Empowering young global aspirants: Interview with Jayanthi Sankar

Abstract: Initiating a global literary award takes dedication and patience. The Jay Yes Foundation began with a novel idea to bring writers on the outside together: the authors who sat on the margins and were hesitant to seek broader publication. After the jury was selected and the process to find authors began, the submissions exceeded expectation and included amazing pieces that stood out even if they did not win. What is the importance of these literary contests? What might deter a good author for seeking submission and how can the literary community support each other more in a highly competitive field? 

INTERVIEWER:

R. Sredhanea is the author of ‘The Cord’, who has also written over 20 blogs in the Coffeelicious publications of Medium. A food technologist by profession and an aspiring author by passion, she published 7 self-help articles in magazines like ‘The Infinithoughts’ and is a freelance content writer for Carty Studios. ‘The Cherry Book Awards’ recognized her debut historical fiction, ‘The Cord,’ with the Outstanding Aspiring Author Award prior to its release. It bagged several prestigious awards after print.

INTERVIEWEE:

Jayanthi Sankar, living in Singapore since 1990, has been in several international panels of literary festivals, including the APWT 2018 at the Gold Coast, Singapore Writers Festival, Asean-India Pravasi Bharatiya Divas Writers Festival. She is the author of 4 fiction. The winner in fiction: short story in 2020 International Book Award -American book fest Dangling Gandhi also won the international The Literary Titan award. Tabula Rasa was long listed in - 2025 Chommanard Women’s Literary Award, a distinguished favourite at 2022 NYC Big Book Award in the category of Historical Fiction as well as an ‘honourable mention’ in San Francisco book fest award 2022. Misplaced Heads was on the Eyelands Book Awards 2020 final list of historical fiction in Greece, making its mark as outstanding postmodern historical fiction. Her novella, When Will You Die? explores the human psyche. Under the initiatives of Jay Yes Foundation, she has published several anthologies including When the trees remembered, The year I forgot to hum, An Iron Fist in a velvet glove, The Dancing Goldflecks, Kiss and other classic ancient short stories, The necklace and other classic ancient short stories. Currently, she works full time as an onsite interpreter of English, Tamil, Hindi, and Malayalam, with the Ministry of Manpower - since 2023.

TEXT OF INTERVIEW:

SreDhanea R: What was the spark behind starting the International Jay Yes Short Story Contest 2026?

Jayanthi Sankar: The contest emerged less from a single moment of inspiration than from a gradual evolution of my earlier initiatives. After the Jay Yes Foundation published two anthology volumes arising from a pan-India short story competition for tertiary students in 2025, I returned to a recurring question - how might we create a space that encourages distinctly human creativity when technology is reshaping the creative landscape? In June 2026, over coffee, I asked Lalitha Ramanathan, who would later become our Lead Juror, whether the next edition of the contest should go international or Asian,  almost instinctively, she answered, “Global.” Then there was no turning back. That conversation crystallised what had until then been only an emerging thought. My hesitation vanished. Lalitha also proposed something that reshaped the contest. She suggested offering publishing deals to the winners. She agreed to lead the jury. I presented the idea to Gayathri R of Zero-Degree Publishing, who embraced it immediately. Her confidence in the project transformed an ambitious concept into a viable literary initiative. 

SreDhanea R: Why did you hesitate at first?

Jayanthi Sankar: Initially, I was skeptical about going global because I knew from experience the amount of effort, energy, and time that would be required. We all have lives to lead, writing or otherwise, daily routines, day jobs, health issues, and emergencies to manage. The jurors were so magnanimous to accept their roles, especially after knowing fully well - the role is not going to compensate their time and efforts. Believing my intent and vision, and my genuineness, they were so committed to completing the tedious task so beautifully. This kind of initiative runs for months, often nearly a year. And, to devote time over a prolonged period can come only from a big heart. I got to know of more than one emergency and health situation in the lives of our jurors. I felt terrible for taking their time and attention for the contest, when they should’ve been sorting out their situations. The success of this edition of the contest has been possible entirely because of the publishers and the jury. There are, of course, practical obstacles—most notably the financial and logistical complexities of shipping physical copies to the contributors of the anthology across continents. Yet those challenges seemed secondary to the larger purpose. 

SreDhanea R: How will the winners benefit from the contest?

Jayanthi Sankar: For the winners, the contest doesn’t end with recognition—it begins with more opportunity. Each will receive a publishing contract for a full-length, single-author book, allowing them to develop their voice beyond a single short story. Podcast conversations will also feature every shortlisted writer, creating another space for readers to discover the writers and their journeys and motivations behind their stories.

SreDhanea R: What was the turnaround time for the contest?

Jayanthi Sankar: We announced the competition in February and extended the submission deadline to May 8 to give ample time for contestants to write and revise. The response exceeded our expectations. We received 140 stories from writers across 32 countries—a testament to how deeply the theme resonated. Reading them all, however, was no small undertaking. Each submission deserved careful attention, so the jury designed its own assessment process to distribute the workload fairly while maintaining consistency. It demanded time, patience, and long hours, but there was never any temptation to rush. Stories deserve to be read with respect, especially when they ask readers to inhabit another person’s journey.

⁠SreDhanea R: How were you able to run the contest with no submission fee or external funds?

Jayanthi Sankar: The support and understanding our publisher and the jurors gave me the strength. Attaching commercial value to creative processes does not sit well with me. I have recognized that not all creative minds are self-motivated, and that many retreat upon seeing “submission fees.” I also believe stories deserve to be heard—with no fee. When I began writing, I had no guidance. Contest opportunities were far fewer than they are today. After Yahoo Groups, Google Groups and later blogging, when social media started spreading information like rapid forest fire, many such opportunities became rampantly commercial. Algorithms and stats increasingly translating to power, manipulation, algorithms and therefore money. Where is genuine creativity in all this madness? I observed with sadness that almost every corner of the literary, book, and publishing space commercialized too fast. Genuine intent, sincere efforts, valuable time, and amicable engagements are the four strong pillars of the Jay Yes Foundation. With no financial investment, it commits only consistent time and collective commitment to literary causes. 

SreDhanea R:  How did you attract such a remarkable number of submissions?

Jayanthi Sankar: The scale of the response surprised me as much as it did anyone. Something remarkably simple human engagement did that. I sent out approximately 600 emails to writing groups, book clubs, libraries, universities, and literary organisations across the world. Rather than relying only on algorithms or digital visibility, I chose the slower, more deliberate act of writing to people directly. That approach reaffirmed something I had almost forgotten—that genuine literary communities still respond to sincerity and personal outreach. Social media, interestingly, proved less influential than expected. We shared posters and short videos consistently, but their organic reach remained basic. I don’t discount the power of those platforms; they can be extraordinarily effective for individuals with substantial audiences or paid promotional campaigns. Yet our aim was never to purchase visibility. The contest, conceived as an independent literary endeavour, more aimed at growth earned through commitment rather than advertising. The experience also revealed something unexpectedly personal. I’ve never found it easy to advocate for myself. Yet when the work creates opportunities for others, hesitation disappears like magic. Building a platform through which emerging writers from different parts of the world might find recognition gave the project a larger purpose. That collective purpose sustained my commitment throughout.

SreDhanea R: Who was the contest made for?

Jayanthi Sankar: The core purpose of the contest is to create a platform for writers who often stand just outside the established literary world hesitantly. These are talented writers seeking more than just recognition; they desire a meaningful chance to be read, published, and taken seriously. A small team took forward the contest with no institutional backing or funding, but only with a a shared belief in literature and its enduring capacity to connect people across countries. Apart from the invaluable partnership of Zero Degree Publishing, the project relied almost entirely on volunteer effort and goodwill. The breadth of the response suggested that such spaces remain deeply needed. It encouraged me to expand the initiative beyond our original vision. Instead of producing a single anthology, ZDP will now publish two volumes featuring twenty stories from seventeen countries. 

For me, the outcomes represent something beyond just statistics. They affirm literary communities continue to transcend borders when offered a space defined by openness, seriousness, and genuine respect for craft.

SreDhanea R: What were the rules, and how important was it to follow them?

Jayanthi Sankar: The jury unanimously chose the theme—Seeking Refuge, stories of displacement. It felt timely, universal, and rich with possibilities. Beyond the creative challenge, there were clear rules that every participant had to follow. Writers signed a declaration. This declaration confirmed that the work was entirely their own, that they had not generated it using AI, and that they had never published it before. That wasn’t simply a formality; it was essential to preserving the integrity of the competition and ensuring that selected stories could appear in the anthology. We received submissions via a Google Form, and the contest was open to anyone aged 18 and above, regardless of where they lived. We wanted the widest possible range of voices.

SreDhanea R: How was the jury selected?

Jayanthi Sankar: If the competition aspired to international relevance, it required readers whose perspectives reflected both literary accomplishment and cultural breadth. By then, Lalitha Ramanathan had published her first book and agreed to serve as Lead Juror. She invited Eric Valles and Sangeetha Vallat to join the panel, while I approached San Lin Tun, Lovelace Cook, and Winnie Tataw. This the six-member international jury with diverse backgrounds enriched both the reading process and the discussions surrounding the submissions. My responsibilities remained deliberately separate from the judging so the jury had complete freedom. I oversaw the administration of the competition and later undertook the curation and editorial work required for the anthology volumes, allowing the jury the complete independence to evaluate entries.

I had imagined receiving about fifty submissions and believed that three or four jurors would’ve sufficed. As the number exceeded one hundred, I realised how fortunate we were to have assembled a larger jury. It was only later that I learned the contest’s landing page had attracted over 5,000 visitors—a scale of interest I had not expected.

What remains most gratifying is not simply the volume of submissions or the expanded outcome with two anthology volumes, but the generosity with which the jury gave their time and expertise. Literary culture ultimately depends on such acts of stewardship. The effort invested in the contest was considerable, and its measurable outcomes may never fully reflect that labour. Yet measurable returns rarely sustain initiatives of this kind. The conviction that creating opportunities for others sustains them is, in itself, a worthwhile literary endeavour.

SreDhanea R: What made the winning entries stand out?

Jayanthi Sankar: What struck me the most was the unmistakable presence of a human voice. In an era when so much writing can feel polished to the point of sameness, these stories breathed. They carried the imperfections, surprises, and emotional intelligence that make any fiction memorable.

The strongest entries weren’t necessarily the ones with the grandest plots. They were the ones who knew how to tell a story—how to earn a reader’s trust, sustain tension, and leave an emotional echo. There was a remarkable exchange of perspectives. A Nigerian writer imagined life in Australia. An Australian writer entered the emotional landscape of a Sri Lankan migrant. Other stories explored separation at the U.S. border, families scattered across continents, and the quiet dislocations that often go unnoticed. Together, they reminded us that migration is never just about crossing borders; it’s about carrying memories, searching for identity, and far away hope.

The judging itself was deliberately rigorous. Judges assessed every story against eight criteria. They scored each criterion independently before calculating the total. But numbers alone didn’t tell the complete story. Jurors worked in pairs, discussed tough decisions, and regularly exchanged batches of submissions to ensure they read every piece with fresh eyes. The conversations around the stories were often as illuminating as the stories themselves. Detecting AI tell tales was another amusingly tough task. 

SreDhanea R: How did you filter out plagiarism or AI-generated scripts? 

Jayanthi Sankar: Nurturing natural intelligence has always been the core of the initiatives by Jay Yes Foundation, and every contestant signed a declaration which included a clause - I have not used AI to create my story. Yet, it really was an enormous challenge the jury faced. It got tougher with every stage. The lead juror had novel ideas and inferences that she applied. But they diligently stood by the ground rule: give the benefit of the doubt to the contestant. We remained the kindest in that.

SreDhanea R: What was the feedback from the jury?

Jayanthi Sankar: The jury came away deeply moved—not only by the stories themselves but by the astonishing diversity of voices behind them. Repeatedly, they spoke of narratives that were heartbreaking, eye-opening, and quietly unforgettable. They also said the experience reminded them why literature continues to matter, allowing us to inhabit lives far removed from our own.

The process was educational in another sense as well. Reading widely revealed not only what makes a story a hit but also the habits that prevent one from reaching its full potential. Every submission became part of that conversation.

One unexpected challenge was evaluating the authenticity of the writing in an age of AI. Some entries carried characteristics that raised questions, but there is no foolproof formula for making any judgment. The jury developed its own framework, yet in the end, experience, literary instinct, and close reading proved far more valuable than any checklist. Human storytelling has a texture that is difficult to manufacture.

Perhaps the greatest surprise was how invested everyone became. The jurors approached the task with extraordinary generosity, debating, questioning, and spearheading stories they believed in. By the end, it felt less like a panel of judges and more like a community of readers brought together by a shared belief in the enduring power of fiction.

SreDhanea R: Were there inspiring stories that didn’t make the final list but were simply too good to forget?

Jayanthi Sankar: More than a few. That’s perhaps the hardest part of judging a literary competition. Some stories missed the final list not because they fell short, but because another story scored slightly higher across the panel.

I still remember one tender piece about an adult elephant and a calf—a story that quietly explored belonging and separation. Another reflected on family heirlooms, showing how ordinary objects become vessels for memory, grief, and love across generations. They stayed with us long after we had finished reading to them. Yet with 20 places available across two anthology volumes, it was inevitable. While creating the 110 ‘participation’ certificates and ten ‘distinct participation’ certificates, I realised, those omissions were painful decisions.

SreDhanea R: When can we expect the anthology volumes to be out? How do you plan on marketing them? 

Jayanthi Sankar: Before the year ends, most probably, and I hope to do my best in promoting them. It will have to become a collective effort again. 

SreDhanea R: What was the most rewarding moment in this whole journey of the contest for you?

Jayanthi Sankar: Stories carrying either or both the weight of life challenges or humane kindness motivate me to spread more positivity in the writing community. Reading voices from all corners of the world gave me a feeling of humility, to think all over again how negligibly minuscule a dust particle I am in the entire infinite vastness. A part of, yet so far off.