Basement

Shandana, 22

Yeah, well, maybe my “slip is showing.” But I’m secure enough to admit my shortcomings, and thank those who point it out (even with malice intent) so I can improve on myself. I’m not so sure about you and those of your kin...and in which language do you want this phrase of yours to be translated? Not very clever...is it?

Temporal, 23

When it comes to taking cheap shots, no one should look further than looking at you...!!!

Quite telling of you, t, isn’t it?

Btw, I’ve got more clothes than you can even fantasize...!!! And I see very clearly what clothes you are wearing...!!!

...joota bhigo kay maarna....was an urdu adage i never understood, till now...thx.

somehow I am taken back to my English class in school...
Miss Khan standing there....in front...

( read the responses , will read the article too.. :) )

shandy:
how do you translate `your slip is showing`?

--depends

1: is this a translation of a translation of a translation, or
2: merely a translation of a translation
3: what was the language of the original?
4: do you want a literal translation or a contextual one?
5: is this translation required for conversation, or
6: for an e-zine, or
7: for a newspaper, or …..

…as you see shandy, the variables are aplenty and so are the answers to your query…here are some:

--gender equivalent: your fly is open
--aasaan urdu: aapkay matkay main paani nahiN hay
--shaeri main: aaNkh jo kuch daikhti hay lab pay aa sakhta nahiN
--classical: the emperor has no clothes...

lve,

t

ps: happy new year and wishes for health and peace to everyone

or nayay saal ki shubhbh kamna’aiN

how do you translate `your slip is showing`?

Saminasha

Why dont you post up some of your ``husband the poets`` work? I would love to read it.

Samina, 18

What beating! Oh, please!!! I still stick to my translation. With all its flaws, it is still far superior to anything you can produce, or the one Mr. Temporal quoted below!!! And what makes your husband such an authority? Like I care about the opinion of every Tom, Dick and Harry!!!

Temporal, 13

Okay, t, I finally read the version by Nirupama Dutt (with TLM...yes, apparently two people were involved in that translation) you provided via a link. What can I say! Thanks!!! You made my translation look really good!!! Thank you for letting me compare my work to someone else’s and see it for myself. It made me gain a lot more confidence in my ability. It tells me loud and clear that I should continue to translate for Chowk.

I hope that, every time I translate a story, you provide a link for a translation of the same story by someone else. It would let me compare myself with others and see how other translators approach the same story. I really wish you provided a link for a translation of Ismat’s Lihaf as well so I could compare that translation of mine also...and since I brought that up, I found your absence on The Quilt board of mine deafening (after all, you are such a fan that you have a taped interview of hers you savor)...makes me wonder why...to me, it was quite telling...

Well....I showed my husband the poet all of these versions...and he said, of course the translator is not going to admit that the beating he got was well deserved....

Perhaps we`ll be able to show fledgling writers some more tolerance now....

Chusni, 9

Yes, I think the original is in Punjabi. But the book I have is in Urdu and nowhere it says that it is translated from Gurmukhi Punjabi. That, however, is not the point. I attempted this because I wanted to bring a good writer from the Sikh community, who wrote in a local language, to a wider audience. In that, I don’t think I`ve let Amrita down.

She may have written better stories, but I liked this one the best from the collection I have of hers. I found this story not only powerful and quite poignant, but was also attracted to it because of the way it is told and its unique style of telling it.

Samina, 11

It is NOT a poem. And, yes, you have no idea...and yes the issue is with the reader...

PunjabiZulu, 12

Thanks! And thank you for the link. I’ll definitely look it up.

Temporal, 13

Mine and the other one you quoted are two different versions. I still like mine better. If you read the one in Urdu, you’d see why I think mine is closer to the spirit and the style of the one in Urdu, does justice to it, and hence better.

Shandana, 15

Some of the errors you point out I don’t agree with because they are deliberate. But on others I certainly agree with you. I’m a horrible editor of my own work, as you correctly point out. Thanks for your help. But is that really the reason you have broken your silence?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
...hor choopo gaNderiaN....

godot,

while i think it is good that you are bringing the work of this writer to people who might not have come across it otherwise, i have been moved to break my silence by the following, among other things.

You stood by the outer door as if you are asking the door if it knew the way to a water-well…(as if you WERE asking...)
and it was dried empty when you left…(as opposed to dried wet?)
the stairs of the second story (the stairs TO the second story?)
Seemed as if you discovered the second story was needed to be conquered. (was is unnecessary)
Your face was hot as if it was on fire (AS hot? if it WERE on fire?)
The burning wood in the hearth crackled, throwing a few sparkles down my feet. (how does one throw sparkles DOWN feet exactly?)
I felt as if another book is added to my collection (had been added? was being added?)
I touched your hand gently as if I’m touching a book for the first time… (as if i WERE?)
That night…and every night…I felt as if someone is crying inside my womb (WAS crying inside my womb)

when you come, I’d take you down the basement holding your hand…
But a palm is just a flesh that does not stay young like a fertile soil. (A flesh?)
It has no history book of my basement. (need i elaborate?)
Those who have read the history of the world know that, thousands of years ago, there was this man named Uranus and a woman named Gaaya, and that whenever Gaaya gave birth to a child, Uranus would bury that child in a basement, and that Gaaya would hear those crying sounds from underneath the earth. (this that and the other...)

hence the word `sloppy`.

cheers!

shandana

The differences between the two translations are remarkable.

samina:

…translations have their pitfalls…we have discussed it at length before and need not go into it here again…and on top of it this has been translated from a translation…a double whammy of sorts…

godot:

you wrote: Note When I submitted this translation, there were no blank lines in between: from the very first line to the very last, the narrative was in a continuum. That is how the original story is also written. It’s the Chowk Editors who decided to insert blank lines and that, to me also, broke the symmetry. I think it’s the insertion of those blank lines that make this translation appear “sloppy.” I hope the Chowk Editors restore the submission to the way it was submitted.

…here is your translation :
The wind seemed to have picked up…
Perhaps because your breath became a part of it…
The tree leaves thumped hard…
And I, a structure of bones and flesh, stood silently…
As if my being had stepped out of my body…
I looked out to the street…
You were passing by…
Many people pass by, but not like you…
You were strolling as if your feet were conversing with the street…
Don’t know what they said to it that the street seemed to blush…
I looked that way intently for days…
And then I saw…
You were standing underneath that tree outside…
The tree had husk in it for the first time…that’s what the tree thought…
I was fixated at that husked-tree for days…
One very hot afternoon…
You stood by the outer door as if you are asking the door if it knew the way to a water-well…
Taken aback, the door first looked at you, then at me. There were water-containers inside the house…

You looked at them and the water-containers suddenly became alive.
I filled a bowl with water from one of the containers. You came in and drank the water quietly.
and here is the same from the original Punjabi translated as The Cellar Translated from the Punjabi story ‘Tehkhana’ by Nirupama Dutt
The wind grew chilly. Perhaps because your breath had mingled in it. The leaves of the trees facing the wind started to tremble… I, a structure of flesh and bone, stood still for a long time. And then, suddenly, I seemed to step out of my own stillness. I looked out on the street. You were passing by. Many people walk this street, but there was something different about your stride.
When you walked, or stopped for a moment, your feet seemed to be in conversation with the street. God knows what you said, but the dust beneath your feet blushed pink. I looked at the pink dust for days.
One day, I saw you standing beneath the tree outside my front door. At that precise moment, the tree seemed to blossom for the very first time. I watched the flowers for many days.
Then one hot afternoon, you came and stood at my front door, as though asking the way to a well full of water. Startled, the door looked at you and then at me. Beyond the door were the walls of the house. You looked at the entrance and it suddenly came alive. I went indoors and filled a bowl of water from the earthen pitcher. You came in silently, and drank.

Godot

I really enjoyed reading this. I did not know that Amrita Preetam, who is a giant of Punjabi literature, also wrote in Urdu. Thanks again.

Incidentally, you may be interested in this website I found:

http://www.meghdutam.com/auth.php

It features inteviews with South Asian writers from all languages and there are some excellent interviews with Urdu writers from both Indian and Pakistan. I found the article on the Indian-Urdu writer Joginder Pal very interesting.

regards

Godot,

Your translation:

``The wind seemed to have picked up…
Perhaps because your breath became a part of it…
The tree leaves thumped hard…
And I, a structure of bones and flesh, stood silently…
As if my being had stepped out of my body…
I looked out to the street…
You were passing by…
Many people pass by, but not like you…
You were strolling as if your feet were conversing with the street…
Don’t know what they said to it that the street seemed to blush…
I looked that way intently for days…
And then I saw…
You were standing underneath that tree outside…
The tree had husk in it for the first time…that’s what the tree thought…
I was fixated at that husked-tree for days…
One very hot afternoon…
You stood by the outer door as if you are asking the door if it knew the way to a water-well…
Taken aback, the door first looked at you, then at me. There were water-containers inside the house… ``


My revision of your translation:


The wind was and your breath
The tree leaves heavy together
And I, a structure of bones
Silent, stood as if my being had stepped
Out of my flesh
And drawn towards the street
You were passing through
Among the many who pass through,
Many, but not like you…

Your footsteps and their conversations
With a street that blushed,
an exchange I did not hear.
I waited for days.
And soon saw you .
Underneath that tree,
And its sudden husk.
Bark flesh that I watched
For days.

I’d actually need the original, because I have no idea whats happening in your translation…but I think the issue here is not with the reader, is it?