India, Sept. 20 -- Some 'good' translations tell the stories effectively - the plot, structure, who the characters were, what they felt, what they did. Some flow and glide, whisper within you and sing songs of the times in which the stories were set. A Teashop in Kamalapura & Other Classic Kannada Stories belongs to this latter category. In her note, series editor Mini Krishnan says, 'I do think successful translations run a little ahead of their originals'. By adapting her writing to the era in which the stories in this collection are set, Susheela Punitha's translation does just that. Even if readers neglect to check the table of contents that mentions when each story was first published, they will grasp the change in the contours of the writing style as they move from 1900 to 1985-95. The progression from the Navodaya or Renaissance phase of the early 1900s to the Pragathisheela or Progressive phase where there is a shift from a 'naive representation of local culture' to a more 'introspective style. trying to find ways of confronting social evils' is also evident. Both, Punitha's introduction and her translator's note are informative and allow readers to better appreciate the literary ethos. The curation is also excellent. Even without glancing at the introduction, the reader can chart how the form changes, preoccupations shift, and trace the trajectory of modern short fiction in Kannada. The titular piece, Panje Magesharaya's Kamalapuradha Hotlinalli (At a Teashop in Kamalapura) published in 1900, is considered the first modern Kannada short story. The stories are all enjoyable though Nanajangudu Thirumalamba's The Child, A Teacher (1914-15) might seem a little problematic to a contemporary reader as it derides a tribal practice without giving the tribe's perspective. Kadengodlu Shankarabhatta's My Alarm Clock (1934) resonated particularly as it looks at the custom of madi or ritual pollution. My own grandmother followed some of these practices and I have witnessed the suffering these rituals caused. Here, the protagonist's wife dies because of her blind faith. My grandfather died when I was 18; my grandmother died 14 years later. In the intervening period, I saw her shrink and diminish in health because of the rules that a Bengali widow 'must follow'. Nobody told her to follow them. If anything, the family urged her not to. But just like the wife in the story, faith was stronger than common sense. Shymaladevi Belagaonkar's The Scion of the Family Or a Secret Gift is devilish in its construction and in the way it plays out. Everyone gets what they want but was the cost worthwhile, it asks. My favourites are Shankar Mokashi Punekar's Bilas Khan about the birth of the 'Bilas Khan Todi' and the death of Tansen's son, and Sara Aboobacker's Between Rules and Regulations. These stories came much later (1985 and 1985-95, respectively) than others in the collection. There is, in fact, a 20-to-30-year gap between them and the third-last story, Two Ways of Living (1955-65) by Anasuya Shankar, whose pen name was Triveni. A reader might wonder what mutations the form went through in this period. The ending of Bilas Khan is heart-wrenching, particularly after the almost comic shenanigans of the characters. In Aboobacker's story, the reader has a premonition from the very beginning that things will not end well but feels compelled to continue reading. The narrator of The Girl I Killed will incense readers with his insensitivity and lack of understanding. I wanted to give him a good shake - the mark of a story well-told. An Episode stands out not just because of its English mem 'protagonist' but also in the way it handles the topic of an extramarital relationship. However, the confusion, guilt and the attraction of something that is socially unacceptable is captured more beautifully in Kodagina Gowramma's Vani's Confusion. Thematically similar to Rabindranath Tagore's novel Chokkher Bali, the title can seem misleading as this is more Indu's story than Vani's. MN Kamath's Who's the Thief (1941) and The Story of Jogi Anjappa's Hen (1945-55) can be read as companion pieces; both examine how rural social structures readily criminalise the underprivileged. Not all the stories are rooted entirely in the local. Srinivasa Kulkarni's A New Tongue (1933) references "Shrimati Elizabeth Barrett Browning" while the influence of O Henry's Gift of the Magi is apparent in SG Sastry's A Gift for the Festival (1946). The 18 stories in this volume delight the modern reader by presenting different ways of storytelling, some of which run counter to what's taught at creative writing workshops. This then is the real victory of the authors, the series editor and the translator....