As I translate .....
There might have been a few artists who
painted just for the sake of artistic creativity without the craving to be
appreciated. I guess an author never falls in that stupid category. Whatever is
inscribed on a piece of paper is meant to be read. The more the merrier.
When Amman initiated penning down
her memoirs, she knew it is not going to be a remarkable piece of literature.
Neither is she the first woman to climb Mount Everest. The idea behind
recording the autobiography probably was to familiarize the next
generation with the entire era she had passed through and the transition she
had witnessed during the period spanning over three fourth of a century.
The transition was intense and
radical in more than one ways. She has seen with her own eyes, the
socio-political transformation from British rule to an independent nation
clubbed with the partition of India; from Zamindari system to service class.
From her earliest joy rides on the bullock carts and horse pulled buggies, to becoming
a frequent flier, it has all come in her way. She has seen young girls being
veiled under seven layers and she has also come across bikini clad firangi
moving nonchalantly amidst the crowded public place in America. She has
experienced the joys ranging from that of a doll loving young girl, to herself
becoming the great-grand-mother of over half a dozen kids. She has seen it all
under shades of light and dark moments of life. The entire book revolve primarily around her own family and related events that remained vivid in her mind with the passage of time.
Her narration therefore has to be
visualised from the perspective of a rather lonely girl child born in a
traditional Muslim family, who opened her eyes in an environment where the
decision for being sent for even primary school was far more
difficult than that of the partition of India.
The target group of the original
publication of her memoirs, was those who have shared similar sort of
background and for whom the nostalgia lingers on. The other category was those
who have witnessed only the later part of that era and culture with little bit
of curiosity still intact to dig further deep. The memoirs in the form of a
book (without having to pay for it), was well received within both the
categories. It was heartening for her to receive quite a few appreciations even
from distant quarters. For a short time it appeared to her that all the effort
and pain that she had put in, was worthwhile.
In the meantime, branches of her
family tree spread further as her third generation grew up having the curiosity
about their roots and its environment. While the mother tongue of this
generation remains to be Urdu, the script is not too familiar to be read or
comprehended. As a few grand children expressed desire for her memoirs to be
translated in English for their benefit. Since then, she has been frantically
looking for someone to do this task. Someone who is familiar with both Urdu and
English, is not so easy to get these days. That’s when I thought I will give it
a try.
As I am engaged in the process of translating the 259 page book, I feel,
for the best effects, I ought to go for the literal translation of her script
rather than transliteration. It implies that her own thought process remains
intact. Virtually sentence by sentence. The challenge before me is that she has
written in the same manner as she thinks, and thoughts are often jumbled. For
the sake of originality, I am just placing the mirror in front of the
paragraphs written by her. I am also trying to remain sincere in depicting her
pride and prejudices without any shades of my own.
It is said that a translated book is never as good as the original. I’ll
only add that when it comes to the concepts and terms “our” people have been
using that reflect our tradition and mindset, it is impossible to translate. I
am not sure how will I deal with the words such as “Samdhan”, “Rokhsati”, “ZananKhana”,
“Sharif” “Nek” “Nisbat” “ Mayeka”, “milansaar”, “khaloos” etc etc.
Initially I was under the impression that it is going to be a
cake walk. As easy as writing a note in office. I couldn’t have been more
wrong. At times, one paragraph of her book, takes my entire day’s session and
at the end of it, I am forced to click “Ctrl+Alt+Del”, to retry it all over
again, in the next session.
If this gives an impression that I am trying to act pricey and overdoing
it, just try to make an English of this prize winner line. “ Aur
larke ko nausha ka kapra pahna kar saja sanwar kar tayyar karaya gaya aur main
ne hifazat ki dua parh kar pani ko dum kiya aur larke ko phoonka. Allah Allah
karke baraat samdhiyane panhuchi.”
There is no point in my sweating at this juncture. There is no going back
for me now. I have already promised Amman that I will do it for her. All said
and done, I have got just one mother.
Jaan bhi dee hui usi ki thi
Haq to ye hai ke haq ada na hua
If someone is flipping through these pages, my purpose is served.
Ejaz Hussain
4th April, 2010.
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Chapter
INDEX.