Saturday, December 11, 2010

How a writer influences society is important!We find writers who crave for power & shamelessly justify their acts while blindly follow politicians.!!!

Meet the Author

Sundara Ramaswamy

I was born in 1931 in a village called Thazuviya Mahadevar kovil, the place where Lord Shiva embraced his consort. This village is a part of Nagercoil, a town located 20 km North of Kanyakumari. Nagercoil is my mother’s hometown and I was born here since it’s the tradition in our culture for women to have their deliveries at their parent’s house. At that time, my father worked for a company in Kottayam, an important business town in the erstwhile state of Travancore. When I think about my early days I remember that the standard of our life was that of a middle class family. Though there was no luxury, there was always enough food to eat and enough money to spend.

I began to feel that I was an unfortunate child even at a very early age. There maybe many reasons behind this. But the most important was that my mother was a chronic asthmatic patient who couldn’t do much household work and was always in bed. The first lesson that I learned from my father was that I should not go to my mother’s bedroom and disturb her unnecessarily. A mother expresses her love for her children by explicitly pouring out her affection, but children often express the same love by disturbing their mothers. As a child and even as a young boy I expressed my love by constantly bothering my mother and all those who were around me.

I believe that disturbance sprouts from a passion for freedom whereas order is contrived by humans to suppress that passion. My father was a disciplinarian. Whenever I share this with my friends, invariably they too tell me the same about their fathers. From this I have concluded that we were the lucky or unlucky children of disciplinarian fathers. For good or bad I believe they have vanished from this earth. Though the primary objective of disciplinarians is to create a perfect child, it always backfires. My father tried to make me brilliant. I was the only son. Not out of modesty but rather out of the faith I owe to facts, I have to say that I was the dullest child of the four. I was shy as a child and avoided guests as much as possible. Little by little I built my own world of dreams where I had unlimited space for my imaginations.

My mother tongue is Tamil but since there were no schools at Kottayam that taught Tamil, I learned Malayalam till I was nine. The other subjects that were considered important in school were Travancore history and Travancore mathematics – the value of the British rupee was 28.5 chakrams (the currency unit of Travancore) and the value of the Travancore rupee was 28 chakrams. For at least their first ten years, children were harassed in school in working out this conversion. Being very weak in mathematics, I always prayed to my God to make the value of the two different rupees the same. My nonchalance towards education continued without any change until I completed the 10th standard. My proficiency in general, was to score single digits in almost all the subjects with the exception of three or four times for which I believe I cannot be held responsible.

My father decided to wind up his business and move to Nagercoil, and in 1939, we all came to my mother’s hometown. Until then I knew very little about this town. I also don’t recall visiting a place where the majority of the population spoke Tamil, prior to this. But my mother had a passion for the place where she had born and had painted a few pictures in my mind about it. My most important desire was to see donkeys since I had never seen one at Kottayam. When we entered Nagercoil town my eyes scanned the roadside hoping to glimpse a donkey. Fortunately just before we reached Vadaseri a part of Nagercoil, I saw a pair of donkeys and my mother asked the driver to stop the car for sometime so I could see my favorite animals up close.

After reaching Nagercoil, I developed two interests. To roam endlessly with my uncle who was just two years older than I to various parts of town. Within a year I was intimately familiar with the town’s roads, byroads, magicians, snake charmers and beggars. I also whetted my appetite for temples, churches and mosques without conscious realization that they were the abodes of different gods. The other was to develop a fascination for observing street fights between men and women and among women. I would lose myself to the variations, tones, rhythms, passions, proverbs and obscenities of the language as well as the different forms of colloquialism. My uncle and I also attended almost all the meetings held in and around Nagercoil- political, cultural and religious. In the beginning I had difficulty in understanding the meaning and nuances of many words in Tamil since my ears had heard only Malayalam until my ninth year. In the political meetings when my uncle laughed I too would imitate him and when he clapped I would do the same.

The school that I attended from my fifth until my tenth standard at Nagercoil was considered the biggest in Travancore State. The teachers were so sincere, affectionate and firm, that it was very difficult to be a poor student in class. Nevertheless, I managed to win that credit and retain it from the beginning until the end. In my youth, I was absorbed with roaming inside the fascinating world I had created in my mind and paid little attention to what was being said in class. This day dreaming nature created a lot of problems in my family and there were times when I doubted that I was not a normal child. To this day, I believe that I treated myself through literature in the same way that wild animals instinctively heal themselves by ingesting wild plants and minerals.

Although I learned Malayalam, English and Sanskrit, I was not proficient in these languages in my school days. I was attacked by infantile rheumatism when I was ten, and for the next five or six years I was sick, often bedridden and very irregular in attending classes. I was examined by a well respected physician at a critical stage, when I thought that my end was drawing near for I saw the shadow of my death reflected in my mother’s eyes. This outstanding physician was able to cure me using very simple allopathic medicine. It is he who told my father that my education should be discontinued, since the demands of school would deteriorate my health. That advice was a great blessing to me.

My mother used to enjoy reading the stories that came out in a magazine called Manikodi, which was published in the thirties, and was responsible for the renaissance of our language. Pudumaipithan, Na. Pitchamurthy. Ku.Pa.Rajagopalan, Ka. Naa. Subramoniam, CS. Chellappa, B.S. Ramaiah and Mauni were the important contributors to this magazine. They all belonged to the last generation and their chemistry was totally different from today’s generation. All of them were a breed of sincere writers who tried to change the quality of life because of their love for it. They were sincere to themselves and their experiences. I was greatly influenced by Pudumaipithan, who I believe is the most significant writer in this group. When I was fifteen and bed ridden, my mother often used to talk me about the magazine Manikodi and some of the names of the writers I mentioned earlier. Her favorite writer was Na. Pitchamurthy. These conversations induced me to see a different world to dream about.

In those days, I happened to read a collection of stories by Pudumaipithan, without realizing the name of the author because the book was a library copy whose front flap was missing. From the first to the last, each story gave me a new experience I felt physically. The story which influenced me the most was Mahamasanam (The Great Graveyard) which describes the death of a muslim beggar on the sidewalk of Mount Road, a major artery of Madras and the continuous flow of day to day life around him as he dies. Intoxicated by his writing my world began to revolve around what he had written. Over the next few years, I was consumed by reading and remembering his stories over and over again. Later in my life after I had written a few stories, poems and a novel, I suddenly realized one day, that the madness created inside me by Pudumaipithan was a fascination for realism. At that time, the entire backdrop of literature in my language was that of romanticism, which included great writers such as Kamban, Illango and Subramania Bharathi as well as an exhaustive list of absurd writers. Pudumaipithan’s serious concern about what was happening around him was thus a great inspiration to me.

I hadn’t learned my mother tongue Tamil when we were at Kottayam. So when I had the urge to write in Tamil, I studied my mother tongue by writing the alphabets on a slate at the age of 18 and wrote my first short story Thanneer (Water) when I was 20. My first literary attempt was to translate Thottiyin Mahan (Scavenger’s Son), a story about scavengers by the well-known Malayalam writer Thagazhi Sivasankara Pillai. This story’s realistic style, which was in stark contrast to the romantic literary background prevalent in Tamil, created a sense of wonder in me. Tamil commercial magazines of this period published the most unreal and fabricated romantic trivia further fueling this romanticism.

Many serious magazines were published during the national upsurge led by Gandhiji. But after 1940, following a decline in this movement, commercialism of the lowest kind seeped into our literature. The process of degeneration was almost complete by 1947, when India won independence. Although the serious writers of that time wanted to create a social revolution, for some strange, illogical and irrational reason their social responsibilities were now in the hands of the government. This was a doomed notion r no government in history has accomplished what various movements have repeatedly done so India gained independence when I was sixteen and emotionally I was a nationalist but with very little comprehension of this ideology. My biggest desire at that time was to get arrested and be imprisoned for at least a few days. I tried to irritate the police as much as possible in all the student strikes that I participated in, but invariably they neglected me and arrested other student leaders. This disappointed me a great deal and I carry that disappointment with me until today.

My second attempt at writing was to publish a commemorative volume for Pudumaipithan in 1951 or so, in which my short story that imitates his style and resounds with his echoes was included. I became a revolutionary without knowing what a revolutionary should do to transform society. I was consumed by two strong emotions in those days. Even though my father had a deep concern and love for me, my youthful outlook on life made me consider him as a dictator who wanted to suppress me by snatching even my basic freedom. I was also deeply saddened by my maternal aunt’s poverty stricken life and her struggles to raise her family. These two strong emotions stemming from my relationship with two different personalities created two strong desires in me. One was to win individual freedom so that all human beings could think and express themselves without restrictions and the other was to eradicate poverty so that man could dream and create a better world.

During this time, I started reading several political magazines in Malayalam and Tamil. I would go to the bazaar and buy a pamphlet or a magazine in Tamil and Malayalam and finish them by the end of the day. I was influenced by Gandhiji to start with and then I moved on in my explorations to various personalities like E.V.Ramaswamy, Sri Aurobindo, Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa, Dr. Ram Manohar Lohia, Dr. J.C. Kumarappa, the most important Gandhian economist and J.Krishnamurthy. In Malayalam the political, cultural and literary ideas of M.Govindan attracted me. I developed a fascination for the emotional outburst of K.Balakrishnan, the editor of the Malayalam weekly Kaumathi. Since Trivandrum is not far from Nagercoil, I went to see Balakrishnan but found his lean frame screaming slogans outside the secretariat. I was unsure as to whether I should meet him and finally I returned without doing so and never met him subsequently. On the contrary, M. Govindan became a close friend in the early fifties after he published his collection of articles titled Anveshanathintte Aarambham (The beginning of search) and remained a good friend until his death. I tried to meet him as much as possible and he too wrote to me often. I received a letter from him the day I read about his death in the papers. From this, I presume that he wrote his last letter to me. I can say without hesitation that he’s most important intellectual that I have met in my life.

In the early fifties, the political climate in Kerala (Nagercoil was under the old Travancore State before the linguistic division) propelled me towards leftist politics and I became an ardent supporter of the United Communist Party. It was an emotional decision and also one against my father. I wanted to prove to him that I was not a puppet in his hands and that I had visualized my own course of life. Though I wasn’t a Marxist scholar, I was very sincere to the movement and steeped myself in Marxist literature and in endless discussions with my friends. I also organized the progressive writer’s meeting at Nagercoil and participated in the peace committee organized by the Soviet Union, which strove to gain peace everywhere in the world except in its own country.

My early stories appeared in Shanthi, a magazine edited by my good friend T.M.C. Raghunathan who was a staunch communist. Another magazine that published my stories was Saraswathi, edited by Vijayabhaskaran, who was also a communist but had minor differences of opinion with the movement. From the day I became procommunist, I had my own doubts and suspicions about the Soviet system and Stalin’s political outlook. I used to pester my friends in the movement mostly about Stalin and the Soviet system, though I fully agreed with the ideologies of the movement and the communist party. In those days I read Arthur Koestlar’s Darkness at noon, The God That Failed and other books which seriously questioned the Soviet system.

As days went by, my doubts continued to grow and I was in a dilemma as to whether I should support the communist movement or criticize them openly. I was reluctant to lose overnight the love of my comrades and was sure that would be the outcome. Then I happened to read Khruschev’s address to CPSU’s XX congress and the cruel suppression of the Hungarian writer’s revolution. After that I left the movement and identifying myself with the modern movement began to contribute poems to a little magazine called Ezhuthu. This magazine was edited by the renowned writer C.S. Chellapa and played a prominent role in creating modern Tamil poetry.

My first novel was Oru Puliyamarathin Kathai (“Tale of a Tamarind tree”). In Tamil literature, almost all the previous novels had portrayed Tamil life in the context of a family. My novel was radically different as the story evolves outside the family and centers on a tamarind tree. The novelty of the work attracted considerable writers and readers in those days. I began to write literary criticisms and articles, in which I tried to evaluate the deterioration of values in Tamilnadu. In those days, mostly due to the political situation prevailing in Tamilnadu, the Tamils were engrossed in their golden past, which blinded them from realistically assessing the present and left them with little concern for the future. In the late seventies, I wrote my novel J.J. Silakurrippukal (J.J. a few notes) which is also considered as a novel that departs from tradition. It was a criticism against Tamil life and depicts the cultural and literary state of old Travancore. This novel earned me much caustic criticism. I was painted as someone who degraded Tamil values and embraced western ideas and values.

My most current novel titled Kuzhanthaigal, Pengal, and Angal (“Children, Men and Women”) is autobiographical and centers on my early life in Kottayam. When I started writing that novel, I was surprised to find out that I had memories of all the people who were a part of childhood. I have created a lot of characters of children and women, though the dominating factor in my mind was to reassess my father with intimacy and love. I am glad that I was able to discover his essence, to an extent through this novel. After writing that novel, I became a close friend of my father though he did not have an opportunity to know about this development.

This is in short who I am today.

Meet the Author

Sundara Ramaswamy

I have always believed in democracy and in an individual’s right for freedom. Although numerous experiments have been conducted throughout mankind’s history, no government has succeeded in creating a fully equal society. But a society like ours, where inequality is dictated by caste has little hope of attaining equality. I also believe that the democratic form of government despite its flaws is comparatively the most tolerable. The social evils that tarnish our country’s image on the national and international level are still rampant in our society. The condition of our country, half a century after independence, makes me unhappy in almost all spheres of life for we have failed miserably in addressing even our most basic problems. Half a century hasn’t been enough for us to eradicate untouchability, to wipe out poverty, to educate the masses and to create a society with little or no corruption.

Untouchability continues to be a part of our society in spite of the progressive policy of Nehruvites, Socialists, Communists and the various political parties who compete to be more progressive than the others. The distance between men created by the caste system is now widening to create gulfs among religions. Every man has become suspicious of his neighbour and spontaneous interactions have pretty much disappeared. The message we get from society is not to deceive ourselves by loving our brethren, but to be cautious and clever when we deal with others.

I have no faith in any of the political parties in India though some of them are less dangerous than others. I always exercise my vote with a sense of shame and frustration over having to choose the lesser of the evil. To identify a politician among criminals requires close scrutiny. Our elections have become a farce where the decisions are decided by caste, political power and the power of money. It has become increasingly difficult to change social patterns by exercising the right to vote. Even the illiterates are aware of this pitiable condition. I don’t need to develop this theme further since we all know what is happening around us.

Indian writers by and large have not combined their social consciousness with their creativity. They have not raised their voice as a single unit against the worst possible dangers imaginable which corrupt the very soul of our country. Due to linguistic divisions, Indian writers are not as familiar with their fellow writers in other Indian languages even to the extent that they are with the younger generation of writers in the world arena. This is a really strange and shameful situation.

Writers are at the mercy of commercial magazines which publish their creations merely as an obligation. I know the situation in TamilNadu more than other regions. Till 1990, I published my short stories, poems, social and literary articles in little magazines with a printing order of 500 copies. They invariably failed to distribute all the issues due to their incapacity to meet postal expenses. I was 60 years old by the time I was remunerated for the first time, a sum of Rs. 200 for a short story. Although there are magazines in our language which sell over 5 lakhs copies, with a corresponding readership of more than 15 lakhs, a serious writer worth his salt cannot get even a cursory space inside these commercial magazines. What they encourage and promote are of a superficial nature with no concern for life. This has created a curious situation where the only source of publishing something that provokes thought is little magazines. A serious writer in my language will be considered lucky if he or she is able to reach ten thousand readers after struggling in the field for forty or forty five years. The situation in many other Indian languages may be much better, but at least in some languages the fate of the writers can be favourably compared with us.

In recent years, the situation in my language has started to change. Formally a serious book of any form will take up to two or three years to sell 1000 copies. Now a similar book is likely to sell a 1000 copies every year for the first two or three years. While little magazines are selling 500 to 1000 copies, the middle magazines are reaching a circulation of nearly 5000 copies. Book fairs at Chennai used to be deserted now attract thousands of readers. We consider even this as a favorable development since we faced a pitiable condition for a very long time. The Tamil population all over the world is considered to be seven crores. If a book is bought by one in 10,000, it will reach 7000 readers. If it is bought by one in a 100 it should still sell 70,000 copies. This is the normal readership in many of the developed countries. So from this we can discern that we still have a long way to go. Although the situation is significantly better today we cannot afford to be complacent.

Most Indian writers lack conviction. Since they have difficulty in realizing and believing in their own ideas, they are unable to assess their position in relation to their colleagues. All writers differ with their contemporaries to a small or large extent. Yet they hide these differences and pretend to blindly support their fellow writers, so that they too would do the same. The relationship among Indian writers is driven by commercial considerations with little respect for ideological differences. Many writers don’t believe that their passion for writing is a reflection of their passionate interest in society and fellow humans.

A writer with conviction will choose to express his ideas among people who reject them rather than where his approval is assured. The failure or success of a writer during his life is not important. If one is doomed to fail in his period, he should accept his fate with a sense of pride. A writer should not cunningly endorse what he presumes to be politically correct ideas. He’s likely to win by doing so, but his success is really a failure and it creates shame in the minds of his fellow writers who have the conviction and courage to share their ideas however popular or unpopular they maybe. Another trait of an Indian writer is to consider his fellow writer who differs from him as his lifelong enemy. The writer then sets out to annihilate his co-writer. I find it rather absurd that this hatred stems not from the existence of differences but rather from it being openly expressed.

Fortunately in India, writers have the freedom to articulate their ideas. Today we have space to share our ideas with our readers without facing intimidation or persecution from the power center. But, I believe that we are heading towards a society where radical differences with the state will bring about the same fate that writers have faced under a dictatorship or under a veiled dictatorship. Our writers should rise up to this occasion. I have no hesitation in saying that Tamil society is being overpowered by a form of dictatorship now. A Tamil writer can choose to either uphold his honour by strongly opposing the government or be dictated by atrocious laws by compromising his principles and supporting the government. I refer to situations from our region as they are characteristic of the national scene and not because I believe that we are a special kind of species among Indians.

No writer in India can live a respectable life with an income based on his writing. As far as I know, many writers face rejection or belittlement. Those who try to be independent as writers or those who try to undertake a job which they believe is in sync with their ideologies are the ones who suffer the most. I can cite many Tamil writers who lost their lives while in the heights of their creative power, since they did not have the economic stability to meet their basic needs.

Subramanya Bharathi’s underprivileged life tarnishes our literary history and also proves that Tamilians failed miserably to respect an outstanding poet during his lifetime. Tamil poetry has a history of over 2000 years. Nevertheless Tamilians today glorify his struggles as a sacrifice to develop Tamil. I differ from this point of view and believe that a writer regardless of his creativity has a responsibility towards his family. Bharathi shirked his family responsibilities and subjected his family to misery as well. This is true of many Indian writers. While I respect a writer for his creative quality, I value his role in supporting his family, especially his wife. I know a fairly good number of women who were forced to live an impoverished life unaware of why they were being subjugated to such misery by their husbands. I have a greater concern towards these women than towards a writer’s creativity. I would hesitate to refer to even a brilliant writer who neglects his wife as brilliant.

This raises a difficult question. Should we examine a writer’s contribution to society through his creativity or his humane characteristics? Many examples can be cited of literature of mediocre quality written by great people and literature par excellence written by socially irresponsible artists. Yet another point to mull over is that unlike today’s writers or those of the recent past, we have little or no knowledge of the day to day lives of great writers of the past. Accepting contradictions in my own viewpoints, I am always interested in finding out if a writer is true to himself. If there’s a major contradiction between a writer’s words and deeds, then I believe that he has no respect for his own words. Often I consider life to be more important than literature and literature as just one of the tools to create the kind of society we dream of.

In India there are all kinds of people who justify all kinds of inequalities and superstitions. We as a society have been desensitized to divisions between the rich and the poor, the educated and the uneducated, between men and women, villagers and urbanites and above all the numerous caste divisions. Advocates cleverly quote literature or religious works to justify Sati, Untouchability or cruelty towards animals, earth and nature. I have more respect for faithful conservatives than untruthful progressives. The orthodox man if he’s sincere always gives us an opportunity to fight against him unlike a counterfeit progressive who plays safe by endorsing progressive ideas merely as a lip service.
How a writer influences society is important. We often find writers who crave for power and shamelessly justify their acts while blindly following the footsteps of politicians. If a writer is insensitive to social injustices, he cannot be a good writer, since sensitivity is a fundamental quality of a writer.

Talk delivered at Sahitya Akademy, New Delhi under the programme, ‘Meet The Author’ on 05.01.04.

சுந்தர ராமசாமி
பெயர் சுந்தர ராமசாமி
முகவரி 669 கே. பி. சாலை நாகர்கோவில் 629 001
தொலைபேசி: 04652 278159

புனைபெயர் பசுவய்யா
பிறந்த தினம் 30 மே 1931
கல்வி முறையான கல்வி ஏதுமில்லை
அறிந்த மொழிகள் தமிழ், மலையாளம், ஆங்கிலம்
வெளியான நூல்கள்
சிறுகதைகள் காகங்கள் 2000
மறியா தாமுவுக்கு எழுதிய கடிதம் 2004
ஒரு புளியமரத்தின் கதை 1966
ஜே. ஜே. சில குறிப்புகள் 1981
குழந்தைகள் பெண்கள் ஆண்கள் 1998
கவிதை சுந்தர ராமசாமி கவிதைகள் 2005
விமர்சனம் / கட்டுரைகள் ந. பிச்சமூர்த்தியின் கலை மரபும் மனிதநேயமும்(விமர்சன நூல்) 1991
காற்றில் கலந்த பேரோசை
(விமர்சனக் கட்டுரைகள்) 1997
விரிவும் ஆழமும் தேடி
(விமர்சனம்) 1998
தமிழகத்தில் கல்வி
(வசந்தி தேவியுடன் நேர்காணல்) 2000
இறந்த காலம் பெற்ற உயிர்
(கட்டுரைகள்) 2003
இவை என் உரைகள்
(சொற்பொழிவுகள்) 2003
(க.நா.சு., சி.சு.செல்லப்பா, ஜீவா,
கிருஷ்ணன் நம்பி ஆகியோர்
பற்றிய நினைவுக் குறிப்புகள்) 2003
பிரமிள் 2005
வானகமே இளவெயிலே மரச்செறிவே
(கட்டுரைகள்) 2004
வாழ்க சந்தேகங்கள்
(கேள்வி பதில்கள்) 2004
ஆளுமைகள் மதிப்பீடுகள்
(கட்டுரைகள்) 2004
வாழும் கணங்கள்
(படைப்புகளின் தொகுப்பு) 2005
புதுமைப்பித்தன் கதைகள்: சு.ரா. குறிப்பேடு
(எழுத்தாளர் குறிப்பேடு) 2005
மொழிபெயர்ப்புகள் மலையாளத்திலிருந்து இரண்டு நாவல்கள் தமிழில்
செம்மீன் (தகழி சிவசங்கரபிள்ளையின் சாகித்திய அகாதெமி
பரிசு பெற்ற மலையாள நாவல்,
சாகித்திய அகாதெமி, புது தில்லி ) 1962
தோட்டியின் மகன்
(தகழி சிவசங்கரபிள்ளையின் மலையாள நாவல்,
காலச்சுவடு பதிப்பகம், நாகர்கோவில் ) 2000
தொலைவிலிருக்கும் கவிதைகள்
(மொழிபெயர்ப்புக் கவிதைகள்) 2004
பெற்ற பரிசுகள் குமாரன் ஆசான் நினைவுப் பரிசு கவிதைக்காக (1988)
கனடாவில் தமிழ் இலக்கியச் சோலை மற்றும் டொரண்டோ பல்கலைக்கழகத்தின் தெற்காசிய கல்வி மையம் இணைந்து வழங்கிய இயல் விருது வாழ்நாள் இலக்கியப் பணிக்காக (2001)
புதுதில்லி கதா அமைப்பின் சூடாமணி விருது 2003 ம் ஆண்டுக்கான சிறந்த இலக்கிய படைப்பாளிக்கான பரிசு.
இலக்கிய உரை நிகழ்த்த சென்ற நாடுகள்
சிங்கப்பூர் (3 முறை)
அமெரிக்கா (10 முறை)
கனடா (2 முறை)
பாரிஸ் (இந்தியா விழாவில் பங்கேற்க)
இந்திய ஐரோப்பிய மொழிகளில் மொழிபெயர்க்கப்பட்ட நாவல்கள்:
ஒரு புளியமரத்தின் கதை ஆங்கிலத்தில் A Tale of a Tamarind Tree என்ற பெயரில் எஸ். கிருஷ்ணன் அவர்களால் மொழிபெயர்க்கப்பட்டுள்ளது. வெளியிட்டோர் Penguin, India.
இந்தியில் இம்லி புரான் என்று திருமதி மீனாட்சி புரி அவர்களால் மொழிபெயர்க்கப்பட்டுள்ளது. வெளியிட்டோர் Nilakant Prakashan, New Delhi.
மலையாளத்தில் ஒரு புளி மரத்தின்டே கதா என்ற பெயரில் ஆற்றூர் ரவிவர்மா அவர்களால் மொழி பெயர்க்கப்பட்டுள்ளது. வெளியிட்டோர் DC Books, Kottayam.
ஹீப்ரூ மொழியில் Ronit Ricci என்பவரால் மொழிபெயர்க்கப்பட்டுள்ளது. வெளியிட்டோர் Hakibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House, Tel Aviv.
ஜே. ஜே :சில குறிப்புகள் மலையாளத்தில் ஜே.ஜே. சில குறிப்புகள் என்ற பெயரில் ஆற்றூர் ரவிவர்மா அவர்களால் மொழிபெயர்க்கப்பட்டுள்ளது. வெளியிட்டோர் DC Books, Kottayam.
ஆங்கிலத்தில் J.J. Some Jottingsஎன்ற பெயரில் ஆ.இரா வேங்கடா சலபதி அவர்களால் மொழிபெயர்க்கப்பட்டுள்ளது. வெளியிட்டோர் Katha, New Delhi.
சிறுகதைகள் சுந்தர ராமசாமியின் 26 சிறுகதைகள் மற்றும் சில படைப்புகள் ஆங்கிலத்தில் மொழிபெயர்க்கப்பட்டு (Eastwest Books)முதலில் Waves என்றும், பிறகு That’s It Butஎன்ற பெயரில் வெளிவந்துள்ளது. வெளியிட்டோர் Katha, New Delhi. நூலைத் தொகுத்தவர் Lakshmi Holmstrom ஆங்கிலத்தில் மொழிபெயர்த்தவர்கள் Gomathi Narayanan, S. Krishnan, Lakshmi Holmstrom and A.R. Venkatachalapathy.

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