The eminent Tamil writer, La Sa Ra, whose work I was translating, once asked me, “I write a book; I am happy it is mine; what would you get out of exerting yourself so much over somebody else’s work?” I replied at once, “For the time I work on a particular book, it becomes mine; now your book is mine in that it makes me think the way you did; it makes me adopt your style of writing – long-drawn-out sentences with all their twists and turns.” He laughed, apparently pleased with my answer.
Here is one such sentence – almost a paragraph – from my recent translation of his novella, Apeetha:
The ellipsis at the end is from the Tamil original; La Sa Ra is still not ready to end the sentence; there is no full stop either to his sentence or to the boundaries of his imagery.
But La Sa Ra’s question had set me on a trail of self-introspection.
Why do I choose to translate somebody’s work, especially those in my mother tongue, Tamil, into English?
- Because I admire the work and want to share my experience with others as most discerning readers like to do.
- Because I know many who would appreciate that particular book, but cannot enjoy it, for they do not know the language and were looking for translations. Some members of my family were not very comfortable reading long Tamil books, and their interest in world literature made them want to get familiar with good Tamil literature, both ancient and modern.
- Because I want to proclaim to the world at large that some of our writers in Indian languages are comparable to any in English.
- Because I want to create a wider readership for these books of our world-class writers, for they deserve to be read and enjoyed by many more; the only way to achieve this would be to engage in translating as many of them as I can.
- Because I know that but for translation, I would not have enjoyed many of those wonderful Russian, African and Spanish writers.
- Because it is fun to go back and forth between two languages, playing a ball- game, as it were. You read in the source language and simultaneously your mind is thinking and forming sentences in the language you intend to have them converted to. I have found this to be some sort of reflex action and, very often, the first sentences that come up end up being the most appropriate. Spontaneity, I have found, leads to the best translation. There are, of course, some passages and words that make you break your head over them.
After the why, the how
I choose books where I am familiar with the context and the ways of life that the books speak of.
I try to go beyond what the words literally mean, for especially in fiction, there are so many undercurrents, with the words taking on different meanings.
Sometimes I go off searching for equivalent proverbs or idioms, where the literal translations of the original would make no sense in the translated version. These local expressions are what give the stories definite identities, and not getting them right would make a book fall flat. It is, indeed, a great learning experience. It also helps in the affirmation of our country’s unity in diversity.
The words in the different languages may be different, but the situations are surprisingly common. And you almost always find an equivalent proverb or phrase in English that you may use. But some things are very different. A kuIirntha manushan in Tamil is, literally, a cold person – but the phrase, in fact, speaks of a warm personality and would have to be translated as ‘warm person’ into English and other languages that belong to cold climates.
Tackling wordplay
Some words, just as in English, have the same spelling but have different meanings. For instance, the Tamil word mey means both truth and body. The context decides the meaning; sometimes puns are made with words that either have the same letters or sound the same; it is next to impossible to translate them as they are. You can only explain the purport and purpose of what the author intends to say. Very rarely do you find words in English that also that rhyme or pun to bring out a specific context in the same way as in the Tamil original; when you occasionally find something like that, you feel you have struck a gold mine.
One alternative is to use footnotes or a glossary. Instead of doing that, I like to weave in, as much as possible, the explanations necessary as part of the story. In Apeetha, La Sa Ra says at one point: “In one sense, we are victims of circumstances, like Aani Mandavya.” My editor and I decided to explain who Aani Mandavya was, as part of the sentence. So we just added the phrase “the sage who was punished for a crime he did not commit.” The detailed story of Aani Mandavya was part of the glossary, but the basic information was part of the main story. A reference to the mythical Gandeepam, with “Arjuna’s bow” put in parentheses, told the reader what it was. I find that it requires a lot of tact and care to seamlessly bring in the extra information without in any way arresting the flow of the original narrative.
Managing local terms
And what do we do with our dialects? Do we use the same language for all writers? How do you bring out the differences in their styles? That is definitely a challenge, and we may have to resort to using words in the original language in some situations, to bring in the flavour, with a glossary to explain them.
Sometimes, when they are mere forms of address or references to food items, it is better to use the words of the original text; the context will tell the reader what they are. Very often, those words may remind the reader of some food on their own menu or some other thing in his or her own village or town, their people, and the universal relationship issues discussed in the book. Enid Blyton did not bother to explain to us what a scone was; should I be telling English readers that an idli is a rice-and-lentil dumpling?
It is a blessing if you are able to work with the author of the original. You not only have clear ideas of what the author is speaking about, but you also get inspired and invigorated by that contact with a great creative mind. Translating two novellas of La Sa Ra’s with his guidance gave me that rewarding experience. Among my most valued possessions are manuscripts of his books in translation (he wanted everything printed out; he could not be bothered to sit before a computer) with his comments in the margin. A few ‘excellents’ among them were my inspiration to continue working on more books.
Padma Narayanan is the translator of several novels from the Tamil, including La. Sa. Ramamritham's Apeetha, and The Stone Laughs and Atonement, and Indira Parthasarathy's Poison Roots.
We welcome your comments at
letters@scroll.in.
Here is one such sentence – almost a paragraph – from my recent translation of his novella, Apeetha:
The giant chimney of the mills, mounds of coal heaped in the yards of those mills, the valleys that your train takes sudden dips into, the limb upwards that takes you in an instant to higher regions and mountains, the tunnels that bore through these mountains, the pitch darkness that drowns all sound as the train enters the tunnel, the dazzling light that hits your eyes as you come out of the darkness,… the path where the sun-wheel ploughed the sky through the day, sprouting and showing up an array of multi-coloured light streaks, the nests of stars like the spills of semen after the sky had covered the earth in passionate love-making, the frolicking moon running along with us among the groves of ancient trees, rolling in the sky, at times as if released suddenly from among their branches, shedding its glittering light on the water under the bridges, the steel girders that go past us thundering…
The ellipsis at the end is from the Tamil original; La Sa Ra is still not ready to end the sentence; there is no full stop either to his sentence or to the boundaries of his imagery.
But La Sa Ra’s question had set me on a trail of self-introspection.
Why do I choose to translate somebody’s work, especially those in my mother tongue, Tamil, into English?
- Because I admire the work and want to share my experience with others as most discerning readers like to do.
- Because I know many who would appreciate that particular book, but cannot enjoy it, for they do not know the language and were looking for translations. Some members of my family were not very comfortable reading long Tamil books, and their interest in world literature made them want to get familiar with good Tamil literature, both ancient and modern.
- Because I want to proclaim to the world at large that some of our writers in Indian languages are comparable to any in English.
- Because I want to create a wider readership for these books of our world-class writers, for they deserve to be read and enjoyed by many more; the only way to achieve this would be to engage in translating as many of them as I can.
- Because I know that but for translation, I would not have enjoyed many of those wonderful Russian, African and Spanish writers.
- Because it is fun to go back and forth between two languages, playing a ball- game, as it were. You read in the source language and simultaneously your mind is thinking and forming sentences in the language you intend to have them converted to. I have found this to be some sort of reflex action and, very often, the first sentences that come up end up being the most appropriate. Spontaneity, I have found, leads to the best translation. There are, of course, some passages and words that make you break your head over them.
After the why, the how
I choose books where I am familiar with the context and the ways of life that the books speak of.
I try to go beyond what the words literally mean, for especially in fiction, there are so many undercurrents, with the words taking on different meanings.
Sometimes I go off searching for equivalent proverbs or idioms, where the literal translations of the original would make no sense in the translated version. These local expressions are what give the stories definite identities, and not getting them right would make a book fall flat. It is, indeed, a great learning experience. It also helps in the affirmation of our country’s unity in diversity.
The words in the different languages may be different, but the situations are surprisingly common. And you almost always find an equivalent proverb or phrase in English that you may use. But some things are very different. A kuIirntha manushan in Tamil is, literally, a cold person – but the phrase, in fact, speaks of a warm personality and would have to be translated as ‘warm person’ into English and other languages that belong to cold climates.
Tackling wordplay
Some words, just as in English, have the same spelling but have different meanings. For instance, the Tamil word mey means both truth and body. The context decides the meaning; sometimes puns are made with words that either have the same letters or sound the same; it is next to impossible to translate them as they are. You can only explain the purport and purpose of what the author intends to say. Very rarely do you find words in English that also that rhyme or pun to bring out a specific context in the same way as in the Tamil original; when you occasionally find something like that, you feel you have struck a gold mine.
One alternative is to use footnotes or a glossary. Instead of doing that, I like to weave in, as much as possible, the explanations necessary as part of the story. In Apeetha, La Sa Ra says at one point: “In one sense, we are victims of circumstances, like Aani Mandavya.” My editor and I decided to explain who Aani Mandavya was, as part of the sentence. So we just added the phrase “the sage who was punished for a crime he did not commit.” The detailed story of Aani Mandavya was part of the glossary, but the basic information was part of the main story. A reference to the mythical Gandeepam, with “Arjuna’s bow” put in parentheses, told the reader what it was. I find that it requires a lot of tact and care to seamlessly bring in the extra information without in any way arresting the flow of the original narrative.
Managing local terms
And what do we do with our dialects? Do we use the same language for all writers? How do you bring out the differences in their styles? That is definitely a challenge, and we may have to resort to using words in the original language in some situations, to bring in the flavour, with a glossary to explain them.
Sometimes, when they are mere forms of address or references to food items, it is better to use the words of the original text; the context will tell the reader what they are. Very often, those words may remind the reader of some food on their own menu or some other thing in his or her own village or town, their people, and the universal relationship issues discussed in the book. Enid Blyton did not bother to explain to us what a scone was; should I be telling English readers that an idli is a rice-and-lentil dumpling?
It is a blessing if you are able to work with the author of the original. You not only have clear ideas of what the author is speaking about, but you also get inspired and invigorated by that contact with a great creative mind. Translating two novellas of La Sa Ra’s with his guidance gave me that rewarding experience. Among my most valued possessions are manuscripts of his books in translation (he wanted everything printed out; he could not be bothered to sit before a computer) with his comments in the margin. A few ‘excellents’ among them were my inspiration to continue working on more books.
Padma Narayanan is the translator of several novels from the Tamil, including La. Sa. Ramamritham's Apeetha, and The Stone Laughs and Atonement, and Indira Parthasarathy's Poison Roots.