TRANSLATION OF THE STORY “KADITHAM” FROM TAMIL TO ENGLISH
LETTER
Singara Velu is a mighty writer. Life’s ideals, its complications, and life itself can be illustrated through a short story and Singara Velu’s short stories are a perfect example of this kind.
He was respected as a writer in the society. Most of the people in the society don’t know what the meaning of beautiful is. While some of them who do know what it means are never bold enough to admit it. To survive in such a society, Singara Velu must have had to be beatified in his life.
There were some friends of Singara Velu who were his society and his fanatics. He wasn’t craving for anything. Since his necessities were low and he didn’t have any so-called family baggage, he had enough time to dream about his life. Still, his intertest towards literature started diminishing.
A mighty writer cannot survive without applauses. Writers don’t have to flatter. They don’t have to imagine things. But they just want to be praised for the good things they do. Honest applauses are the encouraging factor for a mighty writer. When the people of this society can’t even give them the honest applauses, what’s the point of being a writer. But Singara Velu was different. His heart never let him write.
He had faith in the society. He wanted his stories to be very bold and thoughtful.
That day…
As usual, Singara Velu was sitting alone in his room on a mat. He was chewing betel leaves. He wasn’t able to write the story despite all the artificially made encouraging factors. This was his condition from past seven days. He dropped his pen and paper on the floor. He leaned back on his pillow and started chewing betel leaves again. Even that was an art for him!
He heard footsteps coming down the street. “Singaram”, someone called.
“Sundaram, come”, Singaram said.
His friend sat next to him. “Shall we go out? Its five”.
“Eat Betel leaves first”, Singaram said.
“You still didn’t complete the story, did you? Complete the story soon. Introduction part is just awesome.”
“Hah! No one is interested in good stories. There are no rational people. I want some people who will likely say, “Your stories are very good.” When you have people who are irrational, what can a writer like me do?”
“We are your fanatics and we like your story”, Sundaram said.
“You are my dear friend. You will always admire me for whatever I write. Did any stranger ever tell me that my story is good? Well, that’s fine. How many people even know that I write stories? Anyway, let’s go”, said Singaram and started walking out.
Without uttering another word, his friend put some tobacco in his mouth and stood up.
That day, all their gossip ended at the same topic of being a writer.
Five days later….
It was seven in the evening. Singara Velu was in his room, reading something. The story which he was writing was still incomplete.
“Sir, Post”, said someone.
Singara Velu was exempted to get a post. Most of the posts he got were for someone else and it used to reach him by mistake.
The post was passed through the window by the postman. Singara Velu saw the address. Unexpectedly, the address was right. But the handwriting of the letter was not very familiar to him. As usual, he was very confused.
He opened it and started reading.
Vishakapatti,
10.09.33
For the exceeding society of the mighty writer, Mr. Singara Velu.
I’m not a great learner. But I’m very much interested in Art.
Your short stories are at much higher level when compared to Tamil literature or even world literature. Your short story Salavin Sangadangal, was an art of life.
It just showed a new world. If I were a literate, I would praise your work with an appropriate word. I’m one among those who reads all your stories without fail. I pray to god that he blesses you with more imagination and thoughts to write stories.
Yours Lovingly,
Nagappan
Singara Velu’s face bloomed by reading the letter. His heart was boomed. The enthusiasm was back. He read the letter once again and it brought him relief.
“You are the one, who understood me. The society has some faith in me. The society is not all that bad”, said Singara Velu to himself.
He wanted to show the letter to Sundaram. He wanted to know what’s exactly said in the letter. So, he read the letter again. He decides to write a letter to Nagappan.
He read it again. His feeling towards the letter changes. As he read it again and again, he noticed that the handwriting in the letter was familiar to him. “Yeah, someone who I know only would have written the letter. Otherwise, how would someone in Vishakapatti know my address.” Then he came to know that one of his friends was responsible for all of this. “Stupid! Donkey! Just to make me smile and out of friendship he has done all this. What else can you expect from a guy belonging to this society? Let him come tomorrow”.
“I don’t want any relationship with them. They are just cowards who just can’t say the truth. Am I an idiot? I don’t know what to say. I’m just brought up in such a society”
Smell of the burning paper spread all around the room.
With diminishing oil, the lamp was also about to burn out. Singara Velu took the betel leaves box and put one in his mouth.
The lamp retired.
He wasn’t able to sleep that night.
“How should I rise up in such an insensitive society?”
“How should I convert these coward worms into human beings?”
“Darkness vanishes by light. Will the light never come?”
“Do we have to wait until that?”
“How many days will it take?”
“I don’t think I should be there when the light comes out. My world is enough for that.”
TRANSLATION BY,
MEGHNA P 15BCS0020
PRIYANKA R 15BCS0118
DIVYA S 15BCS0046
BAGIYA J 15BCS0084
ISHWARYA P 16BCS0123
LETTER
Singara Velu is a mighty writer. Life’s ideals, its complications, and life itself can be illustrated through a short story and Singara Velu’s short stories are a perfect example of this kind.
He was respected as a writer in the society. Most of the people in the society don’t know what the meaning of beautiful is. While some of them who do know what it means are never bold enough to admit it. To survive in such a society, Singara Velu must have had to be beatified in his life.
There were some friends of Singara Velu who were his society and his fanatics. He wasn’t craving for anything. Since his necessities were low and he didn’t have any so-called family baggage, he had enough time to dream about his life. Still, his intertest towards literature started diminishing.
A mighty writer cannot survive without applauses. Writers don’t have to flatter. They don’t have to imagine things. But they just want to be praised for the good things they do. Honest applauses are the encouraging factor for a mighty writer. When the people of this society can’t even give them the honest applauses, what’s the point of being a writer. But Singara Velu was different. His heart never let him write.
He had faith in the society. He wanted his stories to be very bold and thoughtful.
That day…
As usual, Singara Velu was sitting alone in his room on a mat. He was chewing betel leaves. He wasn’t able to write the story despite all the artificially made encouraging factors. This was his condition from past seven days. He dropped his pen and paper on the floor. He leaned back on his pillow and started chewing betel leaves again. Even that was an art for him!
He heard footsteps coming down the street. “Singaram”, someone called.
“Sundaram, come”, Singaram said.
His friend sat next to him. “Shall we go out? Its five”.
“Eat Betel leaves first”, Singaram said.
“You still didn’t complete the story, did you? Complete the story soon. Introduction part is just awesome.”
“Hah! No one is interested in good stories. There are no rational people. I want some people who will likely say, “Your stories are very good.” When you have people who are irrational, what can a writer like me do?”
“We are your fanatics and we like your story”, Sundaram said.
“You are my dear friend. You will always admire me for whatever I write. Did any stranger ever tell me that my story is good? Well, that’s fine. How many people even know that I write stories? Anyway, let’s go”, said Singaram and started walking out.
Without uttering another word, his friend put some tobacco in his mouth and stood up.
That day, all their gossip ended at the same topic of being a writer.
Five days later….
It was seven in the evening. Singara Velu was in his room, reading something. The story which he was writing was still incomplete.
“Sir, Post”, said someone.
Singara Velu was exempted to get a post. Most of the posts he got were for someone else and it used to reach him by mistake.
The post was passed through the window by the postman. Singara Velu saw the address. Unexpectedly, the address was right. But the handwriting of the letter was not very familiar to him. As usual, he was very confused.
He opened it and started reading.
Vishakapatti,
10.09.33
For the exceeding society of the mighty writer, Mr. Singara Velu.
I’m not a great learner. But I’m very much interested in Art.
Your short stories are at much higher level when compared to Tamil literature or even world literature. Your short story Salavin Sangadangal, was an art of life.
It just showed a new world. If I were a literate, I would praise your work with an appropriate word. I’m one among those who reads all your stories without fail. I pray to god that he blesses you with more imagination and thoughts to write stories.
Yours Lovingly,
Nagappan
Singara Velu’s face bloomed by reading the letter. His heart was boomed. The enthusiasm was back. He read the letter once again and it brought him relief.
“You are the one, who understood me. The society has some faith in me. The society is not all that bad”, said Singara Velu to himself.
He wanted to show the letter to Sundaram. He wanted to know what’s exactly said in the letter. So, he read the letter again. He decides to write a letter to Nagappan.
He read it again. His feeling towards the letter changes. As he read it again and again, he noticed that the handwriting in the letter was familiar to him. “Yeah, someone who I know only would have written the letter. Otherwise, how would someone in Vishakapatti know my address.” Then he came to know that one of his friends was responsible for all of this. “Stupid! Donkey! Just to make me smile and out of friendship he has done all this. What else can you expect from a guy belonging to this society? Let him come tomorrow”.
“I don’t want any relationship with them. They are just cowards who just can’t say the truth. Am I an idiot? I don’t know what to say. I’m just brought up in such a society”
Smell of the burning paper spread all around the room.
With diminishing oil, the lamp was also about to burn out. Singara Velu took the betel leaves box and put one in his mouth.
The lamp retired.
He wasn’t able to sleep that night.
“How should I rise up in such an insensitive society?”
“How should I convert these coward worms into human beings?”
“Darkness vanishes by light. Will the light never come?”
“Do we have to wait until that?”
“How many days will it take?”
“I don’t think I should be there when the light comes out. My world is enough for that.”
TRANSLATION BY,
MEGHNA P 15BCS0020
PRIYANKA R 15BCS0118
DIVYA S 15BCS0046
BAGIYA J 15BCS0084
ISHWARYA P 16BCS0123
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