THE THIEVES OF TANK BUND - Translation of TANK BUND-INA KALLARU ಟ್ಯಾಂಕ್ ಬಂಡಿನ ಕಳ್ಳರು

 The Thieves of Tank Bund

(from Mukhamukhi 1978)

 

I created the thieves of Tank Bund and sent them out to steal.

I taught them the art of picking pockets.

Very smart chaps.  They would always get away somehow.

One of them liked tortoises.  The other one

was in love with a girl from long time back.

Both were heavy drinkers (they were thieves after all!).

Once they had read a love-letter found among the stolen loot

and got all choked up.  By then I had them 

thrown out.  They must have stumbled headlong and fallen 

near the corporation garbage bin.

But I forgot to give names to these people.

You people keep your names safe under lock and key, ok!

  

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THOSE WHO HAVE, THOSE WHO DON'T - Translation of IDDAVARU, ILLADAVARU ಇದ್ದವರು, ಇಲ್ಲದವರು

Those who have, those who don’t

(from Avadha 1986)

 

Those who have jobs, talk. 

They sign a lot of papers every day,

so they get tired very fast. 

A smooth shave every morning,

a season ticket in the front pocket,

a comb in the back pocket.

 

Those who don’t have jobs, are quiet. 

They stand in front of shops by the roadside. 

They look around aimlessly. 

These people who have grown their

hair abundantly look like extremists.

All are scared of them.

 

Who hasn’t walked down the Sultan Bazaar road

in the evenings?  Jostling each other, shoving past,

trailing behind, and turning their faces towards the

lights.

 

But, in spite of everything, you see, the season ticket 

and the comb that separate people from people …

That’s tough!

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THEM - Translation of AVARU ಅವರು

Them

(from Mukhamukhi 1978)

 

He had a number of wives, no?

What happened to them?

 

Oh, them?  Some of them went back to

their hometowns.  They sought shelter from

others.  Some started stringing garlands,

selling them at Charminar.

The dust of the old city lies on all the flowers.

 

Some of them became dancers. 

They blushed when touched.

They truly fell in love. 

They sang in different ways to

different people.

As they passed on by and by,

nobody built their graves.

 

And some of them became endless

lanes. 

The ones you walk on,

The ones you search for.

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JUNE IN HYDERABAD - Translation of HYDERABADINALLI JUNE ಹೈದರಾಬಾದಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಜೂನ್

 JUNE IN HYDERABAD

(from Avadha 1986)

 

As soon as one says, ‘June in Hyderabad,’

what we want is

the pleasure of cold drinks

in glittering glasses,

a face that each of us desires

to look at,

to speak to.

 

A draught of breeze sneaks in once in a while,

if we are lucky.

Somewhere in that breeze,

the moisture of waves,

mingled with

the heat of many dry fields and banks

the breeze would have passed through.

 

It will rain tomorrow, if not today,

or maybe the day after, but

surely next week,

the rain will come.

Till then,

it is but natural to ruminate on

our past romances.

 

Won’t it be better if the

evening lamps are lit a bit later?

Why should the light of the sky

be driven away?  We are our own lamps –

as long as we glow for each other.

 

Apart from that,

see how many divine faces are present

at this evening’s celebrations!

Aah!  What was that sound?

Ohh, it’s nothing.

Just an unexpected

drop

of

rain

falling

on

the

glass

window

pane.

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