nonsenseterse

Rhymania is an old affliction with me. I am told told we learn to rhyme much before we manage to deliver sophisticated prose. There is no good reason to disbelieve the axiom, if I were to go by personal example. With yet another calender year approaching, and the prospects of my becoming famous or notorious remaining equally dim, I propose to inflict you with some more self-indulgence, as if you are not saturated already. Here goes an eight line summary of my life and attitude. Happy new year in advance everyone. May you all make yourselves happy and smiling the way you want others to make you happy and smiling.

In the rear of my heart,

jostles plenty of muck and dirt,

with a few floating drops of kindness left,

after half a life devoted to ideas' theft.

You are a bright idea,

i say stay away from me,

or i'll go get all the trivia,

and rustle them into ecstacy!

Once again

Here's another song in my clumsy translation. This one is slighltly more untranslatable than the earlier two. That is for the simple reason that this is a Chandrabindu song. I have been living out of Bengal for far too long to sense properly their popularity but I must confess right away that these guys write great lyrics. All their lyrics are witty and sensitive at the same time, a combination I started to feel the Bengalis had lost forever before I came across Chandrabindu a year and a half ago. In terms of tunes alone, they are not the best thing to have happened to Bengali music in the last century. When it comes to lyrics,however, they are right up there with the very best. This particular piece is a soft, lilting ballad called Eita Tomar Gaan or This is your song. You will get many versions of this song all over the net. Therefore, I have not bothered to attach a link. The following is my translated version. As usual, I'll feel good if you like it. If you don't, I'll try again or wait for your translation. Better still, we'll both enjoy the lyrics anyway.

Your song

This one’s for you dear, you skim in
Like moonbeams during power cuts, in the din,
like dollops of sunny rays bathing my room
I open windows, just out of a fever, you loom.

Waters deep down, crystal clear,
of the lake over there,
Reflecting the happy rays,
On lazy Holidays,
sparkles so calming,
I gift you this soft, little leaf,
Wrapped so tenderly by this red sheaf,
This scrapbook of mine, here.


This one’s for you, you the tender
Ache on lips only just unlocked, you are
The lone little bird, lost in thought,
Before the deep-unfurling waters, caught
Unawares; Let me gift you the warmth
Of caressing this romance of leisure


This is your song, for I send you mate
smell of your sari whipping the rainlashes wet,
thirsty cloudlets suckling in pleasure,
I stand satiated, no more tunes to set.

trans-lesson

Tagore is therapeutic to most Bengalis and I am no exception. I have been listening to many Tagore songs lately, and they help me cope in general. This particular one, and I am attaching the link below, I have been very carefully listening for the past few days and trying to understand. Needless to say, each session is opening out new heights and depths. I think this is the best possible version of the song and I suppose you'd like it too, in case you have not heard this version already.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHD9L8wmNnM&feature=related

As has become my wont in recent months, I diffidently attempted a translation. There are a few versions available on the net but they are all uniformly verbose. I am aware of the Sahitya Academy trnslations but have not read them. I am sure they are going to be less syrupy than these amateur versions on the net. Anyway, here goes my version. Read if you like. Or skip if it does not interest you. I had fun doing it and that is good enough for me.

Shudhu Jaoa Asa

Merely keeping to the flow,
Back and forth,
Day and night,
In happiness and sorrow.


Merely a glance,
Or a caress, a warm embrace,
That last, craving look,
Eyes moist, that trance,
Then lets off the hook
More daring wishes,
Leaving by the wayside,
This one little chance.


Dreams so many, but
with wings Clipped,
even sincere efforts
see ends undercut.
A broken, lone, boat
Amid the vast sea float,
Emotions voices seek,
attempt, struggle, turn meek.


Hearts, with tales still untold,
The tryst not climaxed yet,
Grope, in fear and anticipation old,
For hope; love only in half they get.