotlight.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">It irritates me, especially in writing, when people only preach and do not practice. I take great care not to inflate my ego through my writing. Writing should be used to self-explore, not to paint large-scale fake depictions of your ugly self. When I find living writers who claim to be messiahs caught red handed in their dishonorable act, I cringe. I constantly check myself to see if I am able to reflect my true self in what I write or if I am attempting to elevate myself simply because I am endowed with the ability to mindlessly type innumerable letters on the keyboard.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://spillwords.com/spotlight-on-writers-jegadeesh-kumar/" target="_blank">Continue reading in Spillwords...</a></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-58506857445351638652023-05-25T06:23:00.003-07:002023-05-25T06:27:59.812-07:00Rope Snake - A translation<div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Writer Jeyamohan's Tamil short story "Kayitraravu" has been published in Spillwords Press magazine as Rope Snake on March 22, 2023.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span class="fullpost"></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOXfJB1Doc8sPzHNkdsKzTKhv4zQtznDmzNyiARi6pv3I4cNH5LXqTnu3M_3SzaXZD2X76LF3-yYYLQPwrR6XW_CzRCgc_RI_yPgK9MSQ6b9ckOSCqCvKXRA9U0QvD-Q37ro8XnGv7YrL5t5xPvw-93cLyI2VIZs8f8zuvg-9O66aPWaR-Hjb0Ilwew/s1320/Rope-Snake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="1320" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOXfJB1Doc8sPzHNkdsKzTKhv4zQtznDmzNyiARi6pv3I4cNH5LXqTnu3M_3SzaXZD2X76LF3-yYYLQPwrR6XW_CzRCgc_RI_yPgK9MSQ6b9ckOSCqCvKXRA9U0QvD-Q37ro8XnGv7YrL5t5xPvw-93cLyI2VIZs8f8zuvg-9O66aPWaR-Hjb0Ilwew/w640-h338/Rope-Snake.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">It was evening time in the month of May. In the enormous courtyard of the Nagercoil Club sat Captain Benny Anderson and Lieutenant Brian Potts in iron chairs on either side of the large, second-hand wrought iron table bought from the army and drank chilled beer in large glass mugs.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://spillwords.com/rope-snake/" target="_blank">Continue reading in Spillwords...</a></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-10620504362772172982023-02-15T13:08:00.001-08:002023-02-15T13:08:06.539-08:00A Primal Quality - Translation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxQmMouODinUQMv5Hj-Scu4Kyn7pltKwK47TInzp5gsEewL4uvjTnyZ2z5I1kLVHf8hiQKk_WNFkvHkW1CCt5O84UdJApowVlCs3VSmzfb1y91nUf5TNDGwlFBQM1WK4HOk96s5zerFkWvCnvCSe-MwXH8MipEW1TIOOj1Hj_yEDq6aNvbfpMBQrMyA/s613/A.Mu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="613" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxQmMouODinUQMv5Hj-Scu4Kyn7pltKwK47TInzp5gsEewL4uvjTnyZ2z5I1kLVHf8hiQKk_WNFkvHkW1CCt5O84UdJApowVlCs3VSmzfb1y91nUf5TNDGwlFBQM1WK4HOk96s5zerFkWvCnvCSe-MwXH8MipEW1TIOOj1Hj_yEDq6aNvbfpMBQrMyA/s320/A.Mu.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My translation of the acclaimed writer <a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1qq9wsj xo1l8bm" href="https://www.facebook.com/appadurai.muttulingam?__cft__[0]=AZVAMllmL2IgiLKVGz36ivxpGukjOz10uhkVEsulfMHuqODieBnZPc6EyTO7nfYgcN1UhjTtOh6yNjKe4guNT77pQI0AfLTgbR26VxriMA8TmIwe6ID_NU7FR2CgAWf-HBD6WAiWPC2FW1vv2Bg178GJ68Byt1aBuLj-Smv1tBmPNA&__tn__=-]K-R" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0"><span class="xt0psk2" style="display: inline;">Appadurai Muttulingam</span></a>'s short story A Primal Quality has been accepted for publication and is out now in Impspired, a UK-based magazine. A print version of the same story will be placed in its next print edition.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Thanks to the editor Steve Cawte for considering this piece and <a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1qq9wsj xo1l8bm" href="https://www.facebook.com/appadurai.muttulingam?__cft__[0]=AZVAMllmL2IgiLKVGz36ivxpGukjOz10uhkVEsulfMHuqODieBnZPc6EyTO7nfYgcN1UhjTtOh6yNjKe4guNT77pQI0AfLTgbR26VxriMA8TmIwe6ID_NU7FR2CgAWf-HBD6WAiWPC2FW1vv2Bg178GJ68Byt1aBuLj-Smv1tBmPNA&__tn__=-]K-R" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation;" tabindex="0"><span class="xt0psk2" style="display: inline;">Appadurai Muttulingam</span></a> ayya for granting me permission to translate the story.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://impspired.com/2022/12/01/jegadeesh-kumar-2/?fbclid=IwAR27QyAj6B-jrcAYWNLXxcLie1zlXMfoKQbOb9B5ok4wJN4oRnc_788tA44" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Read the story in Impspired</span></a></div><span class="fullpost">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-50434847907670456842022-07-30T08:26:00.005-07:002022-11-07T12:22:28.862-08:00Dilemma - Translation - in Defunct Magazine<span style="font-size: x-large;">My translation of the celebrated Tamil writer A, Muthulingam's story Dilemma has been accepted and out now in Defunct magazine.<span class="fullpost"></span></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span face="hypatia-sans-pro, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #212529;">From 2010 to 2013 </span><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #212529; font-family: hypatia-sans-pro, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: "liga"; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">Defunct</em><span face="hypatia-sans-pro, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #212529;"> published eight issues of flash essays about defunct things out of Iowa City, Iowa, run by the students in the University of Iowa’s Nonfiction Writing Program. The journal went on hiatus for eight years, and is now out of Brooklyn, run by the students in Long Island University’s MFA in Creative Writing and Publishing Program. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><em style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #212529; font-family: hypatia-sans-pro, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: "liga"; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">Defunct</em><span face="hypatia-sans-pro, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #212529;"> is a celebration of what is over, & what isn’t yet. We’re mourning. We’re functioning. Let’s show the world what we want & need through what we’ve lost.</span></span></div><div><span face="hypatia-sans-pro, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-size: 14.4px;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXyxcmTWHvvegSBA5CyzjCPePoVf4Aq7gEXNLB37eQVfqQ273kFaFcDQAeaTlMp6DpexLPBQ2g5PveBEuGQPkyQgsA47alyei5rXl4xvqydJyZqsQCuncwUn6TUJLn6k-VyDVRrqOYT_s-oDdVJWyb5QETSL52ggsHd27dbc_0hbHTFTpPO4og4MgzCA/s1024/AppaduraiMuttulingamJegadeeshKumar_Dilemma_202216516745.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="664" data-original-width="1024" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXyxcmTWHvvegSBA5CyzjCPePoVf4Aq7gEXNLB37eQVfqQ273kFaFcDQAeaTlMp6DpexLPBQ2g5PveBEuGQPkyQgsA47alyei5rXl4xvqydJyZqsQCuncwUn6TUJLn6k-VyDVRrqOYT_s-oDdVJWyb5QETSL52ggsHd27dbc_0hbHTFTpPO4og4MgzCA/s320/AppaduraiMuttulingamJegadeeshKumar_Dilemma_202216516745.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpV37p6lKMt9_5W51wY7LBEIsS5wQxd5DIEy0wZO4XeydDMzrYDSHTyZ-x8i4QQCQK3e_SKknNOjOZE3uwGk0xKDaOUXw9T38CT0T4AZGeRsEHJJ4RGXJ5QZu5xQeaswiZC7X2yAPN1N0TPRqcThT3tK7McMAGv5lg6sqHdnbzsri41IzbmkL9NFa01g/s918/Dilemma.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="298" data-original-width="918" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpV37p6lKMt9_5W51wY7LBEIsS5wQxd5DIEy0wZO4XeydDMzrYDSHTyZ-x8i4QQCQK3e_SKknNOjOZE3uwGk0xKDaOUXw9T38CT0T4AZGeRsEHJJ4RGXJ5QZu5xQeaswiZC7X2yAPN1N0TPRqcThT3tK7McMAGv5lg6sqHdnbzsri41IzbmkL9NFa01g/w640-h208/Dilemma.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><a href="https://defunct.site/issue/10/authors/154/appadurai_muttulingam/343/%E0%AE%A4%E0%AF%80%E0%AE%B0%E0%AF%8D%E0%AE%B5" target="_blank">Continue reading in the Defunct Magazine: Dilemma - Translation - Fiction</a></span><br /><span face="hypatia-sans-pro, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #212529; font-size: 14.4px;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-91485093880188047942022-07-30T08:15:00.002-07:002022-11-07T12:22:50.567-08:00Swaing, Flowing - Short story in Spillwords Press<span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">My story "Swaying, Flowing" has been accepted and is now out in Spillwords Press. Thank you Spillwords and Dagmara. It's a 28-minute read, folks!</span></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span class="fullpost">
</span></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2w8jUu9DM9tiGpQGhy6RTwHzLRwrj40VjQB9au2K4gi1dFuy1_u5XN5eKR-mSl3aWU77sDsnqWJCzFyoPq_ZSReVPPfaevcfPMTH6xO4SfkKCXSAs_5-px261CtTK02G-b4CZMYOx5yx3tCSyUSVz99LWIBEjl_8VLVut4KJHlEF9ZO2RnLrNEYDXA/s1700/Swaying-Flowing-spillwords.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1700" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2w8jUu9DM9tiGpQGhy6RTwHzLRwrj40VjQB9au2K4gi1dFuy1_u5XN5eKR-mSl3aWU77sDsnqWJCzFyoPq_ZSReVPPfaevcfPMTH6xO4SfkKCXSAs_5-px261CtTK02G-b4CZMYOx5yx3tCSyUSVz99LWIBEjl_8VLVut4KJHlEF9ZO2RnLrNEYDXA/s320/Swaying-Flowing-spillwords.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2e2e2e;">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.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2e2e2e;">“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.”</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2e2e2e;">“What do you expect as benefits?”</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #2e2e2e;">“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.”</span></span></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2e2e2e; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2e2e2e; font-size: x-large;">Continue reading in Spillwords Press: <a href="https://spillwords.com/swaying-flowing/" target="_blank">Swaying, Flowing - A short story</a></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-14512595081752391312022-07-30T07:56:00.004-07:002022-11-07T12:23:14.801-08:00Karma - Short Story in Impspired magazine<div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">M</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">y story "Karma" has been accepted and out now in the Impspired magazine. This is my third straight story in English. Thank you editor Steve Cawte for considering this piece.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Impspired is a UK based print and online magazine. Their online issues come out monthly and the print version is released every two months. A print version of this story will appear in their issue 9.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTKZi2shZUXcYDq2pv1qyysNJKEa6L8zRteYUOW7Kn5dY9zSaYs-rMflRxDq9gKFC6qzmxQoqFu9ZAsceeEQAKH9yuLBJHTgKAH5qrY5k592aAdFDl4P5DSFZuQqYowe3XdlqOjkd65GtHv67SbjkhU-ZzS1006QTafinPHH3YZt5c_KfXsV-DTmCxqA/s612/lawn%20pics.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="612" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTKZi2shZUXcYDq2pv1qyysNJKEa6L8zRteYUOW7Kn5dY9zSaYs-rMflRxDq9gKFC6qzmxQoqFu9ZAsceeEQAKH9yuLBJHTgKAH5qrY5k592aAdFDl4P5DSFZuQqYowe3XdlqOjkd65GtHv67SbjkhU-ZzS1006QTafinPHH3YZt5c_KfXsV-DTmCxqA/s320/lawn%20pics.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Lora, serif; white-space: normal;">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.</span></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px; white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px; white-space: normal;"><a href="https://impspired.com/2022/06/01/jegadeesh-kumar/?fbclid=IwAR0n5CPfMgMufbQVl9EYgdj464NdxhNmVYwz8HfJsDKSJxTIKj-NMo5-6pw" target="_blank">Read it in the Impspired magazine: Karma - A short story</a></span></div><span class="fullpost">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-60368597597289851072022-05-09T12:11:00.006-07:002022-11-07T12:23:53.724-08:00Prrasantu - Translation - Piker press<span id="docs-internal-guid-a30e62e2-7fff-6f8e-9b95-060e4ccd4811" style="font-size: x-large;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span>My translation of the acclaimed writer Jeyamohan's short story Prrasantu has been accepted and is out now in the Piker Press literary magazine.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiov99VwAXcRfeBtKJoj1onhDR4wYmXEZoZhCgJhEscjGAxTKeI3yZPGIE6ckcmEJxQDFz5AVAQkC8ICgRYQ-XEGYf9lmCRswAk91ADJIyKbYXQ4xNRRHvFpJ1uzHWFKCUPjoAt4_C-_rknC_fXoW59G02jYbihjzrXmrlLz4aNP2UifoZb72mVEnoJSg/s900/prra.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="662" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiov99VwAXcRfeBtKJoj1onhDR4wYmXEZoZhCgJhEscjGAxTKeI3yZPGIE6ckcmEJxQDFz5AVAQkC8ICgRYQ-XEGYf9lmCRswAk91ADJIyKbYXQ4xNRRHvFpJ1uzHWFKCUPjoAt4_C-_rknC_fXoW59G02jYbihjzrXmrlLz4aNP2UifoZb72mVEnoJSg/w294-h400/prra.jpg" width="294" /></a></div><span><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>What if mercy is more powerful than punishment?</i></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">~~~</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; padding-top: 0.25px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">"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."</span></p><p style="background-color: white; padding-top: 0.25px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">"But you need prrasantu for that, right?" said the young man.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #660000; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=9227" target="_blank">Continue reading:</a></span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><span class="fullpost"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-44776227216207832632022-04-28T05:59:00.013-07:002022-04-28T09:09:31.061-07:00An Untold Story - Flash Fiction Published in Spillwords<span style="font-size: x-large;">My Flash fiction<a href="https://spillwords.com/an-untold-story/" target="_blank"> <i><span style="color: #2b00fe;">An Untold Story</span> </i></a>is published in Spillwords magazine. Thank you Spillwords.</span><span class="fullpost"></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div>AN UNTOLD STORY</div><div>written by: Jegadeesh Kumar</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOKHro5eWdhfi8LujpYRH9_HlXGkH5fEd269iWzNOeplIYoz_8vmzgKkDn7MLVIkhBLHklnl5LEUhmdeS1brY99SVgljWr48BTNHomf3D73rjrZeKFxa7HEs2HFAPx4uaBMsgfc76iS68YLAJw6Yw18J82RL5jXtzmq-mR316OA_WDRjAqQI_Ya-uClQ/s1320/An-Untold-Story.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="1320" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOKHro5eWdhfi8LujpYRH9_HlXGkH5fEd269iWzNOeplIYoz_8vmzgKkDn7MLVIkhBLHklnl5LEUhmdeS1brY99SVgljWr48BTNHomf3D73rjrZeKFxa7HEs2HFAPx4uaBMsgfc76iS68YLAJw6Yw18J82RL5jXtzmq-mR316OA_WDRjAqQI_Ya-uClQ/w400-h211/An-Untold-Story.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Stuck in the shrubs of memory was a story that hadn’t been told for ages. Rummaging through the shrubs, a man who aspired to be a storyteller was foraging for the story. Its strands got tangled in his hands while he struggled to get hold of the tip of the story. After trying mightily to recover it in its fullest form, he severed it from the shackles of memory and walked carrying the remnants of the story as a bundle. The path that had been traveled by innumerable before him was only deserted now. He was exceedingly roused by the prospect of the journey though no one accompanied him, no one to guide him through. He kept walking with a chimera that he’d somehow be able to stumble upon someone who’d help him unravel the story from its entanglement.</div><div>Continue reading:<span style="color: #2b00fe;"> </span><a href="https://spillwords.com/an-untold-story/" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: red;">An Untold Story </span></i></a></div></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-4488972531527913212022-04-26T09:46:00.005-07:002022-11-07T12:24:17.313-08:00Ocean's Nearby - Translation<span style="font-size: x-large;">My translation of the writer Jeyamohan's short story Ocean's Nearby has been published in the Impspired magazine.<span class="fullpost"></span></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Impspired comes out once in every two months as an online magazine from the U.K. A print issue is also published three times a year. This story will appear in its next print version as well.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBkDeY5WiMh_SDR1pfk9K2R-qUTYyqMYH5dyMBCNVN0DcaLoolpylKrI6-8gCVnLfh7xH6iKdVY6OSl-2555UczZXpD8uxShxYMCgbtka4AyUe6_zDRVKTjuXA5s_2k2KjC-Tf_ISfoa1B4Pn68cul9gOsFUVWqee7nz7VfvcqNZfNcsj25KIA92EfQ/s1920/ocean.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBkDeY5WiMh_SDR1pfk9K2R-qUTYyqMYH5dyMBCNVN0DcaLoolpylKrI6-8gCVnLfh7xH6iKdVY6OSl-2555UczZXpD8uxShxYMCgbtka4AyUe6_zDRVKTjuXA5s_2k2KjC-Tf_ISfoa1B4Pn68cul9gOsFUVWqee7nz7VfvcqNZfNcsj25KIA92EfQ/w400-h225/ocean.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><div><h2 style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; line-height: 1.54; margin-bottom: 30px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Ocean’s nearby</span></h2><p data-adtags-visited="true" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; font-family: Lora, serif; margin-bottom: 30px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></p></div><div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://impspired.com/2022/04/01/jegadeesh-kumars-transaltion-of-jeyamohans-work/" target="_blank"><b>Read the story in Impspired magazine.</b></a></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-91153987657923359552022-03-19T07:37:00.005-07:002022-11-07T12:24:44.748-08:00Over The Fire - Translation<span style="font-size: x-large;">My translation of writer Jeyamohan's short story is out now Spillwords Press Literary magazine.</span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><h2 style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #161616; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0.1em; line-height: 1.3; margin: 30px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility; text-transform: uppercase;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">OVER THE FIRE</span></strong></h2><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">written by: B. Jeyamohan</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">@jeyamohanwriter</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">translated by: <a href="https://spillwords.com/author/jegadeeshkumar/" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #dba609; position: relative; text-decoration-line: none; transition: all 0.3s ease 0s;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Jegadeesh Kumar</span></a></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgI4UkHrZbsdpo0w1zFABDTI2YRD0ldr-w7KabQg6-b7vzHDl4-75ARHsWubRN8hv-PS18praYwWtxLvlgZP4LBTInHzukwsiQiWexhLqG_sLKT6sQ0yQNH-VicYcUrXO6qwmW0e6LUxjufFsApEN9B8YvtZgMndPIx54pzl2F6KcgUtEO0bc--5PKx2g=s2675" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1345" data-original-width="2675" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgI4UkHrZbsdpo0w1zFABDTI2YRD0ldr-w7KabQg6-b7vzHDl4-75ARHsWubRN8hv-PS18praYwWtxLvlgZP4LBTInHzukwsiQiWexhLqG_sLKT6sQ0yQNH-VicYcUrXO6qwmW0e6LUxjufFsApEN9B8YvtZgMndPIx54pzl2F6KcgUtEO0bc--5PKx2g=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></strong></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">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.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />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.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://spillwords.com/over-the-fire/" target="_blank">continue reading...</a></span></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-26546654743818987922022-03-19T07:20:00.002-07:002022-03-19T07:20:24.543-07:00Last Machine - Translation<span style="font-size: large;">My translation of the writer Jeyamohan's short story is published in Indian Periodical.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><header class="entry-header" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 14px;"><h1 class="entry-title" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #222222; font-size: 42px; line-height: 1.3; margin: 0px 0px 15px; overflow-wrap: break-word;">Last Machine – இறுதி யந்திரம்</h1><div class="post-meta" style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-sizing: border-box; color: #656565; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px 0px 20px;"><time class="entry-date published updated" datetime="2022-03-06T13:22:13+00:00" style="border-radius: 3px; border: 1px solid rgb(223, 224, 224); box-sizing: border-box; color: #8b96a0; display: inline-block; font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px 10px;">March 6, 2022 1:22 pm</time><span class="views" style="box-sizing: border-box; float: right; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div></header><div class="clear" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 14px; height: 0px; overflow: hidden;"></div><div class="entry-content" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 15px;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-size: large;">by Jeyamohan and Translated from Tamil by Jegadeesh Kumar</span></em></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"></em></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoonUlZxou9lFHkGqhrq8JVeK5ocExORkW9ZijJp_jj0406mr4yqCW8-NX3tDJt30kthV5UJ_jXgnSNFfxkkDg0fKmrne5EfY8rEOzk5SDnLQPKXjMonfQCvUaugiWlJw2zjfhYEYTfax3eJBKO0dvR82P7EhHb6R-72qwmJqBxTkeMD0b22RcC10hkQ=s500" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgoonUlZxou9lFHkGqhrq8JVeK5ocExORkW9ZijJp_jj0406mr4yqCW8-NX3tDJt30kthV5UJ_jXgnSNFfxkkDg0fKmrne5EfY8rEOzk5SDnLQPKXjMonfQCvUaugiWlJw2zjfhYEYTfax3eJBKO0dvR82P7EhHb6R-72qwmJqBxTkeMD0b22RcC10hkQ=s320" width="320" /></a></em></div><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></em><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Chancellor had reserved for him an hour, from eight twenty.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 20px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2022/03/last-machine-%e0%ae%87%e0%ae%b1%e0%af%81%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%af%e0%ae%a8%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%b0%e0%ae%ae%e0%af%8d/" target="_blank">continue reading...</a></span></p></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-24307707738709840232022-03-16T06:09:00.004-07:002022-03-16T09:25:50.457-07:00Kurt Vonnegut's SciFi story - A Summary<p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju15W2ydjWrtKoC8vWlV80ib_Ck0KODJsQf_wOUoBaX0yarCVey1VWa-xk0I6y56OzjoKDOffS9Sk-revRD3m_XCyfmSbEY6Ja5m8WHAOaYXyP8dEvv9ntvcJQ77Pn8FsHhsR_5o7NyErftbaHkaVunIbfE36r2G4UyC_IZVpKxYpLYZFY1I1wPWom-g=s768" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="768" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju15W2ydjWrtKoC8vWlV80ib_Ck0KODJsQf_wOUoBaX0yarCVey1VWa-xk0I6y56OzjoKDOffS9Sk-revRD3m_XCyfmSbEY6Ja5m8WHAOaYXyP8dEvv9ntvcJQ77Pn8FsHhsR_5o7NyErftbaHkaVunIbfE36r2G4UyC_IZVpKxYpLYZFY1I1wPWom-g=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.narrativemagazine.com/issues/stories-week-2017-2018/story-week/2-b-r-0-2-b-kurt-vonnegut-jr&source=gmail&ust=1647521377637000&usg=AOvVaw26r2OjDT8cepWXymnZOyTt" href="https://www.narrativemagazine.com/issues/stories-week-2017-2018/story-week/2-b-r-0-2-b-kurt-vonnegut-jr" style="color: #1155cc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">2 B R 0 2 B by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (narrativemagazine.com)</span></span></a></p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /></span><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">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. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /></span><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">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.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">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. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">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.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">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.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 1.8; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">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.”</span></span></p><span class="fullpost">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-36361456153942137842022-01-26T06:02:00.017-08:002022-07-30T08:11:27.401-07:00Publication History<div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">Publication History:</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">Translation:</span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2022/03/last-machine-%e0%ae%87%e0%ae%b1%e0%af%81%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%bf-%e0%ae%af%e0%ae%a8%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%b0%e0%ae%ae%e0%af%8d/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">1.The Last Machine - Translation - Indian Periodical</span></a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://impspired.com/2022/04/01/jegadeesh-kumars-transaltion-of-jeyamohans-work/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">2. Ocean's Nearby - Translation _ Impspired Magazine</span></a></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2021/08/bubbles-%e0%ae%95%e0%af%81%e0%ae%ae%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%b4%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%95%e0%ae%b3%e0%af%8d/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">3. Bubbles - Fiction - Translation - Indian Periodical</span></a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://www.prometheusdreaming.com/mountains-dialogue" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">4. Mountains' dialogue - Fiction - Translation - Prometheus Dreaming </span></a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://spillwords.com/shadow-crow/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">5. Shadow Crow - Fiction - Translation - Spill words</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2021/12/a-fine-thread/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">6. A fine Thread - Fiction - Translation _ Indian Periodical</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://spillwords.com/the-story-of-ekolu/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">7. The Story of Ekolu - Translation - Spillwords</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=9046" target="_blank">8. New Flood - Translation - Piker Press</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=9227" target="_blank">9. Prrasantu - Translation _ Piker Press</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #800180; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://spillwords.com/over-the-fire/" target="_blank">10. Over the Fire - Translation - Spillwords Press</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://defunct.site/issue/10/authors/154/appadurai_muttulingam/343/%E0%AE%A4%E0%AF%80%E0%AE%B0%E0%AF%8D%E0%AE%B5" target="_blank">11. Dilemma - Translation - Defunct Magazine</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">Poetry:</span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2021/11/social-geometry-%e0%ae%9a%e0%ae%ae%e0%af%82%e0%ae%95-%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%9f%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%af%e0%ae%b2%e0%af%8d/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">1. Social Geometry - Poem - Indian Periodical</span></a></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><div style="color: black;"><a href="https://spillwords.com/meat-pleasure/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">2. Meat Pleasure - Poem - Spillwords</span></a></div><div style="color: black;"><br /></div><div style="color: black;"><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2021/10/being-%e0%ae%87%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%81%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%b2%e0%af%8d/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">3. Being - Poem - Indian Periodical</span></a></div><div style="color: black;"><br /></div><div style="color: black;"><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2022/04/the-kiss/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">4. The Kiss - Poem - Indian Periodical</span></a></div><div style="color: black;"><br /></div><div style="color: black;"><a href="https://spillwords.com/not-two/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">5. Not Two - Poem - Spillwords</span></a></div><div style="color: black;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Fiction:</div><div style="color: black;"><br /></div><div style="color: black;"><a href="https://spillwords.com/an-untold-story/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">1. An Untold Story - Flash Fiction - Spillwords</span></a></div><div style="color: black;"><br /></div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><a href="https://academyoftheheartandmind.wordpress.com/2021/10/24/makeup/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">2. Makeup - Fiction - Academy of the Heart and mind</span></a></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=8894" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;">3. Talking Flower - Speculative fiction in Piker Press</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://impspired.com/2022/06/01/jegadeesh-kumar/?fbclid=IwAR0n5CPfMgMufbQVl9EYgdj464NdxhNmVYwz8HfJsDKSJxTIKj-NMo5-6pw" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-large;">4. Karma - Fiction - Impspired Magazine</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://spillwords.com/swaying-flowing/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></a></div><div><a href="https://spillwords.com/swaying-flowing/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-large;">5. Swaying, Flowing - Fiction - Spillwords Press</span></a></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://spillwords.com/the-story-of-ekolu/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #4c1130; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><span class="fullpost">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-61330894469456547812022-01-12T17:10:00.007-08:002022-04-26T10:14:29.825-07:00Talking Flower - short story in The Piker Press<div><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgv6V90lh8DheFB5OUabS4hFLBOiV1I-mdGInbMfh0zI_fXIeC5fO4PswR20lF_brt1F-elri-pwYO2QqxfangSf9B1mqp0_aGwDDjkmq-hhpc0QqD75DeJ4HfHLneNQMlUfG2SgFfO9jSfeOm7Y38Lz-AvIUxY-kH7PbT4F9f-qB7JOofgy_nxeQob-w=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgv6V90lh8DheFB5OUabS4hFLBOiV1I-mdGInbMfh0zI_fXIeC5fO4PswR20lF_brt1F-elri-pwYO2QqxfangSf9B1mqp0_aGwDDjkmq-hhpc0QqD75DeJ4HfHLneNQMlUfG2SgFfO9jSfeOm7Y38Lz-AvIUxY-kH7PbT4F9f-qB7JOofgy_nxeQob-w=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I met a talking flower among the plants that had grown along the walls of a dilapidated building. It was perched at the top of the tallest plant, was glowing in pale yellow, and was the size of the fist of an infant. I was attracted to its splendor at first. But I was taken aback when it started talking. The flower did not seem to have noticed my bewilderment and continued speaking its mind by moving its petals. I had a suspicion at the beginning that some kind of a pre-recorded audio device might be hidden inside the flower. But later I realized that the flower had indeed been addressing me and its meaningless discourse at the beginning was only to invite me into its ambiance.</span></span><span class="fullpost">
</span><div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.pikerpress.com/article.php?aID=8894" target="_blank">Continue Reading Talking Flower in The Piker Press</a></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-45777262679894967582021-12-29T11:16:00.004-08:002021-12-29T11:17:29.900-08:00Shadow Crow - Translation<span style="font-size: x-large;">My translation of the writer Jeyamohan's Tamil short story has been published in Spillwords magazine.</span><span class="fullpost"></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiw0nvSh0tmA4FuVPEL1ffbDuppgwP_WAeSF7ujet1Pzq1MEeFXmOOXte2IwlSAU1tK7k_9K_k-VZ5Jw47-ZKZ6serej6bSzVMdRgzSc8jIbn0fOZuQbbDVfIC7rHcabktD41RREKfgiLjM9aZNlrBrDAK-HjOv0j4_6hWXrN1cNRkLetEoV9oHbbcElA=s1285" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="582" data-original-width="1285" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiw0nvSh0tmA4FuVPEL1ffbDuppgwP_WAeSF7ujet1Pzq1MEeFXmOOXte2IwlSAU1tK7k_9K_k-VZ5Jw47-ZKZ6serej6bSzVMdRgzSc8jIbn0fOZuQbbDVfIC7rHcabktD41RREKfgiLjM9aZNlrBrDAK-HjOv0j4_6hWXrN1cNRkLetEoV9oHbbcElA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2e2e2e; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Nithya said: This is one of those stories about a bird called crow, that appears in thousands of children’s stories and in a few hundred fables, features occasionally in modern literature, thought to be a representation of time because of its black color, has taken the form of our ancestors who have become time itself, worshipped as the wagon of lord shaneshwara in whom the time gathered in intensity, beyond all these, this story is about the one who sails spontaneously in the wordless sky, that comes to the earth only for prey and reproduction, that interacts with us crossing her boundaries by her ways of cawing, looking at us with a bent head, boringly walking towards us in small steps, and, if you noticed attentively, surrounding us as the ceaseless sound of her voice.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2e2e2e; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2e2e2e; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://spillwords.com/shadow-crow/" target="_blank">continue reading Shadow Crow on Spillwords magazine.</a></span></span></div><br /></div><br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-49065460148463807942021-12-28T15:39:00.005-08:002021-12-28T15:39:40.262-08:00A Fine Thread - Translation<span style="font-size: large;">My translation of the writer Jeyamohan's Tamil short story has been published in the Indian Periodical.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6l-_TgZEgMLnn9XfO9wYeZul0dXkiNoNg9TZJwqunSVDN3Fd_7bJgnviJAPhMZtjJGm1phnzJM4MgHu0dJOYb8-R1SVL6Uut0eTlnVceFQEr_2c6OoHQ4L_Sq93xB6J7ODF7rmFVPJhoY/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6l-_TgZEgMLnn9XfO9wYeZul0dXkiNoNg9TZJwqunSVDN3Fd_7bJgnviJAPhMZtjJGm1phnzJM4MgHu0dJOYb8-R1SVL6Uut0eTlnVceFQEr_2c6OoHQ4L_Sq93xB6J7ODF7rmFVPJhoY/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span class="fullpost"></span></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It seemed Bapu was very tired. Didi came and informed that he would sleep early after dinner that night and hence dinner should be made ready earlier. Sohan Ram felt relieved. Bapu’s dinner consisted of two boiled bananas, a cup of greens, and a cup of goat’s milk; not to forget half an ounce of honey in a small bottle after that. Once he finished his dinner and went to sleep, Sohan could also get some sleep.</span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">Continue reading....</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2021/12/a-fine-thread/" target="_blank">A Fine Thread</a></span></span></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-62800015916944834782021-11-22T17:49:00.002-08:002021-11-22T17:49:19.438-08:00Social Geometry - Poem published in Indian Periodical<span style="font-size: large;">My poem Social Geometry has been published in the Indian Periodical.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Social Geometry</span></b></span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Let’s consider a rectangle a square.</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Both have their opposite sides parallel.</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">And equal in length too.</span></span></p><span class="fullpost" style="font-size: large;"></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2021/11/social-geometry-%e0%ae%9a%e0%ae%ae%e0%af%82%e0%ae%95-%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%9f%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%b5%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%af%e0%ae%b2%e0%af%8d/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Read along: Social Geometry</span></a></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-1290888380512496352021-11-08T09:46:00.001-08:002021-11-08T09:46:00.141-08:00Sankhya Yoga 2.34<span id="docs-internal-guid-e486dd58-7fff-403f-befe-99cd70982855"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #8a5a02; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-753c521f-7fff-ba8a-4d0c-8e833d536d99" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Verse 2.34</span></span></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #8a5a02; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">अकीर्तिं चापि भूतानि कथयिष्यन्ति तेऽव्ययाम् |</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #8a5a02; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">सम्भावितस्य चाकीर्ति र्मरणादतिरिच्यते || 34||</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">akīrtiṁ chāpi bhūtāni kathayiṣhyanti te ’vyayām</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">sambhāvitasya chākīrtir maraṇād atirichyate</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Spectral, serif; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">akīrtim—infamy; cha—and; api—also; bhūtāni—people; kathayiṣhyanti—will speak; te—of your; avyayām—everlasting; sambhāvitasya—of a respectable person; cha—and; akīrtiḥ—infamy; maraṇāt—than death; atirichyate—is greater</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">People will speak of you as a coward and a deserter. For a respectable person, infamy is worse than death.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">The worldly loss due to failure to perform one’s duty</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Not only the warriors at the battlefield, but even ordinary people will speak of Arjuna as a coward if he retreats from war without giving a fight. Even the people of the future generations will ridicule him. Arjuna has led a life of respectability and fame as a warrior all through his life. For a warrior like him, infamy is worse than death.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">A spiritual aspirant is an extremely sensitive person. He would rather do his duty even if the odds are not in his favor than meet with ridicule and infamy. He should be aware that his swadharma has come upon him due to his prarabdha, and he is required to fulfill it no matter what. Many realized souls continue to perform their duties even after they attained enlightenment. They realize that things are needed to be done in order for the world to follow in their footsteps and are completely oblivious to the oncoming infamy if the duties are not performed. People like Arjuna are worldly and love to thrive in society. Hence it is imperative that they fear infamy and to avoid it, they should perform their duties without fail. </span></span></p><div><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span><span class="fullpost">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-44647674025578232732021-11-05T09:58:00.001-07:002021-11-05T09:58:00.156-07:00Sankhya Yoga 2.33<span id="docs-internal-guid-e36f6afb-7fff-ad77-1e9f-61be4fe352cb"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Verse 2.33</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #8a5a02; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">अथ चेतत्त्वमिमं धर्म्यं संग्रामं न करिष्यसि |</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #8a5a02; font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">तत: स्वधर्मं कीर्तिं च हित्वा पापमवाप्स्यसि || 33||</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">atha chet tvam imaṁ dharmyaṁ saṅgrāmaṁ na kariṣhyasi</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">tataḥ sva-dharmaṁ kīrtiṁ cha hitvā pāpam avāpsyasi</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Spectral, serif; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">atha chet—if, however; tvam—you; imam—this; dharmyam saṅgrāmam—righteous war; na—not; kariṣhyasi—act; tataḥ—then; sva-dharmam—one’s duty in accordance with the Vedas; kīrtim—reputation; cha—and; hitvā—abandoning; pāpam—sin; avāpsyasi—will incur</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">If, however, you refuse to fight this righteous war, abandoning your social duty and reputation, you will certainly incur sin.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Arjuna had already argued if he is engaged in this battle he will incur sin. But Krishna tells him otherwise. If Arjuna did not engage in this righteous war (</span><span style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">dharmyam sangramam</span><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">) he would lose his reputation and fall from his duty. Eventually, he will only incur sin.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">What could be the sin that Krishna is talking about here? Performing one’s duty with a detached mindset over a period of time helps one attain mental purity. Only a mind that is devoid of any impurities and focused has the ability to receive and nourish self-knowledge. Krishna considers it a sin to forgo one’s duties because he who does it will be lost in his pursuit of freedom due to his inability to possess a qualified mind.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 15pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The one who does adharma meets with destruction. But the one who fails to do his swadharma, his duty at the right time will meet with greater destruction. Krishna says when one forgoes his duties, he forgoes his reputation as well.</span></span></p><div><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span><span class="fullpost">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-88481883433116306252021-11-03T09:44:00.003-07:002021-11-03T09:44:45.918-07:00Makeup - Short story in Academy of the Heart and Mind Magazine<div><span face="Karla, sans-serif" style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #192930;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><span face="Karla, sans-serif" style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #192930;"><span style="font-size: large;">Vijayalakshmi alias Vj showered, dried her hair, brushed away the thought of having a ponytail and decided to keep a loose hair style. With larger earrings, it’d look graceful if the hair overflowed the ears. She scanned her image in the mirror. The hair was straight, shiny and bubbly. Yatra’s hair was curly. Everyone in their gang in college knew her hatred for curly hair. She visited a beauty parlor every so often to straighten it but the hair kept curling back. Clara suggested shortening it. She said it would be a sign of modernity and would suit her face. But Yatra did not accept the suggestion. </span></span><span class="fullpost">
</span><div><span face="Karla, sans-serif" style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #192930;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span face="Karla, sans-serif" style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #192930;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://academyoftheheartandmind.wordpress.com/2021/10/24/makeup/" target="_blank">Continue reading...</a></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-3736180806064309672021-10-25T08:39:00.001-07:002021-10-25T08:39:13.951-07:00Meat Pleasure - A poem in Soillwords Magazine<h2 style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #161616; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; letter-spacing: 0.1em; line-height: 1.3; margin: 30px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility; text-transform: uppercase;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1;"><span style="font-size: large;">MEAT PLEASURE</span></strong></h2><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">written by: Jegadeesh Kumar</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Venison is delectable<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Deerskin is precious<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Charming is her frightened look<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Even at moments of grazing<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Hungry Tiger is her only fear<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />The hunter’s arrow tears into the flesh,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Making her scalp horripilate<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />She falls in the hands of the guard,</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: Quicksand, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://spillwords.com/meat-pleasure/" target="_blank">Continue reading:</a></span></p><span class="fullpost">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-79629633325026725752021-10-03T09:52:00.002-07:002021-11-03T09:45:07.006-07:00Being - A poem in Indian Periodical<p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRn5pDSU0jcOWlnj1hZAQuK5kt1DOJBxTuft4CeEyiHSvdw5hKIDM7Z2gVGb1_782jKphCfrsBuY2yi4x5qDY6fMZcs4ioDgcYwyqATxm0K7XrbYiaqIYpWwrXp8FELqOvoTXNH_g8reg8/s498/gan-island-the-beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="498" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRn5pDSU0jcOWlnj1hZAQuK5kt1DOJBxTuft4CeEyiHSvdw5hKIDM7Z2gVGb1_782jKphCfrsBuY2yi4x5qDY6fMZcs4ioDgcYwyqATxm0K7XrbYiaqIYpWwrXp8FELqOvoTXNH_g8reg8/w640-h342/gan-island-the-beach.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sun’s slithering on the sea</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sand-colored crabs peep from their burrows</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fingers aimlessly </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Tear away the sandy surface </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Softened by waves</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Grey herons flying downhill, </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hunting little flounders</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ripples flinch at the tremor</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Caused by fishing dhonis, </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Taking refuge in the shore</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the presence of </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">The limitless expanse I sit</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dissolving </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">Like a tiny drop.</span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; line-height: 28px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2021/10/being-%e0%ae%87%e0%ae%b0%e0%af%81%e0%ae%a4%e0%af%8d%e0%ae%a4%e0%ae%b2%e0%af%8d/" target="_blank">Read it in the Indian Periodical.</a></span></span></p><span class="fullpost">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-67013304909332626592021-10-01T09:14:00.009-07:002021-11-03T09:47:55.859-07:00Mountain's Dialogue - Translation - A short story by writer Jeyamohan<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> <span class="fullpost"></span>Mountains' Dialogue</b></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>written by B. Jeyamohan</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>translated by Jegdeesh Kumar</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2UM20H-yOXrEP0_JOw25O81wK4x2cXkOmGGLz06RNHmpoN6v2C886VvJTRwYfVstcDw86x4qdlvZWZzUHkzAwSVHpImYItH59Awf5ldXAREYT9l7Ev20p0UrJ-aj9k_kIY8eWIehOCJu1/s938/prometheus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="938" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2UM20H-yOXrEP0_JOw25O81wK4x2cXkOmGGLz06RNHmpoN6v2C886VvJTRwYfVstcDw86x4qdlvZWZzUHkzAwSVHpImYItH59Awf5ldXAREYT9l7Ev20p0UrJ-aj9k_kIY8eWIehOCJu1/w640-h296/prometheus.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></b></span></div><div> <span style="font-size: large;"> Peon Shanmugam passed by me when I stood waiting in front of the DGM’s office. “Another one again, sir? Why don’t you hit someone on the head instead of indulging in these petty things?” he said. He stopped to look around and continued, “Just hit the DGM on his head...There’s a paperweight on his table. Hit him with it.”</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"> “Go away!”</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"> “What’s the problem?”</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"> “None of your business.”</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"> “I knew you’d create some problems when you left last week. But you’re an intelligent guy, sir. Look at me! I’m given a memo just for drinking a quarter of liquor. You wander like a witless fellow, but your wife’s very particular about getting your salary.”</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.prometheusdreaming.com/mountains-dialogue" target="_blank">Continue reading...</a></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2059799959944161844.post-66489897126730978592021-10-01T09:05:00.002-07:002021-11-03T09:47:36.531-07:00Bubbles - Translation - A Short story by writer Jeyamohan<div><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8OLu6UvIwiJwWcivgSTyvsdP6ClcHDndyYRDmjO65SpU4TrY1jt3ye8UoGSJ1x2qnrrlYixL_QNsGwYm6YK0qTjR4FIhp77VjbqyOzItFKu50G1iIbhdC-hHfKtZXV22gB4pDQU0aurH/s1600/bubbles.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8OLu6UvIwiJwWcivgSTyvsdP6ClcHDndyYRDmjO65SpU4TrY1jt3ye8UoGSJ1x2qnrrlYixL_QNsGwYm6YK0qTjR4FIhp77VjbqyOzItFKu50G1iIbhdC-hHfKtZXV22gB4pDQU0aurH/w640-h360/bubbles.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: x-large; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">Lily spoke about it while changing into her light blue silk nightgown. He had not paid attention to what she said initially. He was looking through the last of the day’s emails on his laptop.</span><p></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I’ve decided to have the surgery in Singapore. That would be convenient for all,” she said.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The word surgery hit him only after a moment. “Surgery! What surgery?”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Did you not hear what I said? You never pay attention! Just paying lip service. Sick”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sick was a word she used often. Sam closed the laptop. “Tell me. Who’s having surgery?”</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #252324; font-family: Merriweather, serif; margin: 0px 0px 20px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://indianperiodical.com/2021/08/bubbles-%e0%ae%95%e0%af%81%e0%ae%ae%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%b4%e0%ae%bf%e0%ae%95%e0%ae%b3%e0%af%8d/" target="_blank">Continue reading</a></span></p></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div><br /></div>I've been translating a few of writer Jeyamohn's Tamil short stories into English of late. One of them got published in Indian Periodical. I hope to get a few more published soon. </span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0