I grew up in Calcutta. Naturally everyone around me was either born with music, literature or some form of art in their soul or stuck around long enough to imbibe and feign the part, until they actually started to reckon with it.
I grew up with Rabindra sangeet, Nazrulgeeti, Michael Modushudan Dutto's Bodh kabyo and other great laureates and their endless works.
As I grew older, I found that most of their works were translated to English, either by the laureates themselves, or as a befitting homage.
As a curious child, I rushed to read, compare, and explore. I was devastated with what I discovered. The text, the beauty, and the magic that was attached with the original work was gone and robbed, and only a besmirched shadow was left behind. I concluded at a young age of 14, that language has a beauty of it's own which can never be mimicked or the heart of it can never be copied into another language. And prized it as one of my truest discoveries.
I grew up with Rabindra sangeet, Nazrulgeeti, Michael Modushudan Dutto's Bodh kabyo and other great laureates and their endless works.
As I grew older, I found that most of their works were translated to English, either by the laureates themselves, or as a befitting homage.
As a curious child, I rushed to read, compare, and explore. I was devastated with what I discovered. The text, the beauty, and the magic that was attached with the original work was gone and robbed, and only a besmirched shadow was left behind. I concluded at a young age of 14, that language has a beauty of it's own which can never be mimicked or the heart of it can never be copied into another language. And prized it as one of my truest discoveries.
A decade or so later, I discovered that I have the joy of running. I met wonderful people through this front. But, I digress.
I met an expatriate via running, and she was trying to get a hang of people's names. This lady introduced herself as "Bahar". She further explained that it means "the season that flowers bloom". Which I thought, at that point of time, a beautiful way to describe the same.
Running gives me a sense of tranquility, and things that my subconscious otherwise doesn't have time to think about, gets way. And, something similar happened. I pondered on the phrase, "Aap aaye, bahar aayi" and I realised the full blown meaning of it and I was stumped, maybe momentarily even slowed to a stop. I realised it means, "Your soul bears so much warmth, that the flowers chose to spring into full bloom to resonate with your soul."
I'm yet to learn how to handle the depth and gravity of "that" statement. I'm still pondering as to howf, for decades I've said and heard it, and never wasted a second to assess the gravity of the same.
I was always prejudiced about translated prose and how their meanings were perpetually lost. However, this time I was so wowed by it I couldn't think of anything else.
So 14 more years later, from the last time I had an epiphany, here I stand, corrected.
Life, you amaze me.
I met an expatriate via running, and she was trying to get a hang of people's names. This lady introduced herself as "Bahar". She further explained that it means "the season that flowers bloom". Which I thought, at that point of time, a beautiful way to describe the same.
Running gives me a sense of tranquility, and things that my subconscious otherwise doesn't have time to think about, gets way. And, something similar happened. I pondered on the phrase, "Aap aaye, bahar aayi" and I realised the full blown meaning of it and I was stumped, maybe momentarily even slowed to a stop. I realised it means, "Your soul bears so much warmth, that the flowers chose to spring into full bloom to resonate with your soul."
I'm yet to learn how to handle the depth and gravity of "that" statement. I'm still pondering as to howf, for decades I've said and heard it, and never wasted a second to assess the gravity of the same.
I was always prejudiced about translated prose and how their meanings were perpetually lost. However, this time I was so wowed by it I couldn't think of anything else.
So 14 more years later, from the last time I had an epiphany, here I stand, corrected.
Life, you amaze me.
