Lost in translation? When words travel worlds

In the midst of a chit-chat with friends, we end up trying to translate desi phrases into English, with inaccurate but hilarious results.

“How ominous a simple word, “Aawan?” used to sound when our mothers used it to silence us into submission from a distance. Translate it into English, “Should I come over?” and no child will ever be scared,” a friend said.

Giggling, we ended the conversation, but the fascinating topic of translation lingers on my mind.

Belonging to a family of readers, I have had the good fortune of getting exposed to literature in three languages: English, Hindi and Punjabi.

Once I picked up Premchand’s Gaban, from my mother’s bookshelf, and was floored by his style of writing. Though he used the dialect of common people, it appears to be a highly dignified version of Hindi. What if the same was to be translated into English? Would the rendering of the classic retain the ambience of the Uttar Pradesh’s culture that Premchand so evocatively portrayed? Or would the magic be lost in translation?

Searching the internet to find out about translated versions of Indian classics, I stumbled upon an interesting literary experiment called, Multiples: 12 Stories in 18 Languages by 61 Authors. It is a compilation aimed to show how translations can be far from facsimiles of the original text. Like Chinese Whispers, the first translator translates an unknown story into English, which a second writer then translates into a different language, and a third translates it back to English and so on. As the stories are retold, they are transformed, twisted and turned into something new.

Here, I must quote Nobel Laureate Isaac Bashevis Singer, who remarked, “A translator must be a great editor, a psychologist, a judge of human taste. But why would a man with such rare qualities become a translator? Why shouldn’t he be a writer himself? A good translator must both be a sage and a fool. And where do you get such strange combinations?”

Well, Mr Singer you probably never heard of the late Khushwant Singh. Long ago, I had read a column by him on the topic of translation in the Hindustan Times that stayed with me all these years. I’m delighted to find the same column, updated on HT’s website, in which the author translates an Urdu couplet by Faiz. As I read it again, I am mesmerised by the way the legend recreates the poetry in a different language without losing the soul of the original. Sharing an excerpt for those who missed the column years ago: Faiz

Raat yun dil mein teri khoyi hui yaad aayi, Jaise viraane mein chupke se bahaar aa jaye, Jaise sehraaon mein haule se chale baad-e-naseem, Jaise beemaar ko bewajhe qaraar aa jaaye.

Khushwant Singh

At night your lost memory stole into my mind, As spring silently appears in the wilderness; As in desert wastes morning breeze begins to blow, As in one sick beyond hope, hope begins to grow.

No wonder, the Man Booker International Prize now rewards the translator of the winning novel on a par with the author.

AS THE STORIES ARE RETOLD, THEY ARE TRANSFORMED, TWISTED AND TURNED INTO SOMETHING NEW