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February 26, 2014

About Amaraavati Kathalu

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Written by: Jampala Chowdary
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(A note about this article: In the early days of Telugu internet, in a world that existed before the blogs and the social media, we had an on-line literary Telugu discussion forum called Telusa (తెలుసా, short for తెలుగు సాహిత్యం) that ran off a listserv from the account of a graduate student (Ratnakar Sonti) at University of Wisconsin. Telusa was later converted into a new forum, Racchabanda, but that is another story. Telusa was quite a raucous place. Once, in November 1997, a couple of Telusaers put down Amaraavati Kathalu of Satyam Sankaramanchi (సత్యం శంకరమంచి అమరావతి కథలు), one of them mocking it as aavakaaya paccaDi (ఆవకాయ పచ్చడి). Being a big fan of that work, I responded with a series of 5 posts on successive days. I revisited those posts recently for another project and thought that I would share them on pustakam.

Please note that, in those days (before Rangavalli, Lekhini and the ubiquitous presence of Unicode Telugu) we used RTS (Rice Transliteration Scheme, developed by Ramarao Kanneganti and Anandakishore Papineni) to read and write Telugu on computers. So, there is a quite a bit of RTS in this article. I know it is difficult to read for the uninitiated.

There are a few modifications here to the original series of posts. The five posts are combined into a single article. I made a few – very few – editorial changes for the sake of the current readership. I converted some of the RTS words and passages into unicode Telugu, for ease of reading.)

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Recently I cited amaraavati kathalu (అమరావతి కథలు) in one of our discussions here. In ensuing posts, Vasu (Nyayapati) derided them as overrated, poorly written works without plots or originality (my paraphrase). Madhav Turumella shared, without much explanation, his thinking of them as ‘diddly stuff’. Readers who have been around on this forum for a while know about my affection for amaraavati kathalu. I cherish them as much as I cherish the good, old aavakaaya pacchaDi.

Before I write more about this series of stories, let me give you some background. In mid 1970s (summer of 1974), there was a major newsprint shortage. aandhrajyOti (ఆంధ్రజ్యోతి) decided to cut newsprint costs by decreasing the page size of the weekly magazine from its traditional magazine page format to a pocket size format. Realizing that such a drastic change may drive away their readers, they decided to ensure that the change would be accompanied by a dramatic improvement in the quality of the magazine. They added a lot of new features when they made the switch. And one of their most successful new features was a weekly series, amaraavati kathalu by satyam Sankaramanchi. This series of small stories, about the village of Amaraavati and its people, ran for approximately two years (100 stories in all).

A collection of these 100 stories was lovingly produced and published by Navodaya Publishers (Vijayawada) in early 1979 (inside title page of that edition gives the date of publication as June 1978; I will swear under oath that the first copy arrived in Guntur on February 8, 1979; that is the date marked in my well worn copy and I know I was reading the book for the first time during my internship in the casualty unit) at a price of Rs. 25 (quite a sum for a book in those days) with baapu’s (బాపు) illustrations for each one of the stories and an introduction by muLLapooDi venkaTaramaNa (ముళ్ళపూడి వెంకటరమణ). baapu’s pictures for this book have also become legendary and have been reproduced countless times. The book also includes a preface by the author and a post-script by emveeyal (ఎంవీయల్).

Shyam Benegal produced and directed a highly acclaimed Hindi tele-series ‘Amaraavati Ki Kahaaniyaa’ based on these stories for Doordarshan in 1995, and ETV dubbed that serial into Telugu last year (1996). I saw a recent advertisement from navOdaya announcing a new reprint of this book (most likely the third or fourth reprint) and taking pre- publication orders. I also saw in one of the book catalogs what seemed like a Ph.D. thesis on this book.

muLLapooDi, who is clearly bowled over by this series says in the introduction, “… తెలుగులో మల్లాది రామకృష్ణశాస్త్రి, శ్రీపాద సుబ్రహ్మణ్య శాస్త్రి, విశ్వనాధ సత్యన్నారాయణ వంటి మహనీయుల రచనల సరసన పెద్దపీట వేసి గౌరవించదగినవి…” This is not the obligatory flattery that we commonly see in introductions; this unusually long (sixteen pages) introduction details the pleasures this veteran writer experienced from reading these stories. muLLapooDi was impressed by the universality, simplicity, brevity, sensitivity, and evocativeness of these stories and thought very highly of satyam Sankaramanchi’s linguistic craft (పదవిన్యాసం, వాక్యలాస్యం in his words) too.

Was muLLapooDi wrong in his assessment of this work? Or was this really overrated “diddly stuff”? I happen to share muLLapooDi’s enthusiasm for this work. I realize that tastes differ and that the aavakaaya pacchaDi that I cherish will not be enjoyed by most people inhabiting this earth. But, I thought that I would take a little time to understand and explain why this tattered volume never fails to fill my heart with the kind of joy reserved for reading a true masterpiece. (The easier thing probably would have been to transcribe muLLapooDi’s introduction; to state the obvious, he is a much better writer.)

Vasu said that Sankaramanchi’s plots are plot-less. I have to disagree. The 100 stories in the series share the same background: the historical temple village of amaraavati situated on the banks of the river Krishna. Despite this common background, these stories are very diverse in their nature and cannot be described as belonging to one particular genre. Some are based on local lore and the background of amaraavati was essential for these stories (ఆఖరి వెంకటాద్రి నాయుడు, ధర్మపాలుడు, గుండె శివుడికిచ్చుకో etc). Other stories could have been from any village in India. Some of them are about love and other relationships (తులసి తాంబూలం, ధావళీ చిరిగిపోయింది, నావెళ్ళిపోయింది). Some are about the impact of societal changes on individuals (అద్గద్గో బస్సు, ఏడాదికోరోజు పులి, భోజనాంతే). Some are about the inequalities in life and injustices in the society (బంగారు దొంగ, సుడిగుండం`లో ముక్కుపుడక, బాకీసంతతి). Some of them are about colorful, memorable characters (భోజన చక్రవర్తి, తృప్తి), though one exceptional story is about a totally colorless individual (ఒక రోజెళ్ళిపోయింది). Some take a small incident and address a universal truth (నీరు నిలవదు, వరద). Some are purely descriptive, and some of the best stories are only about experiential states (రెండు గంగలు, స్తంభన).

The style in which these stories are told also varies from story to story. Most of these are narrated by the author who is not part of the story. The pace of narration often depends on the subject and mood. Sometimes, it flows like a stream falling off a precipice; other times, it is almost still like a pond on a lazy afternoon. Some of the stories feel like the repetition of old fables; others have the construction of the modern story.

The quality of the stories also varies. Many of these stories individually would merit inclusion among the best short stories in Telugu. Some are not that great. But, when read together, they paint a vivid portrait of the village life of the early part of this century and the influence of time on that life. The reader gets a feel for the pulse of the village and its people and an insight into the workings of the world. I wanted to take a few of the stories as examples to explain why I think of this as good writing. Once I opened the book to select my examples, I knew that this is not something that I could do easily or adequately. So the following is not a selection of the best stories in the series, but my impressions of some of the stories.

I will start with renDu gangalu (రెండు గంగలు), one of my all time favorites. This is not a story in the traditional sense. Vasu probably may even cite this as an example of a ‘plot-less plot’. An eighty year old ‘Saastri gaaru’ is besieged by the grandchildren clamoring for a bedtime story, and begins telling a story. It wasn’t really much of a story. One evening, in his freshly married youth, the narrator was walking home from the fields and gets caught in a downpour. After some initial fretfulness, he began to enjoy the rain. (I apologize; reading in RTS does not make this or the other following passages adequate justice. The best way to enjoy these passages is to read them to yourself or somebody aloud.)

“ఇప్పుఢు వర్షం నామీద కురుస్తోంది. నాలోంచి కురుస్తోంది. జల్లుజల్లుగా కురుస్తోంది. భళ్ళుభళ్ళుగా కురుస్తోంది. వర్షపు చల్లదనం శిరస్సునుంచి పాదాలదాక పాకి శరీరంలోని సర్వాణువుల్ని కడిగేస్తోంది. ఆ చల్లదనం నరనరాల్లోకి పరుగులెత్తి వెచ్చగా ఉంది. అది ఎన్ని స్నానాల పెట్టు! ఎన్ని మునకలు దానికి దీటు! వర్షమంతా నామీదే పడాలనిపించింది. నన్ను ముంచెయ్యాలనిపించింది. ఆ సమయంలో నేను నడవటం మానేసి, వొరేయ్! ఆ డొంక మధ్యలో నిటారుగా నుంచున్నారా!”

A while later, he makes his way to the riverbank and, he stands transfixed by the spectacle of the rain on the river; somebody finds him in that state and reminds him to go home. What was the scene that so fascinated him?

“… రంగావఝలవారి చేను దాటి అలా కృష్ణ వొడ్డుకి వస్తినిగదా –
వరె వరె వరె! అదీ వర్షం.
అంత గొప్ప ప్రవాహంలో సంతత ధారగా వానపడిపోతోంది. నీళ్ళలో నీళ్ళు! ధారలో ధార! ప్రవాహంలో ప్రవాహం! వానచినుకులు కృష్ణలో పడుతుంటే పెద్దక్క ప్రేమగా హత్తుకుంటే వొళ్ళు జలదరించినట్టు, ఆ ప్రవాహం మీద ఓ జలదరింపు, ఓ పులకరింపు. సిగ్గుతో నవ్వినప్పుడు బుగ్గమీద సొట్టలా చినుకు పడ్డ చోట చిన్నగుంట. అంతలో ఆ గుంట మాయం. మళ్ళీ చినుకు. మళ్ళీ గుంట. మళ్ళీ మళ్ళీ చినుకులు. అంతలో మాయమయి మళ్ళీ మళ్ళీ గుంటలు. కృష్ణంతా చినుకులు. కృష్ణంతా పులకరింతలు. ఇసకమీద చినుకులు. కసకస చినుకులు. రేణురేణువుకీ చినుకులు. విసవిస, సరసర చినుకులు. రివ్వుమని, రయ్యిమని చినుకులు. ఊపులా చినుకులు. తాపులా చినుకులు. ఛళ్ళుమని, ఫెళ్ళుమని, దభిల్లుమని, పెఠిల్లుమని చినుకులు – చినుకులు – కృష్ణనిండా, ఇసక నిండా, నేలనిండా – చినుకులు – రెండు గంగలు కలిసిపోయినట్టు, నింగీ నేలా ఒకటే అన్నట్టు. ఈ జగత్తులో నీళ్ళు తప్ప ఇంకేవీ లేనట్టు. అన్నిటికీ నీళ్ళే ఆధారమన్నట్టు వాన, వర్షం, గంగమ్మ, కిష్టమ్మ, సంద్రం – అదేదో దానికి నువ్వే పేరైనా పెట్టుకో”

At this point in narration, Saastrigaaru pauses. All the grandchildren have fallen asleep except for the oldest grandson, now in college, who says, “వర్షం ఆగిపోయిందని చెప్పకు తాతయ్యా!”. No, the rain was still continuing. Saastri remembered his new bride, a city-bred girl at risk of developing a cold if exposed to all this rain, and hurried home. Once there, he couldn’t find her anywhere in the home, began to search for her frantically, and finally found her. Where was she, and what was she doing?

“… గబగబా దొడ్లోకొస్తే దొడ్డి చివర ఆరుబయట కృష్ణవైపు తిరిగి నుంచుని కనిపించింది. వర్షం కృష్ణలో కలుస్తుంటే, కృష్ణ వర్షంలో కలుస్తుంటే, వర్షంలో తను కలిసిపోయి, చేతులు విప్పార్చి తల ములకలుగా హాయిగా తడుస్తోంది.”

End of story.

I, of course, gave you only three small passages from a story that ran four printed pages in a 5.5 x 8.5 format. Is there a plot here? What about the style of writing and linguistic abilities? Does the style fit the plot? Does he paint a huge canvas in front of our eyes with his words? Aren’t there new images here that we haven’t really seen before? Was there anybody else that described the rain falling on a river more beautifully? Read again that part where he watches the rain falling on the river. Look at the words – their cadence, their balance! They make me experience the entire scene in its complete magnificence; I can feel the rain touching me and soaking me; I can hear the thunder and see the lightning and watch the rain falling on the river. Is this prose or poetry?

(Some other excerpts from the story)

“ఆకాశమంతా నల్లమేఘాలే. నల్ల చీర కట్టుకున్న ఆడదాని మొల్లో బాకులాగా ఆ నల్ల మేఘాల మధ్య ఓ మెరుపు,…”

“…ఉన్నట్టుండి మబ్బులు పెద్దపెట్టున ఉరిమాయి. వర్షరాణి తీవ్రవేగంతో రథం నడిపిస్తుంటే రయ్యిన పరుగెత్తే రథ చక్రాల ధ్వనిలా ఉంది ఆ ఉరుము. ఆ ఉరుము అలా దూరమవుతూంటే అదిలించినప్పుడు ఆ రథానికి పూన్చిన గుర్రం సకిలింపులా ఉంది. అల్లంతలో మబ్బుల్లో గొప్ప మెరుపు. అది వర్షరాణి కిరీటంలా ఉంది. కిరీటమే కళ్ళూ మిరుమిట్లు గొల్పితే ఆ రాణి ఎలా ఉంటుందో! అలంకరాలు చూడ్డానికే ఈ కళ్ళు మూసుకుపోతుంటే ఇంక ఆకారాలెలా కనిపిస్తాయి?”

The story that comes closest to this in style is Chalam’s classic, O poovu possiMdi (ఓ పూవు పూసింది). That also has a ‘plot-less’ plot and a narrative style that fits the plot perfectly. Both these stories are written with a force and imagery that makes us wonder about the distinction between prose and poetry.

What about the ‘technic’ in this story? How much does the author tell us about this couple? What kind of people are they? What is the relationship between them? How did they lead their life from that point on? How does this compare with that of the other Telugu greats? Besides the Chalam story that I already mentioned, I see a parallel with one of chaasO’s stories, tummula katha (తుమ్ముల కధ). This story reminds me also of mallaadi, Sreepaada and buccibaabu.

vayasocchindi (వయసొచ్చింది) is very different from renDu gangalu. One day, tailor jOgaaraavu found a fifteen year old orphan baabigaaDu near his shop. Sympathetic to his plight, jOgaaraavu lets baabigaaDu do minor things around the shop. baabigaaDu befriends pOli, a poor servant girl. She shares her food with him regularly. He decides to make her a new blouse and obtains measurements for the blouse. He starts hoarding the leftover pieces in the shop and obtains enough cloth for a blouse in a month’s time. How about sewing? He isn’t allowed on the sewing machine. Risking his boss’s wrath, baabigaaDu sneaks some time on the sewing machine whenever he can. It takes him another month to finish the hands; one more month for the neck. Continuing furtively, he finishes the blouse in about six months.

He runs to the riverbank to meet pOli. She is ecstatic about the new blouse. ‘Go, try it on’, beams baabigaaDu proud in his achievement. She goes behind a tree and puts it on. The blouse doesn’t fit. The buttons cannot get to the buttonholes. In the six months since he took the measurements, young pOli’s bosom grew in size.

pOli consoles the dispirited baabigaaDu, “Don’t worry maamaa, my mistress told me that it is time for me to start wearing a pamiTa. She is going to give me a discarded vONee of her daughter. I will wear this blouse under the pamiTa with a pin; it should do”. A thousand dreams light up baabigaaDu’s eyes.

Is there a plot here? An original one? Is this story ‘diddly stuff’? I am not even talking about the linguistic abilities of the author here.

oka rOjeLLipOyindi (ఒక రోజెళ్ళిపోయింది) is a day in the life of picchayya. There is nothing special about picchayya. ‘… పరుగెత్తే ప్రవాహం అడుగున తెలియకుండా ఈదుకెళ్ళే చేపపిల్లలా, తొణకని సరస్సులో కదలని అలలా, ఆయన కాలానికి తెలియకుండా కాలంతో కలసిపోయి జీవితమంతా గడిపాడు. శబ్దాల సంగతి అటుంచి, నిశ్శబ్దంలో పరమ నిశ్శబ్దంగా జీవించాడు’. He leads a fairly mundane life – waking up, morning ablutions, daily worship, lunch, siesta, a walk around the village in the evening, a stop at the temple, dinner and sleep. Eventually one day picchayya dies. The author says, “పిచ్చయ్య గారు ఏవీ సాధించలేదు. తగాదాలు తీర్చలేదు. సమస్యలు చర్చించలేదు. కానీ కాలానికి తెలియకుండా కాలంలో కలిసిపోయి బతికాడు. అది చాలదా? చాలటంలేదు చాలా మందికి.” How many others can write a story that makes you read and think about such a picchayya?

antaa saamidE, nEnevarni ivvaDaaniki (అంతా సామిదే, నేనెవర్ని ఇవ్వడానికి) is the story of young saamba. It is vinaayaka chaviti. Like all other kids in the village, ten year old saambaDu too gathered all kinds of leaves (patri) for worship. But, how about a statue for worship? saamba goes about helping rangayya, the idol maker and gets a small idol as his wage. In his hut, he starts worshipping the vinaayaka, following the same steps that he hears his master in the adjacent house enunciating. But, when the time comes to offer ‘naivEdyam’, saamba finds that there is nothing in the house. He is disappointed and dispirited. Towards the end of the day, his mother returns home and offers saambaDu the ‘dEvuDi prasaadam’ given to her by the mistress of the house. saamba finally got something to offer God his naivEdyam. His mother remarks, “పిచ్చి నాన్నా! సామి పెసాదం సామికే పెడ్తన్నావా?” End of story.

sthambhana (స్తంభన) does not have a story to tell. It is about the breeze from the river on a muggy afternoon and the people it touched as it bounces around the village. adugO alladugO (అదుగో అల్లదుగో) also does not have a story to tell. It is simply about the bus ride from Guntur to Amaraavati, nothing more. poola sultaan (పూలసుల్తాన్) was about the vendor of flowers. EDaadikO rOju puli (ఏడాదికో రోజు పులి) is about nabeesaayib, who lives really for only one day in a year, the day he gets to be the tiger during the dasaraa festival; but what happens when he gets too old to play that role? sangamam (సంగమం) is the life story of the child widow narsamma. punUkula buTTalO lacchimaataalli (పుణుకుల బుట్టలో లచ్చిమాతల్లి) is about the rags to riches story of puNukula subbayya.

nilabaDagalavaa (నిలబడగలవా) is the story of the village litigant. accOsina aambOtulu (అచ్చోసిన ఆంబోతులు) is the story of the village aambOtulu, of bovine as well as human variety. neeru nilavadu (నీరు నిలవదు) is the plotless story of the gossip of the village women getting water from the river. tRpti తృప్తి is the plotless story of a village picnic (vanabhOjanam) and the unforgettable poorNayya baava. Varada (వరద) is the story of the integration for a day of the village on the day following floods. muddElanayyaa manasu needai yunDa (ముద్దేలనయ్యా మనసు నీదై యుండ) is the ‘love’ story between kanakaamgi, the bhOgam damsel, and chaakali sangaDu. kaakitO kaburu (కాకితో కబురు) is the delicate love story between juvvi, the servant girl, and chintaalu the boatman; the only means of communication between this estranged couple is the birds that juvvi feeds regularly. tulasi taamboolam (తులసి తాంబూలం) is the story of the penniless brahmin couple, who may not have money, but have plenty of understanding of each other.

Then, there is the last piece of the series, mahaarudraabhishEkam (మహారుద్రాభిషేకం), almost a movie in front of your eyes. A panoramic shot of amaraavati on the banks of Krishna, followed by a zoom-in closeup, a continuous tracking shot and then a series of quick cuts of people laughing and of people crying. This magnificent picture is followed by the writer’s eloquent prostration before the Lord who – in his view – enabled him to tell these stories. The writer says, అగాధాలు తవ్వి అంతరంగాలు తొలిచి ఆకాశగంగని పాతాళగంగని కలబోసి ఒకే జాలుగా మళ్ళించి స్వచ్ఛంగా తన గుండె పంటగా ప్రవహింపచేశాను, and calls on his lord, “లే తండ్రీ, లే! తలారా తనివి తీర స్నానమాడు! స్నానమాడి శాంతించు నరుడా! దీవించు హరుడా! హరహర మహాదేవ! నరహర మహాదేవ!”. Goosebumps!

I still haven’t touched all my favorite stories from this collection. I can keep writing; writing pages and pages about each of these 100 stories. I cannot open this book and close it after reading just one story. Satyam Sankaramanchi touches on various facets of life in these stories. He writes with equal facility about raaja vaasireDDi venkaTaadri naayuDu and the elikala baachigaaDu. The stories seem to come from the writer’s heart with honesty and sincerity. He has respect, sympathy and understanding for his characters and their lives. He paints pictures of their relationships and surroundings, sometimes with delicate strokes, and with quick, broad strokes at other times. He understands words and the subtle meanings that they convey. Both the dialogue and descriptions (narrative) are constructed with an amazing facility of purpose, and without seeming artificial. He understands the power of the sounds. He could capture the lyrical gurgling of the river in one story and capture the urban cacophony in the next. After all, how many people could get down perfectly the clarion call of the city bus cleaner, “గుంట్రు గుంట్రు గుంట్రు గుంట్రు గుంటూర్!”?

Then there is the issue of ‘technic’. As I noted earlier, these stories are not in a single style. Different narrative technics are used in this series. Sometimes it is straight forward story telling. Sometimes, it is not immediately clear which direction this story is taking. Sometimes, the stories begin with a lyrical out-pour that makes you thirst for more. Other times, it is the author’s description of an event that takes center stage. Sometimes, it is the final twist in the story that adds unexpected weight to the story; some other times, it is the final comment of the author. Sometimes, the tension escalates as the story proceeds and at other times it is diffused early. More often than not, the form fits the content perfectly.

What is even more impressive is the fact that Satyam Sankaramanchi wrote all these 100 stories in a span of almost two years. These were not stories that were written well in advance by the writer and then submitted en masse. Each of these pieces was written, on the average, about one a week, and they were written without a break with looming deadline pressures every week. Remember that the author had to work a full time job at All India Radio too while writing these stories. The author himself confessed in the preface that he was a procrastinator and couldn’t get to his stuff until the very last minute. That means that he had very little time to hone and fine tune these works and that they did not have many iterations before being published. It is a testimony to the genius of this writer that he was able to write 100 stories in this span of time under such circumstances and that all of them can be rated as at least good and as publication worthy. As I noted earlier, the brilliance of some of these is simply astounding.

Whenever I read these stories, I feel thankful to a lot of people: satyam Sankaramanchi, the author; puraaNam subrahmaNya Sarma పురాణం సుబ్రహ్మణ్య శర్మ, the editor who encouraged the author and insisted that they be written regularly; baapu for the wonderful illustrations that often match (and occasionally surpass) the brilliance of the story; muLLapooDi venkaTaramaNa for his sincere, eloquent appreciation, and Navodaya Publishers, a class act among Telugu publishers, for their wonderful production of the book.

Now, I have to thank Vasu and Madhav for making me read these stories once again. If not for them, I wouldn’t have experienced this pleasure at this time.

(11/20/1997 to 11/24/97; telusa. The original posts are available at telusa archive.)

అమరావతి కథలు
సత్యం శంకరమంచి
(నూటొక్క బాపు బొమ్మలతో, ముళ్ళపూడి వెంకటరమణ ముందుమాటతో),
నవోదయ పబ్లిషర్స్, విజయవాడ
(12వ ముద్రణ త్వరలో వస్తుందట)
400 పేజీలు – వెల ఎంతైనా తక్కువే








Amaravathi Kathalu (Telugu)





Sankaramanchi Satyam





Navodaya



About the Author(s)

Jampala Chowdary

చికాగో మెడికల్ స్కూల్‌లో సైకియాట్రీ ప్రొఫెసర్ డా. జంపాల చౌదరికి తెలుగు, సాహిత్యం, కళలు, సినిమాలు అంటే అభిమానం. తానా పత్రిక, తెలుగు నాడి పత్రికలకు, మూడు తానా సమావేశపు సావెనీర్లకు, రెండు దశాబ్దాలు, కథ-నేపథ్యం కథాసంపుటాలకు సంపాదకత్వం వహించారు. ఉత్తర అమెరికా తెలుగు సంఘం (తానా), ఫౌండేషన్ ఫర్ డెమోక్రాటిక్ రిఫారంస్ ఇన్ ఇండియా (ఎఫ్.డి.ఆర్.ఐ.), మరికొన్ని సంస్థలలోనూ, కొన్ని తెలుగు ఇంటర్నెట్ వేదికలలోనూ ఉత్సాహంగా పాల్గొంటుంటారు; చాలాకాలంగా తానా ప్రచురణల కమిటీ అధ్యక్షులు. తానాకు 2013-2015కు కార్యనిర్వాహక ఉపాధ్యక్షుడిగా, 2015-2017కు అధ్యక్షుడిగా ఇటీవలే ఏకగ్రీవంగా ఎన్నిక అయ్యారు. పుస్తకం.నెట్‌లో జంపాల గారి ఇతర రచనలు ఇక్కడ చదవవచ్చు.



4 Comments


  1. anjaneyulu bvsr

    అయ్యా
    మీ విమర్శ, వివరణ సత్యం గారి కథనం స్థాయికి తగినట్టుగా చాలా అందంగా కళ్ళు చేమరిమ్పచేసేలా ఉంది. మీకు ధన్యవాదాలు ఇంత మంచి సమీక్షకు, ఇంత గొప్ప అభిమానంతో కూడిన శైలికి.
    ఆంజనేయులు


  2. K. Chandrahas

    You have compared రెండు గంగలు to చాసో గారి తుమ్ముల కథ. చాసో గారలాంటి కథ రాసినట్లు లేరు. దుమ్ములగుండి కథ అది. మీరు పొరబడినట్లున్నారు. ఒకవేళ నిజంగా తుమ్ముల కథ ఉంటే మన్నించగలరు.


    • Jampala Chowdary

      చంద్రహాస్ గారూ.
      మీరన్నది కరెక్టేగాని, నేనూ రైటే.
      ఎలాగంటారా…
      “తుమ్మలా, తుమ్ములా? రెండూ ఉన్నాయి, మీరేది చెప్పమంటే అది చెపతాను” అన్నాది ముత్తవ్వ
      “తుమ్ముల మాటే” అన్నాది మునిమనమరాలు…
      అంటూ మొదలయ్యే చాసో కథ పేరు ‘బొమ్మల పెళ్ళి’.
      ఆ కథంతా ముత్తవ్వ చెప్పిన తుమ్ముల కథ.
      అది కథేనా అంటే – చదివినవా రేమనుకుంటే అదే.
      రెండు గంగలు లాగానే.


    • Jampala Chowdary

      Incidentally, the title for the Chaso short story anthology that Velcheru Narayana Rao and David Shulman translated is, Dolls’ Wedding and Other Stories.



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