Banalata Sen: Jibanananda Das (1899-1954)

My early interest in literature and poetry made Maa really happy and that encouraged me to pursue it even more. When young, I read, not only because i enjoyed reading, but also because it pleased maa. Maa used to tell me that if i was really interested in literature, I should learn Bangla. She had read a number of famous Bangla novels in translation and felt that Bangla literature was way richer than Hindi. I liked Bangla too, but i never learned it; I am slow in picking up new languages. I will learn it some day; one of the things on my wishlist of “to do before i die”:-).

Today I am posting one of the most famous Bangla poems of all times, both in original Bangla (roman script) and in translation. For all who understand hindi, try reading the original bangla version and consult the translation where you do not understand the original. The translation is by the poet himself, but it comes nowhere near the beauty of the original. Not because the translation is bad; it is just that Bangla is a much sweeter language than English, or any other language for that matter, except may be Maithili, which is even sweeter. Enjoy!

http://india.smashits.com/wikipedia/Banalata_Sen#The_Poem is the best webpage on this poem with a number of different interpretations, recitals, and the original poem itself: both in Bangla and Roman scripts.

Banalata Sen (Bangla)

Hājār bachhor dhore āmi path hātitechhi prithibir pathe,
Sinhal samudra theke nishither andhokare Mālay shāgore’
Anek ghurechi āmi; Bimbishār Ashoker dhushar jagate’
Shekhāne chilām āmi; Āro dur andhokāre Vidarbha nagare;
āmi klānta prān ek, chāridike jiboner somudra saphen,
āmāre dudando shānti diyechilo Nātorer Banalata Sen.

Chul tār kobekāar andhokāar Bidishār nishā,
Mukh tār shrābastir kārukarjo; atidur samudrer ‘por
Hāl bhenge je’ nābik hārayeche dishā
Sobuj ghāser desh jokhon she chokhe dekhe dāruchini-dwiper bhitar,
Temni dekhechi tāre andhokāre; bolechhe se, ‘Etodin kothay chilen?’ Pākhir nirer moto chokh tule Nātorer Banalata Sen.

Samasto diner sheshe shishirer shabder moton
sondhyā āshe; Dānār roudrer gandho muchhe phele chil;
Prithibir shab rong nibhey gele pāndulipi kore āyojan,
Takhan galper tare jonakir ronge jhilmil;
Shab pākhi ghare āshe – shob nodi – Phuraye e-jibaner shab len den;
Thāke shudhu andhokār, mukhomukhi boshibār Banalata Sen.

Banalata Sen (Translated by Jibanananda Das)

For thousands of years I roamed the paths of this earth,
From waters round Ceylon in dead of night to Malayan seas.
Much have I wandered. I was there in the gray world of Asoka
And Bimbisara, pressed on through darkness to the city of Vidarbha.
I am a weary heart surrounded by life’s frothy ocean.
To me she gave a moment’s peace-Banalata Sen from Natore.

Her hair was like an ancient darkling night in Vidisa,
Her face, the craftsmanship of Sravasti. As the helmsman,
His rudder broken, far out upon the sea adrift,
Sees the grass-green land of a cinnamon isle, just so
Through darkness I saw her. Said she, “Where have you been so long?”
And raised her bird’s-nest-like eyes-Banalata Sen from Natore.

At day’s end, like hush of dew
Comes evening. A hawk wipes the scent of sunlight from its wings.
When earth’s colors fade and some pale design is sketched,
Then glimmering fireflies paint in the story.
All birds come home, all rivers, all of this life’s tasks finished.
only darkness remains, as I sit there face to face with Banalata Sen.

Corporate Farming in Africa: Collaboration or Colonialism?

Time Magazine reports that S. Korea’s Daewoo has rented in 3.2 million acres of land in Madagascar for 99 years to grow corn, biofuels and palm oil. That is nearly half of Madagascar’s arable land. This may be the biggest deal of its kind, but it is certainly not the only one. Several European, Chinese and even Indian firms and individuals are renting in vast tracts of land in Africa for factory farming. My first instinct is: this is not right. It scares me. But this is just an instinct; it is not backed up by reason, evidence or logic.

I wonder how would such deals affect African people and national economies of Africa. Much of Africa is sparsely populated and there is not enough local labor available to intensively cultivate the vast swathes arable land available. A senior colleague, who has done extensive fieldwork in several parts of the continent, once told me that Africa’s biggest development problem was its sparse population: “there are no people there”.   

If so, then may be this kind of corporate farming by foreign companies is good for Africa. It will add to the national output, create jobs, and improve national infrastructure. Yet I remain suspicious. Will such contracts build local capacities and create a class of farmer-entrepreneurs–sorely lacking in today’s Africa– who will then use the knowledge and the resources in their own farms? If not, then this may lead to eternal dependence on outsiders and little welfare for the locals.

A lot will depend on the kind of deals African governments extract from the outside firms.

How Much do I Earn: Is it so Rude to Ask?

I was talking to a cousin yesterday. We were classmates in college (IGNOU) and prepared for competitive exams together. He is a good friend. We were talking after a long time and I asked him about his marriage plans. He said, he was not getting married any soon. I asked why? And he responded: because everyone interested wants to know my salary and i don’t want to tell them.  Of course! he was overreacting and exaggegerating. He thought so too. Yet he was really irritated by this inqusitiveness.   

 I know the feeling all too well. Everytime i go home, I face this question, and not only from people interested in marrying their daughters to me. I get irritated too, irritated and embarassed. I am 32, and still a student. In God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy calls age 32, a viable age . (She also calls it a dieable age, but let’s not talk about that). But i am far from being viable. I barely scrape by. confessing it again and again is not fun. And people do not stop just at income assessment. There are some who want details of my expense account too. One of my dad’s cousins comes to see me everytime when i am in Muzaffarpur and takes a meticulous account of my income and expenditure. How much do I spend on food, shelter, hair styling, women, wine: he needs to know everything. As if he was deputed by NSSO to do a sample survey of consumption habits of Indians on F-1 visa.

Why does he, and many others, do this? How would they know if i am not telling white lies? I think they do it because they feel compelled to.  My father’s generation in my family is still deeply rooted in agrarian traditions. All my uncles are farmers or at least take active interest in managing their farm operations. And when you are a farmer, you know what everyone around sows and reaps. Its right there, before everyone’s eyes. If the crop is good, you boast; if it is bad, you lament: all in public. Hiding your true income is not only impossible; it may even be dysfunctional. After all you rely on the community for insurance. I think the disclosure norms of agrarian households are stricter than those for public listed companies, and may be just as functional. Perhaps, that is the reason why asking someone his income, considered incredibly rude in cities, is a norm in my community. People cannot do without it. It makes me uncomfortable because i am from a different generation with different etiquettes. But, unlike my cousin, I don’t think there is anything inherently wrong with this kind of inquisitiveness.  I don’t look down upon people who ask me these questions, or think that they are uncultured. Just that they are from a diffrent culture. I will be the first one to admit that this probing makes me uncomfortable, and this paparazzi persistence with something that makes someone uncomfortable, just to satisfy your curiosity, is considered rude in all cultures and tradtions.

Any counterexamples?

दो पोज़: दुष्यंत कुमार

सद्यस्नात तुम
जब आती हो
मुख कुन्तलों से ढँका रहता है
बहुत बुरे लगते हैं वे क्षण जब
राहू से चाँद ग्रसा रहता है ।

पर जब तुम
केश झटक देती हो अनायास
तारों सी बूँदें
बिखर जाती हैं आसपास
मुक्त हो जाता है चाँद
तब बहुत भला लगता है ।

मेरी कुंठा: दुष्यंत कुमार (1933-1975)

Dushyant Kumar was the greatest hindi shayar and a great poet. There are a few others (like Janki Ballabh Shashtri)  who have written shers and ghazals in hindi, but in my view, no one comes close to Dushyant. He died young, but like Majaj Lucknowi, he also left an indelible impression on the world of Urdu-Hindi shayari in the short time he was around. Before him, it was difficult to imagine that such beautiful shers could be composed in hindi. No one has matched him afterwards too. He was very good, the best. 

Over next few days, I will post several of my Dushyant Kumar favorites. Here is the first (a poem, not a ghazal) in what i hope will be a long series. Enjoy! 

मेरी कुंठा
रेशम के कीड़ों सी
ताने-बाने बुनती,
तड़प-तड़पकर
बाहर आने को सिर धुनती,
स्वर से
शब्दों से
भावों से
औ‘ वीणा से कहती-सुनती,
गर्भवती है
मेरी कुंठा – कुँवारी कुंती!

बाहर आने दूँ
तो लोक-लाज-मर्यादा
भीतर रहने दूँ
तो घुटन, सहन से ज़्यादा,
मेरा यह व्यक्तित्व
सिमटने पर आमादा ।

A Different Account of Nehru

Here is a different account of Nehru , one that I do not agree with at all.

Nehru: “that very rare person, the clever man wielding power who remained good”

Today is 120th birth anniversary of Pt. Jawahar Lal Nehru, one of my favorite leaders. My father is a big fan of Nehru (and Gandhi); he can see no flaw in them and I imbibed my admiration for the two great leaders from him. It was a part of my unpbringing. Papa gifted me a hindi translation of ‘Discovery of India’ when i was eight. I read it many times over, and everytime i picked up the book, it warmed papa’s heart. 

I went on to read more on Nehru, his own writings: The Discovery of India, The Autobiography and The Glimpses of World History, and  his biographies: by MJ Akbar, Shashi Tharoor and a few others too. And this has helped me to have a more balanced view of him. I am still a huge admirer but i am also aware of his flaws and failures. There are many: his china policy; Kashmir policy, negligence of primary education and health, and above all, his failure to nurture the next generation of leaders. This is one aspect in which his mentor, Gandhi, beats him hands down.  Nehru was an institution builder. He helped build the most fascinating and the most impossible institution of the world: the Indian democracy. And yet he did not prove to be a great nurturer of future leadership. Someone, I don’t remember who, compared him to a great banyan tree under which nothing grows. I think that is too harsh an assessment, yet there is some truth to it.

That said, the more i read about him and his times, the more convinced i get that India’s democracy and many of its vital institutions owe a lot more to him and him alone than we would like to admit.

Rediff.com has an excellent feature on Nehru. Please read it.

अब किसे चाहें किसे ढूँढा करें : बशीर बद्र

Bashir Badra is one of my favorite urdu poets. He uses simple but unusual expressions, not seen in traditional urdu-hindi poetry. He is probably the most popular shayar of modern times and perhaps the only one who has managed to reach the mass audience without writing for films. As a result, most of his famous ghazals, and even some not so famous ones, are available on internet. Here is one: not his best, but a good one.

अब किसे चाहें किसे ढूँढा करें
वो भी आख़िर मिल गया अब क्या करें

हल्की हल्की बारिशें होती रहें
हम भी फूलों की तरह भीगा करें

आँख मूँदे उस गुलाबी धूप में
देर तक बैठे उसे सोचा करें

दिल मुहब्बत दीन दुनिया शायरी
हर दरीचे से तुझे देखा करें

घर नया कपड़े नये बर्तन नये
इन पुराने काग़ज़ों का क्या करें

Like Barley Bending: Sarah Teasdale

Like barley bending
In low fields by the sea,
Singing in hard wind
Ceaselessly;

Like barley bending
And rising again,
So would I, unbroken,
Rise from pain;

So would I softly,
Day long, night long,
Change my sorrow
Into song.

 

Love, What is Love: R L Stevenson (1850-1894)

One more for the day, and then back to the world of rationality and optimality.

Love – what is love? A great and aching heart;
Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair.
Life – what is life? Upon a moorland bare
To see love coming and see love depart.