Touchstones: Idiom of common heritage
Languages and their dialogue within a social and political context are a fascinating area and one that engages me deeply both as a writer and translator. The encounter of different languages has spawned not just a new idiom (such as Hinglish), but is often weaponised by political parties to create communal discord. As Javed Akhtar says, Urdu is an Indian language but by declaring it the language of Pakistan, we have destroyed those registers of cordiality and warmth that bound our communities together for centuries, enriching our understanding of each other’s lives and beliefs. Thankfully, organisations such as Rekhta and the revival of dastaangoi have renewed an interest in Urdu.
This is why when I was recently invited to attend a seminar on translations, called Bhashavaad, jointly hosted by Ashoka University and the New India Foundation. I was delighted to meet and hear some of our country’s finest writers and translators. From Kashmir to Kanyakumari, there has been an explosion of exchange of languages as different as Kashmiri, Kannada, Malayalam, Tamil and Telugu, Odiya, Bangla, Punjabi, Nagamese, Bhojpuri and countless others. What is more, there is a growing interest in new writing in languages that were neglected or dismissed as ‘too regional’, whatever that meant.
It is to the credit of progressive universities, such as Ashoka in Sonepat, that a special centre for translation studies was established and nurtured by well-known writers and academics to supervise the quality and choice of texts.
Their efforts have now begun to bear fruit. A series of impressive poetry translations by Amit Chauduri and Arvind Krishna Mehrotra were some early publications. Now, there is a long line of translations in the making and over the next few years, a wide range of subjects from fiction to biographies, short-story collections and plays are planned. Since Ashoka University has a high reputation among academic institutions abroad, we can look forward to a deeper penetration of our bhasha literature.
Up until a few years ago, translations were mainly limited to classics (Premchand, Ismat Chughtai, Ananthamurthy et al), but what I heard from the young translators and publishers warmed my heart. These are students who have a thorough grounding in language studies and many are writers or poets themselves. Naturally, they have brought a freshness to the range of translations that was missing so far.
While on this subject, I have to add that most of our literature was based on an oral tradition, so performance, recitation, songs, prayers and reading aloud (the kathavachak and dastaangoi traditions, for instance) brought it to even those who could not read the Sanskrit or Persian texts. This is why there are so many versions of the Ramayana and no Indian is unaware of the story and legend of Rama. This rich oral tradition lost its voice when we made script and writing so important. I can say with confidence that even an unlettered Indian villager is a fund of knowledge that we have not been able to tap. Rhythm, music, facial expressions and hands transfer that knowledge, whereas reading in silence in your own room or library has destroyed the pleasure of a synaesthetic experience that is still alive in animated story-telling. Grandmothers and old family retainers were champion story-tellers, now often replaced by digital or interactive tools in many urban nuclear families.
In this age of mobiles, Google translator and AI, where the future of any literature lies is difficult to predict, but the pleasure of the spoken word far exceeds that which one gets from the written word. During my student days, I remember a series called Penguin Modern Poets that introduced us to Polish, Italian, French and Russian modern writers. Many are still with me and a source of perennial joy. So, I hope schools and universities continue to acquaint students with the classic works of Kabir, Tulsidas, Tagore and the great Sangam writers from the Dravidian tradition side by side with the exciting experimental works available to those who write in languages other than English.
Over lunch and coffee breaks, I met several eminent writers who are proficient in English, but still prefer to write in their native tongues. The reason is that the warmth and immediacy of the spoken word in its own world is attached to a long history of associations that are virtually untranslatable into English. However, they transfer seamlessly into another Indian language and that’s a thought to keep in mind. The problem is that regional identities are so intermingled with sub-regional jingoism that even though many understand Hindi, their fear of being wiped out by its hegemonic presence keeps them isolated in small pockets. While one can perfectly understand their concerns, keeping their own language confined to their own state is not the way to share it widely.
What we need to do now is build respect and openness towards all Indian languages and think about translating from one Indian bhasha into another. Until this becomes a widely accepted movement, we will continue to live in linguistic silos of our own. Apart from other languages, stirring writing from Dalits, women, the marginalised and cloistered lives need to be found and celebrated. English has an assured place in India, it is time we promoted our own languages and those stories that speak to us in the idiom of our common cultural heritage.
