Diaspora Tamil short Story: Savithri, the child of a Sri Lankan refugee! by V.N.Giritharan

 

[This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio (edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation. Digital Painting Technique (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG] 

This dad is always like this. He finally managed to buy me the book "Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire." J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series is one of my favorite book series. But my father always made excuses and delayed buying this particular book. The reason was its price – thirty-five Canadian dollars. Last time, when he took me to Chapters, he promised to buy this book. But, as usual, he finally threw up his hands. "Instead of this one book, your mom will buy you two 'Unfortunate Events' books," he said, and bought them for me. Lemony Snicket's 'A Series of Unfortunate Events' is also a series I really like. Miss Elizabeth, my class teacher, introduced me to this series. The way poor Violet, Klaus, and baby Sunny, who have no parents, are tormented by the wicked Olaf! They are so pitiful. That wicked Olaf killed their parents. Now he's trying to get their inheritance too. If it weren't for Mr. Poe, their plight would be even more miserable. 

I really love these books. My dad does too. He always buys books. But for some reason, he always hesitates to buy these series books. I still don't understand why. It was the same when he initially hesitated to buy Mary Pope Osborne's Magic Tree House series. This is my most favorite series. I wish I could wander through the past and future like Jack and Annie do through the books in the magic tree house every time. But we live in an apartment in the city. None of this is possible. Dad always says, "Just wait, dear! I'll buy a house in two years." You can never trust this dad. But I wonder if I'm causing Dad too much trouble. Poor Dad! I'm a big expense for him. He never gets time to watch the news on TV because of me. When there's no school, I have to watch TV until I go to sleep. I watch my favorite shows. Bill, Julie One, Julie Two, Patty, and Giselle, who host the 'TVO Kids' show, are all great. But my favorite is 'The Big Bang' show. It's hosted by Violet Berlin and Gareth Jones. They explain how to do games and puzzles. Neil Buchanan's 'Art Attack' is also one of my favorites. Neil beautifully demonstrates how to create art using unused items at home. Martin Kratt and Chris Kratt's 'Zoboomafoo' and the toy lemur captivated me. Their 'Kratts' Creatures' show is also a good one. These are shows that provide information about animals.

Diaspora Tamil Short Story: Lost Words! by V.N.Giritharan

[This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio (edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation. Digital Painting Technique (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG]

Aasaipillai was the security guard of a parking lot with five levels above and five levels below ground. Aasaipillai was an immigrant Eelam Tamil. In his hometown, he had spent his time as a 'clerk' (குமாஸ்தா) in a government department, known as Clerk Aasaipillai. When the atrocities of the Sri Lankan government forces were rampant, he fled the country, thinking it a blessing to escape with his life, and migrated to Canada. Initially, he tried washing dishes. He tried cleaning a factory. A man who used to stroll around as a clerk in his village could not continue such jobs. A security guard job seemed an easy alternative, so he joined a famous security company as a guard. His shift was from midnight until dawn. As usual, he started his work that day. That's when a white man parked his car in the lot and approached. Upon seeing Aasaipillai, the man greeted him.

Diaspora Tamil Short Story: Concrete Jungle Rabbits by V.N.Giritharan

[This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio (edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation. Digital Painting Technique (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG]

After a long time, I visited my friend's place. His nest was located at the top of a towering building-forest tree. This building tree, situated in the heart of Toronto, has a certain notoriety. It holds the sad distinction of being the place where two elderly Tamil men and one middle-aged Tamil woman jumped from their balconies, ending their lives. In recent times, such suicides have unfortunately begun to increase here. Despite having so many amenities, why do they commit suicide in this manner?

My friend is still a bachelor. Usually, every time I visit his place, I notice some change in his abode. This time too, there was such a change. My friend had started raising two rabbits in a cage.

Diaspora Tamil Short Story: Seetha Akka! - V.N.Giritharan

 [This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio (edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation. Digital Painting Technique (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG]

1.

The darkness hadn't fully receded yet. Autumn had begun, bringing a slight chill. The Toronto bus station was bustling with travelers. Just as I was getting ready to leave after sending off my friend who was going to Montreal, I heard a male voice in English, "Excuse me. Are you from Sri Lanka?" I turned around. A white bus driver stood before me.

"Yes, friend. What is it?" I asked.

"That's good. I'm a bus driver from Montreal. A Sri Lankan Tamil woman came on my bus. She's a refugee. She doesn't know anyone here. Could you help her if you can?"

"Certainly," I said.

"Thank you very much, friend!" He went to the waiting area and returned shortly.

"Friend! This woman needs your help," he said, bringing a woman with him. I couldn't hide my surprise when I saw her.

"Seetha Akka!" I exclaimed.

Seetha Akka was equally surprised to see me. It was an unexpected meeting, wasn't it? I thanked the Montreal bus driver. He too said, "Do you know her from before? That's good. It's all God's grace," and left.

Diaspora Tamil short Story: Survival! - V.N.Giritharan -

[This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio (edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation. Digital Painting Technique (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG]

The container or bin for collecting waste and garbage was set up by the municipality on the street running near the apartment building where we lived. Such garbage collection bins are kept in various places in many Western countries. In many Third World countries, it is rare to see them. To put garbage or waste products into such a bin, there would be a hole with a lid that could be pushed inwards by hand for convenience. Only humans can put garbage into it. This is because only a living creature with the ability to use its hands to push the lid inwards can do this. Perhaps well-trained human-like chimpanzees or gorillas might be able to.

Are you about to ask what is so important about this waste collection bin? Don't rush. Just be a little patient. I am describing it in such detail precisely because it has significance. You might laugh if I tell you that this bin is closely related to a vital characteristic of living beings. But don't be hasty in laughing. You might later have to feel ashamed of your hasty ignorance. Be careful.

I had recently moved into this apartment building. In the early hours before dawn, and in the dusk when darkness falls, I would often go out for a stroll with my daughter. It was during such a time that my child noticed that thing in the bin. I only noticed it after she pointed it out. Her observation gave me a lot of surprise and pride. Doesn't the crop destined for harvest show itself in the seedling? It was that kind of pride.

Diaspora Short Story: 'Where Do You Come From?' - V.N.Giritharan

[This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio (edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation. Digital Painting Technique (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG]

On January 14th, 1964, on Thai Pongal, an important festival for Tamil people, he was born on the island once called 'Ceylon,' often described as the pearl of the Indian Ocean and paradise, a former colony of the Portuguese, Dutch, and British, and now known as Sri Lanka. When he was born, he had no way of knowing that his life would be tossed across various corners of the globe. But the continuous political situations on the island forced him to migrate. Today, he is a citizen of Canada, an important North American nation. This is a brief history about him. 

It was a bone-chilling early morning. He was waiting for public transport to go to work. Beside him was a middle-aged white man, his only companion. Apart from the two of them, no one else was there at the time. Breaking the prevailing silence, the white man initiated a conversation between them:

Diaspora Short Story : Wife! - V.N.Giritharan (English Translation by Google AI Studio and edited by V.N.Giritharan ) -

[This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio (edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation. Digital Painting Technique (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG]

It was nearing eleven o'clock at night. Through the window, the pinnacles of buildings seemed to be in deep meditation. The crescent moon, a small boat adrift. Some pigeons perched on the balcony stirred. In the next apartment, the Jamaican and his white girlfriend, who had been loudly bickering until recently, had finally fallen silent. From Manoranitham's heart, memory-snakes arose, spreading their hoods and dancing. How much joy there was in leaning back in her father's armchair on the veranda, transforming his scent into a chair, and joining him in contemplating the beauty of the expansive sky! The night sky, strewn with stars, always filled her heart with a mysterious wonder. When she looked up, she felt like another star, floating and moving in the vast expanse, a part of it. At such times, her heart softened... She vividly remembered getting up early every morning with her father to watch the long-tailed comet that had arrived after many years.

'Father! A true bookworm. Father! A towering figure, over six feet tall. Thoughtful eyes. A gentle smile. Always reclining in his armchair, reading Graham Greene, Tolstoy, Wodehouse, Conrad,... Ananda Vikatan, Kalki, Kalaimagal...

Diaspora Short Story: The Window by V.N.Giritharan (English Translation by Google AI Studio and edited by V.N.Giritharan ) -

[Digital Painting Technique (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG]

[ This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio (edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation.]

The world unfolds before me through the window. The satisfaction of watching and enjoying the world spread out through the window is a unique and blissful experience. It's like the joy of framing the world and looking at it. There's a thrill in observing the various kinds of people passing by on 'Pape' Street. Jamaican people from the Caribbean islands; Guyanese Indians; these are descendants of those originally brought by white people for labor. The area near 'Pape' Street is predominantly inhabited by Greeks. One can find many such areas in Toronto. 'Little India', 'Little Italy'... many such neighborhoods.

Diaspora short Story: The Husband by V.N.Giritharan (English Translation by Google AI Studio and edited by V.N.Giritharan ) -

Digital' Art Technology (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG

[ This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio (edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation.]

Sabapathy stood on the balcony, his mind disengaged from the sprawling view before him. As far as the eye could see, there were buildings. Tall, short, wide, narrow buildings. Like Desmond Morris said, nests where human animals live. He seemed entirely correct in stating that cities are zoos where human animals reside. In a way, perhaps cities are a cause for many of today's fundamental human problems. The numerous behavioral changes observed in animals when forced to live in cages are also apparently seen in human animals trapped within the dense concrete cages of cities. It is from within the city, after all, that modern man exercises authority over his fellow man. If we consider this with a mathematical logic, X=Y, Y=Z, therefore X=Z, then the main reason for today's human problems becomes the city-dweller. Sabapathy, however, was not in a state of mind to ponder all this.

Diaspora Short Story: The owner! - V.N. Giritharan (English translation by Google AI Studio, edited by V.N. Giritharan) -

Digital' Art Technology (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG

[ This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio was edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation.]

    A short story published in the 'Canada Special Issue' of Kanaiyaazhi, December 2000.

For the past twenty-four hours, freezing rain had been falling incessantly. The streets were covered in a thick layer of ice, and on top of that, it was bitterly cold. Somasundaram looked at the clock. It was almost ten at night. He really didn't feel like going to work in this cold, drenched in freezing rain. He lamented having to wander around like a rooster in the wee hours when everyone else was asleep. Back home, he was a physics teacher. How many of his students had become 'doctors' and 'engineers'? But here... he was a good 'immigrant' working seven days a week to build Canada's economy. A laborer on weekdays; a diligent security guard on weekends, supervising workers and serving the boss. He recalled what his supervisor, Joe Croward, had told him a little while ago on the phone.

"Sam. Today you're working at the City Hall underground parking lot. There have been many complaints over the past week... several items have been stolen from many vehicles... many 'street people' have been reported sleeping there at night... I have a lot of faith in you. You're a diligent and strict guard... it's your responsibility to ensure no one trespasses there."

An irritation towards Joe welled up in him. 'He's telling me to go work in this parking lot in this freezing cold.' Usually, he worked in a perfume factory. It was a comfortable job. Sitting at reception, answering phone calls, circling the factory and workers once an hour... he could comfortably stay warm inside the building. 'What to do, once you start dancing, you have to keep dancing.'

Diaspora Tamil Short Story: The African American Canadian Immigrant – V.N. Giritharan (English Translation by Google AI Studio & Edited by V.N.Giritharan) -

'Digital' Art Technology (Google Nano Banana) assistance: VNG

[ This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio  was edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation.]

It was by chance that I met him at a library branch in Toronto. He was a Black security guard, frequently patrolling the library with vigilance. I had come to the library because my elder daughter was participating in a storytelling session in the children's section. The event was scheduled to last at least an hour. To make good use of that time, I picked up a book, settled into a secluded chair, and began reading. As he walked past me, performing his duty, I yawned slightly. He too let out a huge yawn.

Diasporic Short Story: "Mice" by V.N. Giritharan (English translation by Google AI Studio, edited by V.N. Giritharan)

- This English translation of the Tamil story by Google AI Studio was edited by V.N. Giritharan. The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation.-

[Digiat Art (Google Nano Banana) help: VNG ]

[A short story first published in Thayagam magazine (Canada). Later also published in Pathivukal  online Tamil magazine. It was also included in the 'America' collection published by Sneha (Tamil Nadu) - Mangai Pathippagam (Canada) from Tamil Nadu. Regarding this, writer Se. Ganesalinging stated in his foreword to the collection, 'He has tried to convey the philosophical significance of the human foundational existence of survival through a mouse.']

Couldn't bear the cockroach problem. Tried every possible method. From the Chinese 'chalk' onwards, there was no untried method. Victory belonged to the cockroaches. If I simply admitted defeat and moved from one 'apartment' to another, it would be like the story of digging a well and a ghost appearing. Instead of cockroaches, it would be the problem of mice. In Canada, only the buildings are tall, not the rats. These mice seemed new to me, who had seen fat, rolling village rats. From country to country, from land to land, living beings transform and live in various forms.

Diaspora Tamil Short Story: "A Co(w)untry Problem" by V.N. Giritharan (English translation by Google AI Studio, edited by V.N. Giritharan)

[ This English translation of the Tamil story is by Google AI Studio was edited by V.N.Giritharan  The original Tamil version of the story follows the translation.]

[Digiat Art (Google Nano Banana) help: VNG ]

[This short story, published in 'Thayagam' (Canada) newspaper, is included in the 'America' collection published by Sneha Pathippagam. It is also featured in the short story collection 'Panaiyum Paniyum' compiled and published by ES.Po and Indira Parthasarathy.]

Being Sunday, there wasn't much pedestrian traffic on the routine roads. No vehicle congestion either. Ponnaiya's Honda Accord was slowly cruising west on St. Clair. Ponnaiya loved driving on Sundays or holidays. Without any tension, and without worrying about horns honking behind him, he could enjoy the city at a leisurely pace, couldn't he? However, lately, even on Sundays, people had started honking. The city was expanding. "As the city expands, people seem to lose their patience," Ponnaiya would tell himself on such occasions. "The quality of life for people should rise at the same pace as the city's growth. Otherwise, it's a problem," he would sometimes ponder with a serious expression.

The car sped past Old Weston Road and the Keele Intersection. To the left, Canada Packers' slaughterhouse sprawled over a large area. A massive abattoir where hundreds of cattle were cut up daily.

Ponnaiya was naturally a little compassionate. He wanted to show love to other living beings. As long as he was in his hometown, he was a pure vegetarian. After coming here, he gradually changed. "With this climate here, if you don't eat this, a person will just die." Suddenly, the moving traffic stopped. Ponnaiya looked at his watch. It was past eleven. The Punjabi guy had asked him to come at ten.

The Punjabi's garage was the only reasonably honest one Ponnaiya knew. There had been a slight tremor in the steering wheel since yesterday. Ponnaiya was rushing to get it checked. "What's this traffic block at an odd time..." Thinking this, he looked ahead to see what was causing the traffic jam.

Short Story: A CO(W)UNTRY ISSUE By V.N.Giritharan | English Translation From Tamil By Latha Ramakrishnan | Edited by Betsy Harrell (USA)

[Digiat Art (Google Nano Banana) help: VNG ]

As it was Sunday the road looked less crowded than usual. No traffic jam, either. Ponnaiya’s Honda Accord was creeping smoothly along St.Clair West. Driving a car during Sundays or holidays was Ponnaiya’s passion, so to speak. With no tension and no worry about some one honking the horn behind, he could drive leisurely, indulging in sight-seeing and so enjoying the city. A pleasure, indeed. Alas, the point arrived where Sundays were no longer a day without the honking horns. The city was growing day by day. As it swelled, the people, too, were starting to lose their patience, so at times like this Ponnaiya would tell himself , “As fast as the growth of the city, people’s standard of living should also grow. Otherwise, problems are bound to multiply”.

Going past Old Weston road and also Keele’s intersection, the car meandered along. On the left side, the Beef Packers slaughterhouse has spread, occupying a vast space. A great, grand butcher house stood there where hundreds of cows were put to death and cut to pieces every day. By nature, Ponnaiya was kind -hearted. He would prefer to love one and all living beings. As long as he was in his native place he had remained a strict Vegetarian. But after coming here, he gradually changed. Yet for the kind of climate prevailing here, if man is not to eat meat he would be gone in no time!

Suddenly, the creeping traffic was disrupted. Ponnaiya looked at his watch. It was well past eleven o’clock. The Punjabiwallah had asked him to come by ten. The one garage that Ponnaiya knew to be fair was the Punjabiwala’s. There was a slight jerk in the steering of the car and ever since yesterday Ponnaiya had been anxious to take it in. But What is this untimely traffic jam? Wondering, he looked in front to find out what was the matter.

A crowd had gathered as if for a carnival. Ponnaiya reflected how in their bent for curiosity all men are one and the same. As there stood a huge Beef Packers’ truck blocking his view, he couldn’t see clearly. Looking at a chinese man who was standing at the road side watching what was happening, Ponnaiya called out. “Hi man, what is the matter? What’s going on?”

The Chinese with the help of the little English that he knew , said, “Beef..escape…slaughter.” A White man who was standing next to him laughed at his broken English. Ponnaiya also felt like laughing. Both had understood though. A cow had escaped from the slaughterhouse.

Short Story: An American and a camel in Alaska! By V.N.Giritharan

It was noon, a cloudy day with a sunless sky expanding to the horizon. It was one of those regular visits to the Thorncliffe Park Library, a branch of the Toronto Public Library, with my daughter. She would spend at least an hour there. In the meantime, I had to occupy my time reading a few books or magazines of interest.

While I was looking for an interesting read, I saw him approaching me. That was the first and, as it turned out, the last time I met him. In his six-foot-tall frame, he resembled Sidney Poitier, the famous Hollywood actor from the 1960s.

"May I help you, friend?" he asked me.

He was not a library staff member but a hired security guard.

"No thanks, but I appreciate the offer," I said as I continued my search for a book.

I thought he was going to leave me. But, he continued to stay beside me and carry on his conversation.