Lost in translation

A readable set of stories by one of India's finest contemporary writers loses something in the clumsy rendering into English

It isn't easy to write short stories. In fact, there is nothing tougher in literature. Within the space of a few thousand words, you need to set up a plot and then resolve it with enough shock and awe. Many have tried their hand at it; only a few have succeeded. Saki was perhaps the most gifted of all writers of short stories. It is even tougher to translate stories that are steeped in a particular cultural milieu. Nuances get left out in translation. The translator often supplants the original text with his own words and cliches. The final product is, at best, a close approximation of the original. So when I picked up Half a Rupee Stories, two questions came to my mind: one, are the stories riveting; and two, is the translation any good?

Gulzar comes with an awesome reputation. He was given the Sahitya Akademi award in 2002 and the Padma Bhushan in 2004. His forte is poetry and short stories, and he has portrayed human emotion with great finesse in his films. While mainstream directors, producers and scriptwriters were churning out mindless formula-driven films, and art-house film makers were busy with "realistic" cinema that won awards but attracted no viewers, Gulzar made films that took the middle path: tasteful but not dour, sensitive but not pedantic. He is a keen observer of life; in filmdom, second perhaps only to Satyajit Ray. The collection in Half a Rupee Stories is right there as well. Most of the stories are good. Many of these are anecdotes from his friends' lives: journalist Kuldip Nayar, lyricists Javed Akhtar and Sahir Ludhianvi. The stories are arranged in eight sections; each section has a central theme: the supernatural, Partition et cetera.

Of all the themes, Gulzar is clearly most at ease while writing about the cultural bonds between the people of India and Pakistan. Several of his stories in the current selection are based on this theme. His familiarity with the subject is not hard to understand. Gulzar is actually Sampooran Singh Kalra and was born to Sikh parents in west Punjab, the area that is now part of Pakistan, in 1934. He took the pen-name Gulzar while in school. After Partition, the family came to Delhi and Gulzar worked here as a mechanic. He later relocated to Mumbai (then Bombay). But he is not Saadat Hassan Manto (1912-1955) - Gulzar's stories are uni-dimensional. They do not capture the angst and frenzy of Partition. In his world, there is nothing but love and affection across the border. It's bonhomie all over. There is nothing in the stories that will remind you of the gruesome exchange of populations that took place over 65 years ago. This might be true and perhaps easy on the mind as well, but the India-Pakistan narrative is complex. The result is that some of the stories are predictable. You know the direction the story will take the moment Gulzar launches into it.

But let that not deter you from picking up Half a Rupee Stories. It is only when you have read all the stories that you will realise the width of Gulzar's canvas. He is as much at ease writing about low life as he is about high life. It is clear that he has observed people from close quarters in all surroundings. The one I liked the most is "The Charioteer". It's the story of Maruti, a middle-aged man, whose job it is to keep the steamers that ply between Gateway of India and the Elephanta caves clean. This often includes cleaning the food vomited up by passengers unaccustomed to the toss and turns of the sea. His life is wretched, but only as long as he is at work. Once he is home, and in his chawl, he becomes an important man - the breadwinner, a respected elder, and a sought-after man of the community. It's an emotion most people face: ridiculed, even humiliated, at work but respected at home. The family is the balm for troubled souls. In one simple story, Gulzar makes you realise the usefulness of the institution. Taken for granted by all, despised by some, it absorbs the pain we suffer outside.

But if you are observant, you will detect discordant notes in the story. Maruti, when he is home, claims to be a proud Maratha - a member of the warrior caste. Elsewhere, he is a mehtar, the lowliest of the lowly in the Hindu caste hierarchy. At one place, Maruti uses the expression, holy shit. Do you seriously expect somebody who lives in a chawl to talk like this? Or do you expect Maruti's wife to call him and his friends, bastards? You will find such odd notes in other stories as well. In "The Stench," a slum dweller tells another man: "Cut it out man, just cut it out…" It may convey the message instantly, but this is language people well-versed in English speak, certainly not those who live in slums. I don't know if Gulzar wrote these stories in Urdu or Hindi. Some realism has got lost in translation.

HALF A RUPEE STORIES
Gulzar (translated by Sunjoy Shekhar)
Penguin
218 pages, Rs 299