Hindi and Urdu: Sa’adat Hasan Manto

This is Muhammad Umar Memon’s translation of an article by Sa’adat Hasan Manto.

The translation first appeared in The Annual of Urdu Studies.The Hindi-Urdu dispute has been raging for some time now. Maulvi Abdul Haq Sahib, Dr Tara Singh and Mahatma Gandhi know what there is to know about this dispute. For me, though, it has so far remained incomprehensible. Try as hard as I might, I just haven’t been able to understand. Why are Hindus wasting their time supporting Hindi, and why are Muslims so beside themselves over their preservation of Urdu? A language is not made, it makes itself. And no amount of human effort can ever kill a language. When I tried to write something about this current hot issue, I ended up with the following long conversation:Munshi Narain Parshad:  Iqbal Sahib, are you going to drink this soda water?

Mirza Muhammad Iqbal: Yes, I am.

Munshi: Why dont you drink lemon?

Iqbal: No particular reason. I just like soda water. At our house, everyone likes to drink it.

Munshi: In other words, you hate lemon.

Iqbal: Oh, not at all. Why would I hate it, Munshi Narain Parshad? Since everyone at home drinks soda water, I’ve sort of grown accustomed to it. That’s all. But if you ask me, actually lemon tastes better than plain soda.

Munshi: That is precisely why I was surprised hat you would prefer something salty over something sweet. and lemon isn’t just sweet, it has a nice flavour. What do you think?

Iqbal: You are absolutely right, but…

Munshi: But what?

Iqbal: Nothing. I was just going to say that I’ll take soda.

Munshi: Same nonsense again. I’m not forcing you to drink poison, am I? Brother, what’s the difference between the two? Both bottles are made in the same factory after all. The same machine has poured water into them. If you take the sweetness and flavour out of the lemon, what’s left?

Iqbal: Just soda… a kind of salty water…

Munshi: Then, what’s the harm in drinking the lemon?

Iqbal: No harm at all.

Munshi: Then drink!

Iqbal: And what will you drink?

Munshi: I’ll send for another bottle.

Iqbal: Why would you send for another bottle? What’s the harm in drinking plain soda?

Munshi: N… n… no harm.

Iqbal: So then, here, drink the soda water.

Munshi: And what will you drink?

Iqbal: I’ll get another bottle.

Munshi: Why would you send for another bottle? What’s the harm in drinking lemon?

Iqbal: N… n… no harm. And what’s the harm in drinking soda?

Munshi: None at all.

Iqbal: The fact is, soda is rather good.

Munshi: But I think that lemon… is rather good.

Iqbal: Perhaps, if you say so. Although I’ve heard all along from my elders that soda is rather good.

Munshi: Now what’s a person to make of this: I’ve heard all along from my elders that lemon is rather good.

Iqbal: But what’s your own opinion?

Munshi: And what’s yours?

Iqbal: My opinion… hum… my opinion. My opinion is just this… but why don’t you tell me your opinion?

Munshi: My opinion… hum… my opinion is just this… but why should I tell it first?

Iqbal: I don’t think we’ll get anywhere this way. Look, just put a lid on your glass. I’ll do the same. Then we’ll discuss the matter leisurely.

Munshi: No, we can’t do that. I’ve already popped the caps off the bottles. We’ll just have to drink. Come on, make up your mind, before all the fizz is gone. These drinks are worthless without the fizz.

Iqbal: I agree. And at least you do agree that there’s no real difference between lemon and soda.

Munshi: When did I ever say that? There’s plenty of difference. They’re as different as night and day. Lemon is sweet, flavourful, tart-three things more than soda. Soda only has fizz, and that’s so strong it just barges into the nose. By comparison, lemon is very tasty. One bottle and you feel fresh for hours. Generally, soda water is for sick people. Besides, you’ve just admitted yourself that lemon tends to be tastier than soda.

Iqbal: Well, that I did. But I never said that lemon is better than soda. Tasty doesn’t mean that a thing is also beneficial. Take achaar, it’s very tasty, but you already know about its harmful effects. he presence of sweetness and tartness doesn’t prove that something is good. If you cnsulted a doctor he would tell you the harm lemon does to the stomach. But soda, that’s something else. The thing is, it helps digestion.

Munshi: Look, we can settle the matter by mixing the two.

Iqbal: I have no objection to that.

Munshi: Well, then, fill this glass halfway with soda.

Iqbal: Why don’t you fill half the glass with your lemon? I’ll pour my soda after that.

Munshi: Makes no sense. Why don’t you pour your soda first?

Iqbal: Because I want to drink soda-lemon mixed.

Munshi: And I want lemon-soda mixed.

By Shivam Vij. Reproduced from Minds@UW and posted December 5, 2011 in “Kafila” at http://kafila.org/2011/12/05/hindi-and-urdu-saadat-hasan-manto/

Translations of Classical Chinese Poetry into Punjabi

Poems of Chinese poet, Li Bai (701-762). Translated by Randeep Purewall, edited by Fauzia Rafique.

日     照     香     爐     生     紫     煙

遙     看     瀑     布     掛     前     川

飛     流     直     下     三     千     尺

疑     是     銀     河     落     九     天

…

Xiang Lū* te dhūp channan dhund udānda ae

Dūron maiñ vekhiya ek ābshār

uDdā vagdā dhenda tīn hazār foott thalle

Jivaiñ tāriān de rāh arsh toñ digdī ae

…

The mist rises from sunlit Xiang Lu

From afar, I see a waterfall

Flying, flowing plunging three thousand feet

Like the milkway falling from heaven

…

問     余     何     意     棲     碧     山

笑     而     不     答     心     自     閒

桃     花     流     水     杳     然     去

別     有     天     地     非     人     間
…

Lok pūchde maiñ sāvī choTi te kyoñ rehnāñ

Muskdā maiñ chup apne dil de sukūn’ch

Aarū de phūl pānī te tarde jānde

Fāniāñ de is jahāñ toñ agge kisse haur jahāñ’ch

…

They ask me why I live on Green Mountain

Smiling, I stay quiet, my heart at peace

Peach blossoms float along the water’s surface

To another world beyond that of mortals

…

床     前     明     月     光

疑     是     地     上     霜

举     头     望     明     月

低     头     思     故     乡

…

Mere bistre de samne chamkde chan de lo

Farsh de paindi lagge jivaiñ korā

Sar chañdeyañ maiñ chan taknāñ

Sar niwañdeyañ apna ghar yaad karnāñ

…

Before my bed the bright moon shines

So that it seems like frost on the ground

Raising my head, I gaze at the moon

Lowering my head, I think of my home

…

* Xiang Lū: the name of a mountain in southern central China

Holier Than Life ‘زندگی سے مقدس تر’ by Fauzia Rafique – Urdu rendition Shamoon Saleem

رمشا مسیح کیس اور بابوسر میں 19 شیعہ مسلمانوں کے قتلِ عام پہ احتجاج کی نظم

زندگی سے مقدس تر

ہاں، آج میں اک مُہر ثبت کرتی ہوں
قرآن کے اک صفحے پر
اس معصوم کے نام کی
جسے کل اسلام کے جانثاروں نے
اس کی توہین کے الزام میں
قتل کیا ہے

میں مہر ثبت کرتی ہوں
ہندوؤں اور ان گنت احمدیوں کی اپنے وطن سے ہجرت کی
اور کل کی خبرمیں سے
ان انیس شیعہ مقتولوں کے ناموں کی
گیارہ برس کی اس بچی کی گرفتاری کی
اور موت تک زدوکوب ہونے والے اس عیسائ جوان کی
جو دونوں ذہن میں کچھ ہلکے تھے، سادہ تھے
مگر دل میں موتیوں سے شفاف تھے

چلو دل کی بات رہنے دو
مگر ذہن کی ہلکی اور سادہ تو میں بھی ہوں

میں اس ورق کو جلاتی نہیں ہوں
میں کتابوں کے ورق جلانے میں یقین نہیں رکھتی
میں اسے پھاڑتی بھی نہیں ہوں
میں بے سود تخریب میں یقین نہیں رکھتی

میں اس پر سیاہ حرفوں میں
مہر ثبت کرتی ہوں، ”قاتل“ کی
ہر اک مقتول کے نام کی سرخی سے

یہ دیکھنے کو کہ
کتاب کے نام پہ کتنے قتلوں کی گنجائش
قاتلوں کی اس کتاب پہ ہے

یا کبھی یہ دیکھ سکنے کو کہ
کس کتاب کے قاتلوں کا جتھہ
بالآخر تمغہ جیتتا ہے
تورات کے نام پر فلسطین میں
قران کے نام پہ پاکستان یاایران میں
انجیل کے نام پر ویتنام میں
یا تریپیتکا کے نام پہ برما میں

ہاں، آج میں اک مہر ثبت کرتی ہوں
قرآن کے اک صفحے پر
اس معصوم کے نام کی
جسے کل اسلام کے جانثاروں نے
اس کی توہین کے الزام میں
قتل کیا ہے

اور اے جاں نثارو
مجھے بےوقوف مت بناؤ
اپنے متشدد مظاہروں سے
کہ تمہیں قتل کا مقدس حق تفویض ہے
کسی بھی کتاب کی تقدیس کی خاطر
کسی بھی نام کی تقدیس کی خاطر
یا کسی بھی شے یاجگہ کی تقدیس کی خاطر

زندگی سے مقدس تر کچھ نہیں ہو سکتا
دل سے مقدس تر کچھ نہیں ہو سکتا
جو دھڑکتا ہے، ایک خوشی بھرے مستقبل کی امید میں
محبت کرتا ہے اور جیتا ہے
ایک پھول، ایک پرندہ،
اک گھاس کا سبز تنکا
وحشیو، تم مجھے اپنے
طیش آور مظاہروں سے بیوقوف مت بناؤ
خود زندگی سے مقدس تر
کچھ نہیں ہوتا

فوزیہ رفیق
ترجمہ: شمعون سلیم

View English original

http://uddari.wordpress.com/2012/08/19/holier-than-life-by-fauzia-rafique/

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URGENT: Coming Together for Ahmad Salim – London August 4/12

Author/Archivist Ahmad Salim, winner of Pakistan’s Pride of Performance, is very ill and will probably undergo liver transplant within the next THREE to FOUR months.

In spite of his suffering, he is concerned about archives of South Asian Research and Resource Centre (SARRC) that he worked hard to build over decades. Now, the SARRC materials are used by researchers worldwide.

Friends in UK are taking the lead by inviting you to a meeting to discuss what we can do for Ahmad Salim and for the continuation of SARRC. If you don’t live in London or cannot attend the meeting, please contact Nuzhat or Abbas at:
abbas1960@gmail.com

More information on Ahmad Salim

http://uddari.wordpress.com/2010/08/19/pride-of-performance-for-ahmad-salim/


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahmad_Salim

Date and Time: Saturday 4 August 1500 to 1700 hours
Venue: C/o Rashad Aslam,
Adam Bernard Solicitors
25 Barking Road, Upton Park
London E6 1PW
Mobile (Rashad Aslam): 07833 345 535

Hope to see all of you there.

RSVP
Nuzhat and Abbas
Mobile Nuzhat: 07962 426 065
Mobile Abbas: 07890 844 149
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An Afternoon of Bengali Poetry বৈকালিক – Richmond July 28/12

Vancouver Tagore Society & City of Richmond with World Poetry

Present

বৈকালিক

An Afternoon of Bengali Poetry

1:30PM-4:00PM

Saturday July 28, 2012

Rooftop Garden, Richmond Cultural Centre

7700 Minoru Gate, Richmond, BC V6Y 1R9

Admission: Free

Program Schedule

 Welcome Poems: 1:30PM

Two Birds – Rabindranath Tagore / Lee Tan

An Eventual Victory – Alan Hill / Alan Hill

Keynote Speech: 1:40PM

The Evolution of Bengali Poetry – Leena Chatterjee / Anuradha Mitra

Woven Tapestry of Words – World Poetry: 1:50PM

Day’s End – Rabindranath Tagore

Tirthankar Bose (Bengali), Ariadne Sawyer (English, translated by Willliam Radice),

Bong Ja Ahn (Korean), Subrath Shrestha (Nepali), Yilin Wang (Chinese),

Jacqueline Maire (French), Selene Bertelsen (Middle-English), and

Anita Aguirre Nieveras (Tagalog)

Amorous, Rebellious, Humorous: Spirits of Bengal through its Poetry: 2:00PM 

Couple-Confluence – Abul Hasan / Emilia Jahangir & Avik Ranjan Dey

Tryst – Rabindranath Tagore / Sanzida Habib Swati, Amlan Das Gupta,

Shankhanaad Mallick & Arno Kamolika

Banalata Sen – Jibanananda Das / Duke Ashrafuzzaman

Man and Nature – Amitava Das Gupta / Sanzida Habib Swati & Amlan Das Gupta

My Letter to Ranjini – Srijat Bandopaddhaya / Avik Ranjan Dey

Ballad of A Farm-laborer – Nirmalendu Goon / Anika Mahmud, Amlan Das Gupta &

Sanzida Habib Swati

Poem of May Day – Subhash Mukhopaddhaya / Chorus

Oh Great Life – Sukanto Bhattacharja / Emilia Jahangir

Give Me Food, Bastard – Rafique Azad / Sabuj Mazumder

My Rights – Shankha Ghosh / Amlan Das Gupta

The Rebel – Kazi Nazrul Islam / Shankhanaad Mallick, Anika Mahmud & Arno Kamolika

Deep Inside My Soul – Syed Shamsul Haque / Sabuj Majumder

For You, Freedom – Shamsur Rahman / Zeenat Zahan Anita

Truth Absconding – Asad Choudhury / Shankhanaad Mallick

Delicious Food – – Sukanto Bhattacharja / Maisha Haque

Nanda Lal – Dijendralal Roy / Anika Mahmud, Avik Ranjan Dey & Others

Solution to Food Scarcity – Sukanto Bhattacharja / Anika Mahmud & Zeenat Zahan Anita

Doctor Safdar – Hosne Ara / Amlan Das Gupta & Arno Kamolika

Mamur Bari – Lutfar Rahman Riton / Sabuj Majumder

Sound of Words – Sukumar Roy / Shankhanaad Mallick & Sanzida Habib Swati

Distant Journey – Satyandranath Datta / Chorus

Vote of Thanks & Refreshments: 3:00PM 

Wrap-up: 4:00PM

Host – Duke Ashrafuzzaman

Music – Sabuj Majumder & Arno Kamolika

Set Design and Décor – Shakhawat Hossain

Coordination – Raihan Akhter

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English Poems find a home at Uddari

‘English Poems’ is a new page that brings together poems published at Uddari in English since 2008. These include translations from other languages.

The page was created on a ‘hunch’ that there were a few English poems rolling around on the blog that somehow could not be reflected on the existing poetry page (clearly) called Punjabi Poems. Even then, a couple of English poems did make their way into it by the grace of their powerful Punjabi counterparts.

Collecting ‘a few’ poems for this page took three times the amount of work anticipated. You will see why when you visit it. No one thought we had so much of such potent poetic content at Uddar. It is powerhouse poetry!

Check it out:

http://uddari.wordpress.com/english-poems/

You will notice that only some poems are published on the page, the rest have links to their independent posts. The poems on the page are extracted from larger posts on the blog, and the links are provided.

We suspect, some poems still may have escaped us. If you come across any that isn’t on English Poems page, let us know at uddari@live.ca.
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‘Hamraz Ahsan’s Third Eye’ by Arif Waqar

Hamraz Ahsan is a well known figure in the Asian circles of England: an experienced Urdu journalist and columnist, a trusted researcher for documentary film producers, and an authentic Punjabi poet who is equally respected in the Muslim and Sikh communities of the UK.

His first Punjabi collection ‘Tibyan uttay Chhawaan’ (Shades on Dunes) got good response from general readers as well as skeptical critics. He wrote several short poems on various aspects of the life of Pakistani immigrants in Great Britain and these poems were collected in a book called ‘Paar Samundraan Wallay’ (Trapped on the Other side of the Ocean). His most recent work is a collection of Punjabi quatrains: ‘Meki Kujh na Aakh’ (Don’t Scold Me)

These short poems draw on the Sufi tradition of Punjabi poetry and they are composed in the traditional four-line format. Before we proceed further let’s have a look at some of these quatrains… in English translation, of course:

Don’t scold me
The worthlessness immersed in my soul
I took the leash of the beast within
And collared myself instead

Don’t scold me
I left both mammon and mother
To take a peek at the firmament
I returned disenchanted, Adam’s brood once more
-

Don’t scold me
I have wept in my dreams
Churning the vat of my heart
Hot tears my only curd
-

Don’t scold me
I have worn out my soul
For each act I was given a different costume
Made by the designer, I simply put it on
-

Don’t scold me
In the dust before me glint particles of sand
In my sky only darkness reins
Stars are trodden underfoot
-

Don’t scold me
My mantra neither Rab nor Rama
I seek benediction without supplication
Clutching neither Koran nor Gita
-

Don’t scold me
I have forged eternal bonds with fire
Red embers caress my palms
I, the baker, whose hand is married to the burning clay oven
-

Don’t scold me
I met my groom in my dotage
My ear rings hang loose from my ears
My nose cannot bear the knobbing ornament’s weight
Translated by the poet

These quatrains are preceded by a detailed, and rather philosophical preface, titled ‘Khraabkaar di teeji akkh’… The Third Eye of the Subverter… masterfully written by Professor Amin Mughal, who firmly believes in the Subversion Theory of Herbert Marcuse, and without referring to him directly, Professor Mughal says, “Authentic poetry, indeed all authentic art, is subversive. Hamraz Ahsan is subversive, and his subversion is directed against his (inner) self. Let’s not forget that ‘self’ is constituted by man’s relations with the universe, of which he himself is a part. Hamraz seeks to break his self, that is, his relations with the rest of the universe and his self, in order to identify all those relations that stand in the way of his self becoming, or moving continuously towards becoming, an authentic self!’

To describe the subversive nature of an authentic artist, Prof. Mughal uses the term ‘kharaabkaar’. This Persian word denotes a destroyer or a saboteur, but traditionally this expression has been reserved for qalanders, or the wandering dervishes. Some of the quatrains in this book have direct references to qalanders.

Hamraz negates class and cast, and the lust that is caused by them. But a distinctive feature of Hamraz’s poetry is his negation of gender distinction. This aspect may easily be overlooked because it forms the base of Punjabi poetry and is therefore not obtrusive and hence not visible. The obliteration of the category of gender turns the poet and the sufi into the woman, and not merely a woman but, following Dostoevsky, they become the prostitute the dust of whose feet they kiss with reverence.

To become a fallen woman is not enough; to think and feel like her is the ultimate test of the negation of gender, and Hamraz tries to do precisely the same.

A major role in the formation of inauthentic relations is played by the way that man employs to see the universe. The way is empirical, rooted in rationalism, and ultimately the senses. The metaphor for the senses in Hamraz’s poetry is ‘the two eyes’ The third eye is needed to authenticate one’s self. The failure of the third eye to open causes the elusiveness of what is missing. The poet starts from negation and reconstitute his self and ultimately affirms life and the universe, but on his own terms. It is no accident then, that Hamraz’s patron saint is Madho Lal Hussain and the 101 quatrains dedicated to his murshid have grown on soil of the Punjabi folk tradition.

‘I did not follow any particular genre of Punjabi poetry’ says Hamraz, ‘the four-line structure came naturally to me, but the words of the first line (me ki kujh na aakh) were uttered by a woman in Pothohar. I heard them years ago and somehow they stuck to my mind’.

One unique feature of this poetry book is its dual script: it’s printed both in Persian and Gurmukhi scripts. It’s worth mentioning that the Lingua Franca of the pre-partition Punjab was divided into two separate languages, in 1947, on the basis of Gurmukhi and Shahmukhi (Persian) scripts. Speakers of the same language, ironically, are unable to read each other’s ideas in the written form, and thus the Punjabi literature is mutually unintelligible across the borders in Indian and Pakistani Punjab.

During my recent visit to London, I had a chance to see the poet in person and discuss the situation with him. ‘How do you compare the situation in Southhall, Nottingham, Birmingham, Leeds or other diaspora centres in the UK?’ I asked Hamraz, ‘Do you think there are better chances, in this more educated and liberal atmosphere, of breaking the script barrier?’

‘I don’t accept the premise that Punjabi communities are more educated and liberal in the UK than in the Punjab’ comes the answer from the poet, ‘I migrated to this country as an adult, but all my children were born and brought up here in Britain, and the willful lack of integration between diverse groups meant that while Hindu, Sikh and Muslim children may have been friends at school, intermarriage between these religions means ostracism for both parties, or even worse, rather than creating a need to understand and communicate across the divide. Certainly anecdotally most of the young Punjabis I know – Sikh, Hindu or Muslim – do not read either script, even if they’re fluent orally. The similarities of language mean a close bond of friendship but friendship is not the same as a desire to read extant literature of either group because this would require a level of educating oneself that is barely there for the English language, let alone for either scripts of the Punjabi’.

If that’s the case, why did he take the trouble to publish his poetry in both scripts? ‘Just because most of my friends and readers in East Punjab, Europe and North America, cannot read Persian script’.

The status of Punjabi language in the Pakistani Punjab is quite enigmatic: there are hundreds of Sindhi medium and Pushto medium schools in Pakistan but not a single Punjabi medium school in the whole country. ‘What’s your take on educating Punjabi kids in their mother tongue?’
Hamraz looked at me rather helplessly, as if I had put him a very unexpected question. ‘well, I’m a Punjabi poet, but not an activist; this question should be asked of those who have been working for the cause of Punjabi’.

Alright then, let’s come to a less political question:
Shahmukhi (Persian) script is not hundred percent phonetic and Gurmukhi is associated with the Sikh religion; in this situation, can Roman script be a way-out? If not, what else can be done to enable the Punjabis across the borders to read each other’s literature?
‘I think that would be an inelegant solution’ comes the answer from the Punjabi poet, ‘to me, the best approach is straightforward translation. While it is easy to become dazzled by the thought that it is the same language in two distinct scripts and want logically to bring about one that crosses borders, it isn’t resolved by learning a third set of phonetic symbols. Before long each group would be bemoaning the endangerment of their own scripts as youth are always game for learning the easiest way out, in this case Roman script. In a lesser form, good publishers edit books for American English and idioms when presenting a UK or Australian text in the States. Publishers should just accept the need to pay translators to do the same for texts crossing borders within the Punjab’.

From Saqib Maqsood (
http://puncham.com/
) at Pancham Sulaikh SaNg
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New Punjabi-English Dictionary – A much-needed resource

Review
Punjabi-English Dictionary
Authors: Kanwal Bashir, Abbas Kazmi
ISBN: 978-1-931546-89-8
Dunwoody Press, Hyattsville USA, 2012
Pages: 660
$125.00

‘Punjabi-English Dictionary’ by Bashir and Kazmi is a much-needed resource for students, teachers, researchers and writers of Punjabi. Designed ‘to assist beginning and intermediate students of Pakistani Punjabi’, this work is an important step in reading, learning and teaching of the language in South Asia and Abroad.

The 660-page dictionary contains about 2,500 main entries selected from Punjabi newspapers published from Lahore, and audios of unrehearsed conversations of Punjabi speakers in the province.

Each entry begins with a headword in Perso-Arabic (commonly called Shahmukhi) script followed by it’s romanization. Descriptions include speech patterns, definition/s, and one (or more) examples in Punjabi with English translation. Here are some of the perks: the authors have developed and implemented a pronunciation system for learners, they have included sentences in both languages; and, you will find verb charts and notes on grammar at the end of the book.

The dictionary appears well-researched, well-written and well-produced. Check it out here:

http://www.dunwoodypress.com/products/-/328

Kanwal Bashir is a senior linguist at a language research center in Maryland. Earlier, she had worked as an Instructor of Urdu and Punjabi language and culture in USA, and as lecturer and later assistant professor of English in Pakistan.

Abbas Kazmi worked as an Instructor, Subject Matter Expert and Tester of Urdu and Punjabi language and culture in Washington. Earlier, he had served Pakistan Foreign Service as a career diplomat.

Bashir and Kazmi began work on this first volume of Punjabi English dictionary in 2008, and now they are working on the second one.
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‘Not Your Father’s Kabir’ by Hasan Altaf

Image from Wikipedia

The poet Kabir died in 1518, so it is jarring to open a translation of his writings and read the following line: “O pundit, your hairsplitting’s/so much bullshit.” It is even stranger to look up and realize that the poem bears an epigraph (“It take a man that have the blues so to sing the blues”) from the American musician Lead Belly, who was not even born until 1888. A quick scan through the volume reveals more epigraphs (Pound, Coleridge), a dedication (one poem is for Geoff Dyer) and vocabulary that Kabir himself could not have come up with: “Smelling of aftershave/and deodorants/the body’s a dried up well…” Arvind Krishna Mehrotra’s Songs of Kabir is not, it is safe to say, your father’s Kabir.

We have certain expectations when it comes to literature of this sort – the literature that we call “classical” or “ancient” or “historical” (to say nothing of that literature we call “sacred”): We want grandeur, pomp and circumstance; we want even a touch of the archaic – no thee-ing and thou-ing, necessarily, but some whiff of the past, something epic, removed from the mundane and the modern. Those translators who subvert this expectation and leave that desire unfulfilled are not always looked on kindly: A review of Anne Carson’s An Oresteia, for example (Carson’s, and indefinitely-articled, because she took one play each from Sophocles, Aeschylus and Euripides to refashion the story of the house of Atreus; call it a remix) took umbrage with her diction, her use of the word “car” rather than “carriage.” Agamemnon comes home from Troy in a car; what, did he roll up in a Volvo? Did he have to stop somewhere for gas before reaching Mycenae?

Mehrotra’s Kabir has, at first, a similar effect. It’s jarring to hear this poet speak in a language that is so simple, modern, familiar; Kabir should sound old and wise, like the saint he was, like a holy book or, at the very least, like Yoda. This Kabir, though, calls the pundit out on “bullshit” and ask the muezzin the simple question, “What’s your problem?” In another poem, we get this: “I fucked young men/too numerous to count/and stayed a virgin” – it’s like hearing your grandmother start speaking like your friends, using curses that could put them to shame.

Some people might close the book at that point, go looking for another translation that better captures the dignity or the grandeur that we seek in this kind of literature. But although some of Mehrotra’s devices remain awkward (as when he has Kabir wish for a megaphone), eventually the strangeness becomes rewarding. The language of these translations makes them more immediate, brings Kabir closer to the reader – the distance of “time” and “great literary and historical and cultural value” is lost, and readers can approach him without all that baggage. One poem in particular makes this clear; Mehrotra translates:

I’m grapefruit
And I’m sweet lime
I’m Hindu
And I’m Muslim

I’m fish
And I’m net
I’m fisherman
And I’m time

I’m nothing
Says Kabir
I’m not among the living
Or the dead

The sentiment remains recognizably ancient (almost Zen: I’m fish/and I’m net), recognizably Kabir (na Kaashi na Kailash mein), but the language itself is very much a twenty-first century language, very much our language. In her preface to this edition, Wendy Doniger writes that the “slang, neologisms, and anachronisms… are a brilliant means of conveying much of the shock effect that upside-down language would have had upon Kabir’s fifteenth-century audiences” (“upside-down language” referring to this kind of riddling poem). Mehrotra himself, discussing other translations, describes the corpus of Kabir as a kind of pada, which for a medieval or even a modern singer “was not something whose words had unalterably been fixed… but something that was provisional and fluid, a working draft, whose lines and images could be shifted around, or substituted by others, or deleted entirely.” He compares this to the blues, rendering the epigraph from Lead Belly even more appropriate.

I remember thinking, the first time I read (or was forced to read, at the hands of my three-years-older brother) Shakespeare, that someone should have updated the language, brought it out of that Elizabethan skin and made it new, more appropriate for the modern age. Thankfully, this reaction did not last very long (I blame it on the entirely understandable derision of a child for his sibling’s interests), but the underlying point remains, I think, valid. Literature that is “destined to endure as a piece of literature,” as Lydia Davis put it in The Paris Review, is usually that literature that we ourselves feel compelled to update, to bring out of the past, to bring out of its origins and into our own lives.

The literature that is in our own languages, we often simply turn into films: Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet, for example, in which the words remained in the original but the setting became more our own. With literature that is foreign, this duty falls to translators. (Davis was discussing her new translation of Madame Bovary; the quote was in context of Jonathan Littell’s The Kindly Ones, which had been translated into English once, but if “destined to endure,” at some point would have to be translated again.) When the work is both foreign and ancient – Kabir, Sanskrit literature, Greek drama – the translator’s job is doubled: They have to not only render it in a language understandable to us, but also, somehow, to make it fresh, make it breathe again.

The precise, footnoted and annotated word-for-word translations are, of course, valuable, but translations like Mehrotra’s Kabir or Carson’s Greeks are equally so, and having both available to us is a greater wealth than either would be alone. The former provide us with the meaning, with what was actually said; the latter show us its power, the heart behind the words. It is a testament to Kabir that, so many years later, we are still reading his work, still learning from it, and it is a testament to Mehrotra’s translations that even with a poet of this stature, a poet who has been translated and studied so much, he could make the words seem fresh and new. This Kabir is our Kabir, speaking to us, for us; this Kabir is one of us.

From TheSouthAsianIdea Weblog
First published by 3 Quarks Daily on April 16, 2012

Pointed to by Rabia Nadir
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