Vidya Subramaniam needs no introduction in the Tamil literary world. Her real name is Usha and when she started writing she assumed her elder daughter’s name Vidya as her pen name. Vidya was born ten years after independence. Her first long story ‘முதல் கோணல்’ has appeared in Mangayar Malar in 1882.

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In the thirty three years of long journey in the literary world after that she has written hundreds of short stories and novels and has received numerous awards. She received an award for her novel ‘தென்னங்காற்று’ from Ananthachari Trust in 1997. Government of Tamilnadu awarded her for short story collection ‘வனத்தில் ஒரு மான்’ in 1998. State Bank of India gave first prize and awarded her for her novel ‘ஆகாயம் அருகில் வரும்’ in the same year 1998. Her short story collection ‘கண்ணிலே அன்பிருந்தால்’won Kovai Lily Deivasikamani memorial award in 1999. She has received twice Ilakkiya Sindhanai Virudhu for best short stories.

Praba Rajarathinam Novels _ Tamil Novels Free Downloads. Vidya Subramaniam Novels (வித்யா சுப்ரமணியம் நாவல்கள்).

Further her short stories have won several prizes in Tamil weekly and monthly magazines. An anthology of her short stories has been translated into English titled ‘Beyond the Frontier’. Two of her short stories have also been translated and featured in a book titled ‘Anthology of Tamil Pulp Fiction’ from the Blaft stable.

Her eighty fifth book ‘உப்பு கணக்கு’ published in 2009 is one of her best novels. Written in the historical background of pre independence days, this book was taken for review recently by Tamil Pusthaka Vasakar Vattam at TAG centre and appreciated greatly. This speech was delivered after the review of her book 'Uppu Kanakku' at the Tamizh Puthaga Nanbargal monthly review meeting held at TAG Centre, Chennai on 24th November 2015.

Description Translator’s Note This book is an attempt to claim the status of “literature” for a huge body of writing that has rarely if ever made it into an academic library, despite having been produced for nearly a century. While a good deal of Tamil fiction has been rendered in English, it has primarily been members of the literati who have enjoyed this distinction. Even the recent translations of more popular authors such as Sivasankari and Sujatha seem to be selections of their most serious, “meaningful” work. As a schoolgirl in mid-sixties Chennai, I grew up on a steady diet of Anandha Vikatan, Kumudham, Dhinamani Kadhir, Thuglaq, Kalaimagal and Kalkandu. These magazines were shared and read by practically all the women at home. ‘Then there were other publications, less welcome in a traditional household, with more glamorous pictures and lustier stories.

These we would regularly purloin from the driver of our school bus, Natraj, who kept a stack of them hidden under the back seat. I doubt if he knew what an active readership he was sponsoring on those long bus rides. So, from the days when our English reading consisted of Enid Blyton, Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys up until we grew out of Earl Stanley Gardner, Arthur 1-lailey, and Hadley Chase, we also had a parallel world of Ra. Rangarajan, Rajendra Kumar, Sivasankari, Vaasanthi,, Anuthama. And especially Sujatha, who rocked us back in the seventies with his laundry-woman jokes.

As school kids, though we did not understand what they actually meant, we were definitely aware of the unsaid adult content in them. His detective duo Ganesh and Vasanth were suddenly speaking a kind of Tamil that was much closer to our Anglicised language than anything we had seen before on paper. We were completely seduced by the brevity of his writing.

Households would meticulously collect the stories serialized in these weeklies and have them hard-bound to serve as reading material during the long, hot summet vacations. We offer an excerpt from one of these serials in this collection: En Peyar Kamala, by Pushpa Thangadurai, with sketches by Jayaraj. I remember when this story was being serialized in the mid-seventies. The journal was kept hidden in my mother’s cupboard. The subject matter was deemed too dangerous for us young girls.

Since I was not allowed to read it at home, naturally, I read it on the school bus. Thanks to Natraj. Then came college days, my political awakening and my increasing involvement with theatre activism, during which I consciously distanced myself from reading pulp fiction and moved to more “serious stuff”. Two and a half decades of marriage, two daughters, many cigarettes and a lot of rum later, I got called upon to return to it. When Rakesh—a California-born, non-Tamil-speaking Chennai transplant who had developed a burning curiosity about the cheap novels on the rack at his neighborhood tea stand—approached me with the idea of doing this book, it was fun to discover that the child in me is still alive and kicking.