A lazy sunday morning translation of six poems by Ilango krishnan. Praise the Sunday We feel fulfilled today today is holiday today is celebration today is solace today is rest today, our sun will not be a lamp in anyone’s bedroom Holiday fills the playing grounds children play with glee Our women’s faces bloom like a divine flower We will bathe…

This is the first story in writer and filmmaker Mari Selvaraj’s acclaimed short story collection ‘Thamirabaraniyil Kollapadaathavargal’. On one of those rainy days that everyone loves, they brought me home. They could take me away only when my mother was not around. Though some people in that house didn’t like…

Reading Isai is an experience that I can describe best by borrowing a line from him as — his ‘poetry is suicide’s nemesis’. Not in an angel saving us from death way, but he is the poet of everyday, the essence of life that goes on, the smiles that we…

Translation of a Sivaramani poem and some thoughts on it I would not be the first person to think about how an artist’s acts affect our perception of their art, especially when it is something like suicide. From glorifications, wrapping the art in an aura of mystery, dismissals, finding clues…

Kavin Malar Chinnu visited Anu that day. She loves Anu’s cooking. Anu made fish curry for her. It was a little too spicy. So what? Chinnu liked it. She washed two plates and sat down to eat. Chinnu made a small ball of rice and curry with her small hands…

Can you love after once questioning what it means to love? Or, as Akkamahadevi asks, What does it mean/ That God loves you and you love god? (Tr. Yaravintelimath 2003:167). In Akanaanooru Avvaiyaar sings about a woman who lost her beauty, waiting for the lover who left her and now…

Manjunath was 23. Manjunath was wearing a hooded, oversized black jacket with patterns resembling paintings of Pollock. It was raining more than a few hours everyday for six days continuously, it was drizzling that evening, he is kneeling before the image of Mary contained in a glass enclosing, situated in…

I swallowed a small type steel ball I don’t know how I got hold of it When it was in my hand, I wondered what if I swallow it Wherever I hid it, I found it again A steel ball like that, I did not know a place to keep it where I won’t find…

by Isai A quick translation of Poet Isai’s article in Akazh web magazine. Love for gambling grows when you lose, like Love for life grows when you suffer. - Thirukkural, Gambling, 940 Whenever I think about this Kural, my heart adds more weight to the thought. It forgets the limitations…