TRANSLATION 1
When big sister was home
The house was like a birdhouse
Every room was lit by noise.
Even from outside, the
Surging joy of living was evident.
Every morning, behind the kitchen,
Unwashed vessels would bicker,
Crows would come demanding their share
The noise of the broom sweeping courtyard
Would mark the entire courtyard with semi-circles.
The squeaking pulley
Could be heard as big sister stands by the well
Noise of the pail running into the well,
Splashing spillage voicing water’s reluctance to come up.
Lice picking begins as sun sets
Even sunlight shows its head to big sister
Always when big sister’s home
A ball of hair in the washroom
Would remain, defiant
Big sister’s eye shadow and vermilion stained
Finger marks on the wall with mirror
Appear like the picture of a garden.
After big sister’s departure,
Darkness gathered in every room,
A silence grew and grew and
Ate up even the songs of birds.
The breeze forgot branches.
Squirrels do not flit from branch to branch.
The rose garden in the courtyard is wild and overgrown
Without offering a flower, it shows a lot of thorns….
Seems like the sound of a flapping wet petticoat
Drying on the clothesline
Like people lurking, perhaps noise too might be hiding.
There might be nothing on the clothes line.
The fragrance of Cuticura powder or Chandrika soap
Will not go seeking an argument
With the jasmine flowers
Blooming on the fence.
Still, taking permission from brother in law
Big sister will one day come like a guest.
That day the breeze will return, holding to the pleats
Of her fluttering saree.
Birds will re-possess their songs
From the jingle of bangles
Squirrels will return
Just for a day.
The mirror and washroom
Will become friends like Anasooya and Priamvada (1)
And ask for news.
The cooking fire would burn brighter
Recognizing the breath
When she leaves in the evening
All our eyes would be wet…..
(1) Anasooya and Priamvada are two companions of Shakunthala,
heroine in Mahakavi Kalidasa’s famous play “Abhijnana Shakunthalam”
Translation : Variath Madhavan Kutty
TRANSLATION 2
Each day that sister was here,
our home was
such a happy little sparrow-nest.
The gay bedlam lit up each room,
and you could see
from outside, the joy that lapped within.
Each morning that she was here,
you would hear
the clamor of soiled plates from the kitchen,
the hungry crows demanding their share,
and the old broom, as it whispered half-arcs on the courtyard.
As she stood near the well,
you would hear
the sad squeak of the pulley,
the downward rush of the pail,
and the water, hesitant to leave,
brimming over rebelliously back into the well.
Each day that she was here,
you would see
that thick knot of hair in the bathroom sink,
defiantly refusing to give way.
Her dainty fingerprints ,
would leave a collage on the mirror-wall.
black from the kohl, red from the Sindoor.
And ever since she has gone,
a darkness slowly sets in into each room
and a silence,
growing larger with each passing day,
looms over the house.
The birds chirp no more,
The branches have been forgotten by the wind,
The squirrels no longer scurry from branch to branch,
and in the garden, now all unkempt and overgrown,
thorns have shown up and there are no flowers anymore.
Occasionally, in the wind,
you would hear the rustle of a skirt,
hung to dry on the clothesline.
Maybe, like people, voices do lurk somewhere, unnoticed-
for, if you looked again,
there would be nothing on the clothesline.
There are no tiffs anymore
between the fragrances
of jasmines on the fence
and
of the talc and of the beauty soap.
**
Nevertheless,
on some days,
she'd be back,
taking a day's leave from brother-in-law.
Then:
The wind would be back,
tugging at her fluttering tip of her saree.
From the jingle of her bangles,
the sparrows would borrow their tune.
The merry squirrels:
they would return for a day, too.
The mirror and the bathroom wall,
exchaning pleasantries,
would be her playful companions once again .
Sensing her breath as she blew,
the old stove would suddenly burn brighter.
By evening,
when it was time for her to go,
there wouldn't be even a single pair of eyes at home,
which wasn't moist.
Translation : Rahul Kochuparambil
