Translations of Bhupen Hazarika Songs them. They would often ask me to translate into English so that they would understand the words better. That’s how I got into translating poems - and in Bhupen Hazarika (Assamese: ভূ পেন হাজৰিকা) (1926–2011) was an Indian lyricist, collaboration with my daughters and wife. It gives me sheer joy, particularly musician, singer, poet and film-maker from Assam. His songs, written and sung when I can translate with my daughters who love Bengali culture. They do not mainly in the Assamese language by himself, are marked by humanity and gloss over but take keen interest in conveying the nuances. universal brotherhood and have been translated and sung in many languages, most notably in Bengali and Hindi. He is also acknowledged to have introduced Pampi the culture and folk music of Assam and Northeast India to Hindi cinema at the I’m a digital mixed media performance artist and poet. I’m my father’s national level. daughter. Translating Bengali with my father is an exercise in remembering sweet sounds that swell me up and a challenge to see how much I’ve retained For a brief period he worked at All India Radio, Guwahati when he won a after almost three decades of living in the States – not to mention something scholarship from Columbia University and set sail for New York in 1949. There fun and frustrating to do with my old man. How much of it I still understand! he earned a PhD (1952) on his thesis "Proposals for Preparing India's Basic Education to use Audio-Visual Techniques in Adult Education". Translator Notes by Pampi: In honor of the spirit for communal amity and empathy that Dr. Bhupen In New York Hazarika befriended Paul Robeson, a prominent civil rights activist, Hazarika advocated for, in this set of translations, I have made comments on who influenced him in his song Bistirno parore which is based on the imagery the gendered and casteist implications of certain lines. and theme of Robeson's Ol' Man River. This song is translated in various Indian languages, including Bengali and Hindi and sung by the artist himself, and is still Increasingly, as I commit to acknowledging my caste privileges, I’m revisiting popular. everything Hindu. I know my discomfort is nothing to the systemic violence my Dalit friends face every day at home and even here. Hazarika’s funeral was attended by an estimated half a million people. He was posthumously awarded the Padma Vibhushan, India's second-highest civilian Caste does not simply disappear crossing oceans. Because #dalitwomenfight award, in 2012. every day to survive, I stand in solidarity by questioning exclusive practices of (from wikipedia entry on Bhupen Hazarika) communities I have access to here. I’m proud my father stands by me.

Translator Bios To know that commonplace images that bring me nostalgia can be used to exclude, shame, and make hostile spaces for others by virtue of their birth Gopal Das, Ph.D. circumstances is intolerable to me. And also, personally painful, as many of the Born in Lohagara, Jessore (now in ), the partition of India forced our symbols root me to the land of my grandmother whom I had to leave. The family to move to . As an adult, I migrated to USA so I’ve been twice implications are great, yet I am not deterred that I will find a compassionate displaced. I have a deep love for anything Bengali-especially Bengali literature, way through. While I work this out, in the spirit of community, I offer a folklores, songs, dance, dramas, traditions, etc. including Ilish maach. At home, challenge to consider realities of others made alternate by egregious, my parents routinely drilled us on all these aspects of culture so that we do not discriminatory, millennia-long practices. How dare we? How dare we call forget our roots. another spiritually polluting?

Like all Bengali parents, when my daughters were young, we read Bengali With our freedom-fighting legacy, as Bengalis we must work to cast out caste. books with them, recited Tagore poems with them, and sang songs with For more information, please write me [email protected] Wanderer1 Country after country, I have seen love-less unions breaking apart families.

The stranger becomes my own in my mind, and my own people become distant. The world having embraced me as its own, I've forgotten my own home. I've become a wanderer. I've become a wanderer. That’s why I am a wanderer. I’m one wanderer. I’m a wanderer.

From the land of the Ganges2, I visited the mighty Mississippi and saw the beautiful Volga.

From Ottowa through Austria I arrived - covered in Paris’s dust

From Ellora I took color and gave it to the distant city Chicago, I heard the ghazals of Galib, sitting inside the Taskhend minaret.

Sitting at Mark Twain's tombstone I talked about Gorky. Again and again by the pull of the road I have made the road my home.

That’s why I am a wanderer. That’s why I am a wanderer.

Though most wanderers appear aimless, I travel with intention: Wherever I go I soak my mind in the color of the place.

I have seen countless rows of tall buildings touching the sky. Under their shadow I have also seen many homeless folk3.

I have seen endless groves of roses and bakul flowers blossoming in the millions. I have also seen buds withering due to neglect.

1 What are the assumptions for the gender presentation of the Wanderer? 3 If the word homeless is taken as if homelessness is not a choice, what systemic 2 Ganges has a powerful association with Hindu India measures does India have in place to make our people homeless? Who typically live in our slums? This is “love”4 Male solo: You are beyond beautiful. Who created you?!8

Male solo + male chorus: It is a moonlit night. I’m thinking your name is Anjana. Anjana is my khanjana (hand-held percussive instrument). Male solo5: Who is this beauty - her hair dressed up in dopati flowers, passing by with a slow, swinging gait? Male solo + chorus: I believe I know you… Female chorus: Do you really? Draped in a dark sari, she glides by without a care, enrapturing my mind. Male solo + chorus: I believe I have seen you… Female chorus: Seeing you, my body trembles deliriously. Seeing you, my Female chorus: Did you really? body trembles deliriously. Male solo + chorus: You are batting your eyes smiling9… Female solo + female chorus6: Your love does not abide any convention: Female chorus: For who? My body is struck down by my love for you. Male solo + chorus: You are looking all around… I cannot get away, nor do I wish to… I only continue to circle back. Female chorus: At whom?

Male solo + male chorus: What will happen, I wonder? You go away Male solo: Like a drunk10 I have no illusion- you have made my mind smiling. forgetful. Like a drunk I have no illusion- you have made my mind forgetful. When the buds blossom, the bees become restless. Female chorus: Seeing this beauty, our bodies tremble deliriously. Seeing Male solo: Hey, daughter of my future father-in-law7, why aren’t you this beauty, our bodies tremble deliriously. talking to me? Male solo: If I tell you... Female solo: I am dying in my mind. Female solo: What will you tell me?

4 “Love” is in quotes, because the female chorus is teasing the male lead over his 7 Role of women in many societies is subordinate to cis-male caretakers – first the infatuation, but at the same time avoiding expressly saying that he is lusting for a father, then the husband. No other way for a woman to be. woman. In Hindu society, love is often conflated with lust, because there is a reluctance 8 Impossible dual standards: here, she is impossibly beautiful. to speak candidly about sexual intention. 9 Everybody makes eyes, not just women. 5 Who speaks first? Who declares first? 10 Why relate love to inebriation? Because he word “drunk” shames alcoholics, relating 6 The solos and choruses are male and female- assigning ad reinforcing dominant and himself to a drunk, the lead shames his feelings of “love” thereby shaming the woman prescriptive gender roles for individuals and groups of people. The language reflects the who inspires these feelings. cis-heteronormative values and expectations of Hindu society.

Female solo + female chorus: You, fellow, fell in a trap —this is that trap. Male chorus: Love is like pouring hot milk into puffed rice This is “love.”11 Female chorus: No, this is “love”

Female solo: Should you be wounded in your heart, then you will slowly Male chorus: Love is like mixing yogurt with flattened rice in autumn die. Female chorus: No, this is “love”

Female chorus: Is that right? Male chorus: Make sure not to bind all this food into your gamcha cloth by mistake. Male chorus: A wild12 bird lives in the forest. How might I catch it? Male solo: Dearest friend: where are you, dearest friend? With a hastily-made trap – Will I trap it? Female solo: You see me;15

Female chorus: You, fellow, are suffering and now have jumped into the Male solo: my heart is restless fire. Female solo: that’s why you are falling dying

In your thrashing mind you have fallen in love, but you are making a ALL: the insect of love is very stupid; like that insect you are behaving mistake.13 idiotically

Male chorus: Every fiber of the body is affected by love14. Female solo: You have fallen into fire and been destroyed. Female chorus: this is “love” Male solo: Hear me, in the forest there was a cuckatoo and on its head Male chorus: this is the prime of youth sits a golden crown. Female chorus: no, this is “love” Male chorus: Through deception16 the cuckatoo has robbed my soul Male chorus: This is like the sweet black jam (berry) of the monsoon Female chorus: Through deception the cuckatoo has robbed my youth17 Female chorus: No, this is “love”

11 Again “love” or lust is a trap – something to avoid. Something deceptive and not to be 14 The implication is one of entitlement: he is entitled to owning the woman who trusted. inspires this passion. 12 The word “wild” is being associated here with inspiring lust. It is something to be 15 The woman inspiring this passion is not impressed or interested by his loud thrashing tamed by cis-male entitlement. declarations and entreaties. 13 This language in the female chorus is curious: it speaks on experience and warns 16 Not getting the desired response, in this last stanza the male chorus accuses the against such rash behavior on the part of the cis-male chorus. The women are not a little woman of deception. annoyed at the male aggression 17 The female chorus responds that this kind of treatment (also deceptive) on the part of aggressive male privilege makes women weary and age Male chorus: Laying a trap the foreign18 girl has robbed me by treachery.

Seeing you, our bodies tremble deliriously. Seeing you, our bodies tremble deliriously.

18 The girl now is accused of being foreign – because she rejected the advances not only of the hero but his fellows. She remains wild but at what cost? Who gets the last word in this song? Kolkata

This is the city limit- This is the limit of Kolkata, An endless beauty. Hearts throb at mere mention of your name. In music and laughter you bring a vivacity to life. This is the city limit- This is the limit of a city called Kolkata,

It’s not possible to bind you by time You have left behind a thousand years Step by step you have travelled so many roads. You keep going from one era to another.

Hey beautiful, who calls you a dead city and a city of protest? No, no, this is not the only side. You have the last word on the creation of history O Kolkata, Kolkata, Kolkata - Your name brings unending magic.

You are not recognizable in the neon lights of night. People here cry for the dead and fight for survival.

They succumb to death as if to repay for birth Bhupen Hazarika, lyricist, musician, singer, poet, film-maker Your tears and laughter make up our stories You go from dawn to dusk

This is the city limit This is the limit of Kolkata.

Behula & Lakhindar Our hearts swell and float past on tears as homes are swept away by tide Under the tulsi tree a small terracotta lamp burns as our people cry unconsolably By the curse upon him he has transitioned into an unknown world. Behula & Lakhindar is based on the Bengali epic Manasamangal. Though it’s religious From your forehead the storm has wiped away your phota purpose is to glorify , the Hindu Goddess of snakes, it also depicts the love and In the high tide that is the river’s heaving bosom we float Lakhindar’s devotion of Behula toward her husband, Lakhindar. Under a curse, and Usha were sent to earth as Lakhindar, youngest son of , and Behula, daughter of body Sayven19. Chand Sadagar abused Manasa and threatened to break her bones.20 This From your forehead the storm has wiped away your phota conflict between man and the Goddess brought out social discriminations. Shiva, whom Chand worshipped, gave Manasa a chance to elevate her position if Chand worshiped her, O my beautiful Bangla, green Bangla. 21 but Chand refused to do so . Chand did not have the wisdom to offer Manasa a token Along the Fuleswari river, there is not a sound in the paddy fields flower. An angry Manasa ate up six of Chand’s sons.22 Chand’s youngest son Lakhindar got married to Behula. The basar ghar of the newly-wed was made impenetrable by On the river floats a thousand Lakhindars. applying iron. In spite of it, Kalia, the venomous snake, entered the room and bit Lakhindar, causing his death. Behula refused to accept her husband’s death. She placed The lucky owl and sparrow are no longer sitting on the house, his body on a raft and set out on a hazardous journey towards the abode of the Gods. She the aat-chala of the Chanditala was broken by the storm, pleaded for his life and promised Manasa that Chand would worship her. After Behula returned home with Lakhindar and her six brothers-in-law, Chand finally bowed before In the whirling waters of the Churni river his body floats making its way the Goddess Manasa.23 beyond the horizon. From your forehead the storm has wiped away your phota (Adapted from wiki: Ref: Synopsis of Behula Lakhindar (1977) by Sarathi Guha, Apr.3, In the high tide that is the river’s heaving bosom we float Lakhindar’s 2008.) body

From your forehead the storm has wiped away your phota O Behula Bangla, Behula Bangla, my sad Bangla

From your forehead the storm has wiped away your phota O Behula Bangla, Behula Bangla, my sad Bangla. In the high tide that is the river’s heaving bosom we float Lakhindar’s body From your forehead the storm has wiped away your phota phota – red powder placed as a dot on the forehead aat-chala - 8-thatch-roofed structure (aka mandap) (for public theater) Chanditala – temple for Chandi devi

19 Reincarnation based on curse, the idea that you are born on earth because some Devis are indigenous. Devis existed before male gods. How? All male gods have (irrational) greater power deemed you impure, offending and unworthy to avoid the childhoods. No primordial female goddesses have childhoods: they were and continue cycle of birth. (By this logic, upper castes are impure as well.) to be fertility goddesses. Mortality at birth (of mothers and babies) continue to be a 20 Violence against women represented as violence against a goddess by a mortal. devastating issue worldwide. It was only after Hinduism that goddesses became 21 Why make these conditions when you know ill-feeling exists between two people? consorts to newly-established male godheads. Why does a Goddess need justification to claim power? 23 The story centers on ceremonial Hindu death. 22 Spitefully “angry female” iconography begins. Happens to every empowered figure of the divine feminine. Before Hinduism, Devis were all powerful. This implies two things: Humanity

Humanity needs humanity; Life needs life- O Friend, humanity needs mankind; Life needs life-

Why can’t man expect even a little sympathy from another? Humanity needs humanity; Life needs life- Why can’t man expect even a little sympathy from another?

Man uses man as a commodity Man enslaves man for livelihood If history repeats itself, Won’t you be ashamed? Humanity needs humanity; Life needs life- Why can’t man expect even a little sympathy from another?

What’s your gripe in this life that is a deep river If the weak holds onto you to cross the river?

If a man cannot become a man and demons can never be men, then, if the demon somehow becomes a man, won’t you be ashamed? Humanity needs humanity; Life needs life- Why can’t man expect even a little sympathy from another?

Humanity needs humanity; Life needs life- O Friend, humanity needs mankind; Life needs life- The Translating Duo – Gopal aar Pampi Photo by Jennifer Putnam Come running, all awakened

Come running, all awakened Come, come bringing new ideas In the land of Rama24 If you sacrifice your life to destroy an evil like Ravana25 So be it.

If, in the midst of a war, the general suddenly stops – What good is it if you all lose your confidence? It will be difficult to recognize the enemy

Come running, all awakened Come, come bringing new ideas In the land of Rama, if you sacrifice your life to destroy an evil like Ravana So be it.

Listening to the cries of the hungry children, news of their slow death comes to light. Knowing this, why are you all pretending you cannot hear? Why are you not willing to do your last protest?

Struggle is another name for life, Fear is another name for death. Let us shake out fear and destroy the demon.

Come running, all awakened Come, come bringing new ideas In the land of Rama, if you sacrifice your life to destroy an evil like Ravana So be it.

24 Claiming India as a Hindu land by calling Rama’s name 25 Ravana is portrayed as evil in Hindu-centric tales; however, he is remembered as a great king in Sri Lanka. Dola Through tortuous roads, our shoulders weighted, we run, carrying dolas Dola, hey dola, hey dola, hey dola for kings & maharajas. Through tortuous roads, our shoulders weighted, we run, carrying dolas for kings & maharajas. Dola, hey dola, hey dola, hey dola

O dola, O dola, O dola Throughout our lives, the dolas make way through the roads at the expense of our sweat-soaked bodies Throughout our lives, the dolas make way through the roads at the expense of our sweat-soaked bodies Hey a naa, hey a naa, hey a naa Dola, hey dola, hey dola, hey dola Hey a naa, hey a naa, hey a naa Dola, hey dola, hey dola, hey dola

Inside the dola: something shining: a beautiful dress And looking back at intervals, we spy a shimmering: a silk hat on somebody’s head Alas, on my naked child’s back there is not even a shirt

With weary tears coming to our eyes we bind our minds so we can keep carrying the dola.

Dola, hey dola, hey dola, hey dola

From time immemorial, we’ve run, carrying the dola on our shoulders Our health gradually breaks down. While, with drooping eyes, the maharaja slumbers on the dola, sweat pours from our bodies.

Up a steep mountain, slowly we ascend, carefully we coordinate our feet If suddenly, from our sweaty shoulders, the dola slips The dola cannot be raised back

The dola belongs to the maharaja and wealthy people Dola aka palanquin – (in India and the East) a covered litter for one passenger, Dola, hey dola, hey dola, hey dola consisting of a large box carried on two horizontal poles by four or six bearers.