This anthology of 22 short stories translated from Tamil prompts critical reflection on identity, belonging, and the boundaries of the medium.
by Kiran Kesavamurthy, Frontline, The Hindu, Chennai, July 22, 2025



Ornate facades in the neighbourhood known as Little India in Singapore. Once a home for migrant workers, it is now a vibrant commercial centre. | Photo Credit: Getty Images/iStock
This collection is a long-overdue contribution to Indian literature. What distinguishes this volume of 22 Tamil short stories, in the relatively recent history of English translations of modern Tamil writing, is its global reach: it features authors from Tamil Nadu as well as diasporic and refugee writers from Singapore, Canada, and France. While languages like Malayalam also have global communities, Tamil-speaking diasporas have uniquely produced literature that reflects their complex social and political legacies.
Many early migrants were agricultural workers, indentured labourers, or merchants (Chettiars). Another notable aspect is the diversity of translators—including N. Kalyan Raman, Janani Kannan, Yashasvi Arunkumar, Nandini Krishnan, G.J.V. Prasad, and Suchitra Ramachandran—whose collective work maintains a stylistic consistency across varied voices. The editor, Perundevi, must be credited for this editorial achievement.
The diversity of forms and themes makes it difficult to define the Tamil short story in definitive terms. At best, one might offer a negative definition: the form resists capturing totality and is inherently fragmented. While some critics claim short stories focus more on plot than character, several pieces in this volume defy that assumption. Some shorter works illuminate emotional states rather than narrative arcs, while others deftly balance character and plot. It is notable that Tamil writers—and perhaps most non-English Indian language authors—have long excelled more in the short story form than in the novel.
This might be due to the genre’s brevity, which demands linguistic economy and precision. Pudumaippittan (1906–48), a pioneering Tamil short story writer, likened the short story to a latticed window revealing subtle life nuances. His work, especially those published in the literary weekly Manikkodi (1933-39), represents the height of early Tamil modernism.
A common thread in these stories is their focus on fringe characters, most of whom are marginalised many times over. Some remain helpless, while others discover strategies for negotiating their constraints. A second commonality, possibly inherent to the short story form itself, is the absence of closure. These narratives often leave the reader with unresolved or even unresolvable questions that reflect today’s complex realities.
Tamil: The Best Stories of Our Times
Edited by Perundevi
Harper Perennial
Pages: 304
Price: Rs.399
As a reader more familiar with writers from Tamil Nadu, I found the inclusion of Sri Lankan Tamil and Singaporean authors especially striking. That said, the stories from Tamil Nadu themselves present a broad thematic spectrum: Ashokamitran’s use of the harmonium as a symbol of marginal religious aesthetics; vivid explorations of caste exploitation and justice (Kanmani Gunasekaran, Vannanilavan, Nanjil Nadan, Jeyamohan); adapting caste occupations to modern technologies (Devibharathi); intricate intersections of caste, gender, and sexuality (J.P. Sanakya, Imayam, Charu Nivedita, S. Ramakrishnan, Ambai); and the cultural meanings of animal sacrifice, commodities like television, and religious orthodoxy (Keeranur Jakkiraja, Salma). Perumal Murugan’s depiction of disease as resistance to urban norms also stands out.
Stories by diasporic writers
Among the most original contributions are three stories by diasporic and refugee writers. In Latha’s “Cheenalatchumi’s Queue”, set in Singapore, the protagonist is an older Chinese-born woman raised by a Tamil family. She is obsessed with standing in queues: restaurants, cinemas, and finally at a polling booth, although she has never voted, having lived all her life in a district of immigrants and permanent residents that has never witnessed elections. These queues become sites of social interaction and national belonging. Yet her East Asian appearance clashes with her Tamil upbringing, leaving her alienated. She craves for inclusion in a multicultural society but is often rejected for being neither fully Tamil nor Chinese.
A common thread in the stories in the anthology is their focus on fringe characters. | Photo Credit: By Special Arrangement
Benedict Anderson’s concept of the nation as “homogeneous, empty time” helps interpret her longing: she imagines national belonging through shared media, conversation, and civic participation. The irony of the story is that her much-anticipated voting experience is over too soon—raising questions about identity and what it means to belong.
Appadurai Muthulingam’s “Catch a Chunky Goat” explores the politics of translation and exile. Structured as a letter from the imprisoned Shanmugalingam to a Canadian immigration officer, the story foregrounds translation’s role in mediating asylum claims. The protagonist requests an accurate rendering of his letter, insisting on cultural nuance and conversational order. His time in Canada—with his sister-in-law and her husband—becomes a nightmare. The self-locking doors in Canadian houses become metaphors for isolation. A dysfunctional household, attempted seduction by his sister-in-law, and false accusations by a precocious niece land him in prison. He eventually begs for deportation, suggesting either guilt or a preference for a war-torn homeland over a hostile asylum. The story blurs private pain and public petition, the domestic and the political.
In Shoba Shakti’s “Uprising”, the protagonist Azhwar Tharumalingam is a refugee factory worker in France, marked by a beleaguered masculinity and surveillance. His testicles symbolise both vulnerability and resistance. Assaulted in Jaffna over a dispute, humiliated for his infertility, and radicalised by war, Azhwar rejects being passive. His refusal to wear underwear at work becomes a small but potent rebellion against intrusive body scanners and the criminalisation of refugee bodies. His masculinity is caught between political impotence and physical assertion, between memory and displacement.
Essential contribution
Despite the anthology’s strengths, the editor’s introduction might have offered more on the translation process. Each writer’s Tamil—deeply tied to their social and regional locations—presents unique idioms and registers. Translation inevitably flattens these differences. Greater insight into translator-writer collaborations or commentary on the original’s texture would have enriched the volume. Similarly, the rationale behind focussing on stories from the 1990s onwards remains unexplained and merits clarification.
Nonetheless, this collection is an essential contribution to Tamil literary studies. Its strength lies not only in showcasing diverse geographies and themes but also in prompting critical reflection on identity, belonging, and the boundaries of the short story form.
Kiran Keshavamurthy is an assistant professor of English at IIT Guwahati and a scholar of modern Tamil literature.