Those Lotus Feet…



One year later, they were kind enough to tweet it once more. Thank you again Gaon Connection!

My little girl is appalled at her mom’s atrocious (spoken) Hindi but grumpily agrees that one still managed to bring out a decent transliteration.

(She snorts: Amma, did you actually say, ‘Padi?’ Gawwwd! That word does not exist in Hindi language…Puhleese!)

(Amma sighs poignantly and desperately.)

My elder daughter, for whom I started it, is appreciative of the Book. She has a copy with her. And she loves Hanumanji like I do!

And as for me, this is like a gentle reminder from the Lord to work harder, to attempt more translations and keep holding onto his lotus feet for dear life!

Oh, yes! Considering the challenges one has to face day to day, dearest Hanumanji, never let go of this dust clinging at your feet.

Bhoot Pisach Nikat Nahi Aave

Mahaveer Jab Naam Sunave!

“Neither vampire nor ghoul shall dare to come near

When you chant the name of the greatest warrior!”

(I feel protected by Him every second of my life….)

Jai Hanumanji:)























Shivering At Words…

The power of words! Especially the thrill of unknown words!

Celerity and preceptory

Incarnadined and groynes

Ferae nature and Exporto crede

Bourdon and repining

Cleek and objurgation

Surplice and Unwontedly

Recrudescence and Ashlar

Catarrhs and Agues


And then the phrases….straggling ray of moonlight, the dim and murmuring sea, the pale ribbon of sands, the black, wooden groynes, an oblong eminence, the fierce sigh of the storm, the flash of the forked-lightning, the phantoms of the sheeted-dead….

Oh Lord, how much there is to learn and wonder (shiver!)at….meanwhile, let me google the meaning of  impalpable!

Ah, the joy of classic horror tales! Everything from 18 th and 19th century.

Great Masters All!

M.R.James, Conan Doyle, A. And C.Askew, W.F.Harvey, Bram Stoker et al…1149 pages of absolute erudition and blissful shivering!!!

I am grinning happily, thinking of my editor blinking at a description that I  might translate as, ‘ culpably curious!’



Joyous Blue

I get my copies of ‘The Poison of Love.’ My thoughts go back to a November when I started translating Meera Sadhu.

The cover page is fascinating. They have coloured it in hues of blue and purple, to remind one of Krishna himself. My little girl gives an appreciative look. It is for the first time that she acknowledges me as someone other than her rather uninteresting mother. Ha!

Joy, I discover, can be coloured blue too. May the joy spread. Though it is a tale of pain.


A Little Child,In The Rain(Poetry Translation)


imageMazhayathu Cheriya Kutty

( Sugata Kumary, Mathrubhumi Weekly, May 29-June 4, 2016)

A little child sits on the porch steps-

Watching the approaching rain

The rain and sunshine fork hands, laughing

Start playing, as the wind arrives!

The sunshine vanishes, dried leaves

Are afloat, everywhere.

Plants dance, drenched in rain

Flowers droop,  touched by rain

The little child watches,

Wide-Eyed at it all.

The rain turns harsh, a small stream flows,

Through the front of the house

And on it floats bubbles,rainbows and flowers

The little child playfully wets her

Little feet, anklets- clad in the stream

Innocently, tears her book page by page

And watches them float too-

Then she ships her red pencil too along,

In glee, laughing, claps her hands

Then  suddenly the laughter stops!


A tiny ant struggling in the rain water stream,

Oh, poor thing!

She offers the flower tip of her beautiful finger,

And helping it up, scolds it,

‘Do not dare to bite me now!’

And then she lets it go.

Another floats near, she helps that

One out too- but then there are many more behind,

What is she supposed to do?

She steps out into the rain

Picks up a  ripe jack fruit leaf

Helps all of those stranded ants up onto it,

The rain is heavy, the wind growls

And hundreds of ants arriving-

She feels tears coming too!

Her little dress is drenched,

Plait undone and  her charming face

Covered with rain  drops and tears-

She is crouching, saving the drowning ants

Her two tiny hands, working hard.

” Where is my child?” Amma calls from within,

Though she hears it, she stands in that rain-

Weeping , staring aghast at the hundreds of ants

Bobbing up and down desperately;

The little Jack fruit leaf slips down from her hand,

Floats along too, in the stream …


Seventy decades and seven years have run past,

A thousand rains have come and gone-

Every time in rows, the ants struggle their way

And return to the sea.

The little child still stands there,

Drenched in rain, bewildered.




The Paper-Book of Men ( Poetry Translation)



I really liked this poem in Malayalam by V.R.Santhosh entitled, Anugalude Kadalasu Pusthakam.


The Paper-Book of Men

Be wary
Of the man who asks
Why you are sitting all alone.
He will encroach into your
He will start working at everything-
It might begin as:
‘Shall we go for a walk?’
As you walk with him
He will enter your loneliness
And exclaim
That his childhood was spent

As you walk towards it
You will see dried up trees
And walls
He would be standing there
Your heart will feel deep
For him
And accompany him.

He will take you along
Ensconced in compassion;
Conquering your mind and body,
Shall take you wherever
He wants to.

On seeing that you’re no longer
He shall start discarding you-
He shall go missing for days together.

And then one day
Another man would step by
And ask,
Why you are sitting all alone.


Few thoughts came to my mind on reading the poem.
The perspicacity of the poet apart, it went to a recently read article on Picasso, the  deeply perceptive story Chatan or The Rock by Ismat Chugtai and Hemingway’s  inimitable Story-  The Snows of Kilimanjaro.


What was it that the poet wrote about- immortalised by ghazal singers?
Yeh duniya, Jadoo ka khilauna hai
Mil jaye to Mitthy hai, Kho jaye to sona…

Agneya’s Poems- Translation

Selected Translated Poems from Agneya’s first collection of poetry, “Mere Baad Mera Ghar” published in 1995.

Agneya is a renowned Hindi poet and writer, active in Hindi literature over sixty decades, who has more than ten collections of poetry and prose to his credit including Bhul Gaye shabd likhna, Koi ho Jo dekhe, Rakta Ki varna mala,Sara vrittant uske liye, Satyapit, Shabdatit, Utkhanan et al. Agneya also publishes and edits a very popular poetry journal Sadaneera, which brings the best of world poetry to the Hindi reader.
1. Fear (Bhay)

And then she makes me sit
Outside her house.
She moves inside to
Eat, or perhaps chat
With her sisters.
I keep sitting silently
Because, she is my friend.
When I feel like barking,
As the silence prolongs,
She returns with a cup of tea
In her hands, and offers it to me.
She talks and laughs, indulges me
As if I am her loyal, honest, domesticated
And then she ties a belt around
My neck.
She is apprehensive perhaps that
The neighbour would steal me from her
If I do not have one.
Or that the municipality would shoot
Me down considering me an orphan.
Perhaps poison me and I
Shall become dizzy and collapse
On her beautiful lawn.
That after my demise,
Her sisters would get scared at night.

But she does not know that
Dogs can go mad.
That I, going slowly mad
Sitting silently outside her house
Will shred to pieces her shiny, colourful curtains
Run over her sofa, mattresses, carpets
Take a round of her kitchen and golden rooms.
That I might frighten her sisters
With my incessant barking.
That I might run off and join the street dogs
Seeing my animal revolution,
My friend
Might give up loving dogs too.

2. Completeness (Sampoornatha)

She kept looking
At the sky
And I stuck around her
Like a shadow.
Her hand was
On the shoulder of
Another woman.
When I was surrounding her
On all four sides
Like a breeze.

To win the complete love
Of a complete woman,
Like the desire for the
Last living breath-
I shall
Every second
Create her .
Like a complete earth-all
Tender creepers
And fruits.

3. Tomorrow (Kal)

Chest puffed up, day and night
Majestic like the King Elephant
I roam around these roads.
In front of my friends and foes
My face, my words-
Full of arrogance.

Lazily I walk on that road
To the left is a cremation ground.
Like an ant, humility fills within:
Today, I have walked till here
By myself.
Tomorrow, I shall be brought on four shoulders
Till here.

4.Sleepless, Awake (Ratjagah)

I have to stay awake-
Please tell me another story.
If it gets over, tell me few others.
Of fishes which live in oceans
Of cranes that arrive from Siberia
Of majestic lions,sly foxes, laughing hyenas.
Of birds, trees and forests
Of silk worms, alligators
Of ice mountains in polar regions
Of life saving plants
Of eternal herbs, their stories.
Keep telling me, keep me awake.
Whisper into my ears.

These are hurt by the world of humans-
By telling the story of their sadness
Keep me awake.

5. War (Yudh)

Of her son’s death
A mother
Burns alive
Sons of other mothers,
Inside her straw filled house.
They were her

6. They are still laughing ( Ve ab bhy has rahe hai)

The moon does not shine any more
The fire of the evening has
Died down.
They are laughing
In the deep darkness.
Along with them, their children
Their goats, donkeys, dogs.

Between my house and that deep darkness
Lies a road.
It will only take ten steps
For crossing over.
Their laughter will
Make my house and my happily world
In a moment.
I have to
Their laughter.

From the road to the sky
I shall build a wall.
From the other side-
Their laughter can still be heard.
The last defence of the wall
Has failed too.

They are still laughing.

7. Where are my poems (Kahan hai Ve meri kavitayein)

Where have my poems gone?
Those pressed down in the pages
Of books,
Those that were to see light inside books.
For whom I carried on my head
Intense grief and agony
As I fled from one city to another.
For whom I got crushed like ants
Beneath the feet of elephants.
For whom I ripened and dissolved
Like honey in a beehive.
How do I get those back-
Those lost poems of mine?

When someone else writes them
Then, I shall recover the lost poems.

8. Dwarves atop pinnacles ( Shikar par baune)

Could not extract
Destruction from termites
Essence from honeybees
Colour from butterflies
Dignity from ants.

Could not take
Courage from the All-Conqueror
Spirituality from friends
Respect from humans.

Covering their selves with pettiness
They kept sleeping when
The Wise held counsel.
Everyone could see them,
Faces covered with depressed lines
They were everywhere.
Carrying infinite arrogance on their backs
They kept climbing the ladders
To reach where
Dwarves reside on pinnacles.

9. Broken Life (Tukkadghor Zindagi)

All the doors are open
To a broken life.
So long as the doors are
Lead a dog’s life.

Stick close to the door
Fear of murder
Is enough
For a broken life.
To celebrate a broken life
Like a broken person
Stick closely to it
Live a dog’s life.

10. Coward( Kayar)

She has accepted
My cowardice.
She has given me
A place to sit.

It is not a place to sit
It is a space for a chair-
One tied to hers.

Carrying the generous
Weight of being her Lord
On my back,
How long shall I
Carry the dirty clothes
Of her great earnings
To the dhobi’s ghat?

11. Give me space!( Jagah Do)

Give me space
To stand up
Like a tree-
I need to spread my roots
Give me space!
In your flower pot
I refuse to bloom anymore
Like a rootless plant.
I am not obliged to
Be thrown away like spittle
From a spittoon.
Give me space,
To stand up!

12. Fire (Aag)

The fire is not
In the forest-
But in this country.
Burning the hands of
Artists and writers.
Life smoulders like embers
Ashen coloured hunger
Sadness ripened like honey
Eyes smoking with

Laugh inside your heart,
Write a poem.
Then become silent
Silence will end the fire.
Fire will turn into cinders.
Fire will turn into sleep.
13. A Cry-(Vilap)

Mother, today I have to tell you
From your blood drops
Some strong man was born
Or some villain.

Mother, recognise me.
I am not the horse rider
With a gleaming sword in hand
And confidence shining from his eyes.

Mother, look at me properly
Mother, recognise me truly:
I am sure fourth son,
Who travels on a donkey
Who sweats it out inside a brick-kiln.

Mother, bring your hands
Closer to my face
Your son, your fourth born
Grows blood droplets from the ground.

Mother, caress my forehead
I am sleepy.

14. My House (Mera Ghar)

That house which was mine
Has turned into a
House full of contempt.
Every single thing bought
For me, hates me.
I will have to leave
This house of contempt.
Made of raw earth
Sifting fast-
Thus was this house
Of contempt formed.
It will collapse any moment
The foot to grind it down
Has already been raised;
The breeze has already
Started blowing
My house will soon start
Floating adrift.
Before I get crushed
Within this house,
I have to quietly
Slip away.

15. Halt ! Stay where you are!( Bus! Usi Jagah Bane Raho)

Halt! Stay where you are!
Alibaba’s treasure trove
Will open even without
Reciting abracadabra.

It is the palace
Whose entrance door
Was your target
For making a hole,
Is it not?
For that
You were content
To stay beneath
An usurper’s foot-
It will open for sure!

Do not ever raise
The sword of disagreement
Against injustice, atrocities
And cowardice.
Keep lowering your greedy neck
Quietly for the
Assassin’s axe.

Of course there is
Much time left
For the teeth to bite the fruit.
The birds have
Started to forget chattering.
In rivers, the flow of water
Is reversing.

You were waiting for this time
Were you not
When everything starts
To end.

Stay just where you are!

16. Termite time (Deemak-Samay)

I am standing up
Holding a shining sword against
Those flying ants have the same
Time as me.
Termite time will destroy
All of life in one go.
The time of death shall eat up
All the body parts.
My skeleton will stand up
For holding a sword.

I hold a shining sword
Against time.
17. My House, After Me ( Mere Baad, Mera Ghar)

On the day I shall leave
Let my room stay as shiny,
As neat and tidy
As it used to be, before.

Let sunshine enter
Through the windows
Like it used to, before.

Let the books be spread
Out on the table
As I used to spread them, before.

This is my promise to you-
After I leave
The ink in the pot shall not dry.
Sunshine will come
In through the windows
Searching for me.
Even though it cannot find me
Daily it will visit
Like it used to, before.

Only, you should keep the windows
And entering through the door
Do not get irritated with it,
As you used to, before.

18. Wall (Deewar)

The wall of luxury crumbles
Do not offer your shoulder
As support.
Bent heads are chopped off
Do not let your head go

It is a glass mansion
Will splinter into bits easily
Let it be-
Do not try to decorate it
With bleeding hands.

The Phoenix emerges from
The mound of ashes.
Give wings to it, so it might rise.

In this city of the rich
Do not plead like beggars.
Surround it, vanquish it
But do not let your head
Bent heads are usually
Chopped off.

19. When (Jab)

When my limbs were in place,
When my body was complete,
I lost everything.

Now I am half- limbed
Without radiance, listless.
When I was on the ground
I used to fill my arms with
Happy gurgles of my kids-
They were dear to me.

Now, I am on the top branch
But I have become a dwarf.
There is no earth here
To spread out my roots.

A gem studded throne
On top of which
Manure of horses
Belonging to the world conquerors.

I have to sit atop that
And carry out all my royal duties
Until that horse manure
Engulfs me.

20. Against the sun ( Suraj ke khilaf)

Burning red, the sun
Remarked angrily
How dare you raise your eyes
To meet mine,
You old crone?

The old woman, busy
Collecting firewood and cow dung
I am searching for fuel
For my hearth’s warmth.

Your heat is too less
For this earth,
For my straw house.
All my life, I have been
Deprived of your warmth.

My own shrivelled hands
Are my sun.
I am standing up
Against you,
Whenever I light up
The fire in my home
To cook my food.

21. Meaningful (Saarthak)

Sadness does not quite work
Like sadness.
Happiness cancels everything out.

From the start, I have been
Inside and outside this tunnel
Of sadness and happiness
I have been searching
For meanings within shadows
As if they were meaningful.

Life in its entirety
Is clamouring for meaning.
And I,
Like a vidushaka,
Inside a classic drama
Beats my stomach
Amidst all the talented

22. One day ( Ek Din)

Carrying the burden of contempt
Hiding the look of desolation
I shall leave this city
One day.

It is possible that
The next city is similar
To this one.
Maybe, only the name changes.
Perhaps, even that stays the same!

Till when will you keep
Changing cities?
A mirror image will spring up
In another.
The mourning line on your face
Will deepen
The burden of contempt
Will stay unabated.

23. The Knife of “No”( Nahi ka chakoo)

The “No” knife had
Stabbed him on either side
He might not have
Intended it thus.

Only one part of his body
Used to move.
The head nodding ” Yes”.
He had not possessed the
” No” knife then.
He was a candle melting at night
He was a circus cheetah dreaming of eating
Deer meat,
Even as he paced inside his cage.

Who stabbed him unexpectedly
With the knife of “No”?

He had broken through many a wall,
Many barred holds.
He had destroyed many statues of worthies
Never had allowed the scales to balance.

But once the knife of “No” pierced
Deep inside,
No one knows what has happened to him!

He has left a mourning majority
And a laughing minority

24. Persona (Kayakalp)

Three sixty days in a year
Endless darkness.
Five days remaining
Full of moonlight calm.

Three sixty days of the year
Deer are not permitted to play
Rabbits forbidden from running
Ducks banned from swimming
Children not allowed to sleep
Mothers prevented from weeping

Three sixty days in the year
Make the servant sleep on the bare floor
Seat the king on his throne.

Five days of the year,
Poetry shall be returned
Playfulness to the deer
Running to the rabbits
Songs to the birds
Ponds to the ducks
Sleep to the women
Laughter to the children
Tears to the mothers
Self respect to the servant
Democracy to the king

On five days of the year
Moonlight floods over.

25. The worm of desire( Kaamna ka keeda)

When language casts itself
In between
Myself and life
I cover myself with another’s guise.

I do not see with my eyes
The blue sky or beauty
Do not hear with my ears
Ragas,palpitations or the roar of seas.

I do not smell with my nose
The fragrance of the wind
The moist earth or the body.

I do not taste with my tongue
Fishes, vegetables, pickle.

Like a monkish crab, detached tortoise
I wish to meditate inside an old cave.

In spite of my timidity
I keep trying to lift the burden
Of great thoughts.
I run like the sacrificial horse
Of the Aswamedha
To make language
The King of Kings.

I am a worm of language’s desire
Let me hang onto the fruit of knowledge
Till the end of time.

26. Safe(Surakshit)

He believed all his life
That man was a tree
Laden with flowers,fruits, leaves.

All his life
He considered himself
In his well
Of written poetry
All were safe-
Butterflies, honey bees, ants.

In reality
Man stands:
His hands raised above
His head.
They are taking him
To the gallows

27. This is the truth( Yeh Sach Hai)

This is the truth
That I cannot write like others.
This is the truth
They have such contempt, hatred
Arrogance and rejection within.
I do not have those prized possessions.

The way they love others-
I have neither that sort of love
Nor such arms.
My left arm
Is my right arm’s foe.
My thirst, my hunger, my sleep
My hardwork
Are not mine.

So much of what I have spoken
In my poems so far,
Neither are they true
Nor scalpel edged profundities.
The fact that those could be
Uttered means -they were to die.

My poem and its words
Should be able to cut through
That dark knot
Surrounding my soul.

28. An old man staring at the sunset, in the new year
( Varsharambh mein Ek booda, suryasth dekhta hua)

Reads a newspaper
Like an old man.
The shining sun
Moves like a tortoise
Into the darkened house of my age.

How much time
Does it take for the shining sun
To turn into a tortoise?
Only a few more incoming hours.

For me and my old hands
How much more time
To turn into the sun?

29. Just hope (Sirf Prateeksha)

Somewhere a dried tree
Becomes green again.
Somewhere over clouds
A rainbow is written.
Somewhere a sun drowns
Into the evening.

On top of ghostly bridges
Filling our pantaloon pockets’
With clouds, rainbow, drowning sun
Who are we waiting for?

Oh! That green tree
Has dried again!
Oh! That rainbow
Has turned into clouds again!
Oh! That setting sun
Is just a hope!

30. For Her ( Uske Liye)

The one whom I love at night
I denigrate during the day.
All stand in the darkness
Sunlight stays dim.

Till I am alive
I realise that the sun
Has been created for be getting life.
Darkness too
Has been created for love.

So in conclusion,
I have to stand with her in the dark
For her love.

31. I shall have the final laugh ( Anth mein mai hi hasunga)

I shall have the final laugh
I shall be the first
Even at the end.
In spite of the mound of ashes
I shall smoke like a volcano
In spite of being Kafka’s fort
I shall stay open
Like an open courtyard.

Impulsiveness for squirrels
Cheerfulness for birds
Food grains for the ants
Water for the rivers
Dreams for the desolate men
In a desolate world-

Bringing all of these quickly
I shall have the final laugh.

32. My house, Its house( Mera Ghar, Uska Ghar)

One bird
Comes to my house daily.
I do not know its name
I just recognise it.
It keeps chirping around as it
Searches for grains.
Then it flies off
Towards its own home.

Where is its house?
Does it belong to the bird?
Even if it is so,
It cannot be like mine-
Full of heartfelt cries and agonised howls.

Then why does it come to mine
Chirping away.

33. Separation ( Gaman)

The weight of the flower
Does not break the branch.
It is forcibly broken off.
The world breaks similarly.
It is breaking,
Yours and mine.

Miracle or atrocity?
In this separation
I know only this:
The flower has been
Forcibly broken off from
The branch.

Return Gift



I was gifted a poetry collection of Veeran Kutty on my birthday. Some gifts have to be returned; albeit in another form. So I thought, I will translate a few lines that lighted up my way, and say thank you, to the loving hands that offered the lamp to me.

Expectation( Prateeksha)

I am grateful

For the expectations you had for me,

Till now.


Only God knows

The difficulty, I have had

In keeping them shiny

Till now.

Now those expectations have

Become a mountain

Leaving no space within;

If you could come and take back each

It would  be rather nice.


I have to start


Expecting ,

A few things

Of my  very own.


Friend ( Changathy)


don’t come as rain

to make me sprout life

If tomorrow

you intend to dry me up

turning  into sunshine


Without any reason ( Veruthe)

Do not think

the game of

the shadow

is silly-






it is trying to get over

the suffering


always being

under the same



About You ( Ninne Patti)



a  worm,





woke up







with so much






( All mistakes of translation are mine…😊)







Thirichariyal aka Recognition, Sugata Kumary Translation


From Sugata Teacher’s Krishna Collection.

With love, on a Janmashtamy, also Teachers Day.


Thirichariyal(1988)\ Recognition

Who am I? Where am I rushing to, through

An unknown land,

Over such a vast road?

Strange, these unfamiliar green fields-

Barley? Maize?

The orchards, what are these full of?

Blue fruits, unknown to me.

Over there, I see sheep,

Near that field,

An old farmer atop his horse.

The bus stops by the wayside

Many get down to quench the thirst.

Underneath that nameless tree, small seating places

The sunlight intensifies, thirst harrows me

I get down , and stand all alone near the tree.

A young village girl offers red liquid

She is dressed in strange grabs, I do not know

If she is serving wine or grape juice

As I request for water, she shrugs , not understanding.

A blue eyed poet sits and sings, with a full tumbler

What is he singing about?

Love? Death?

The language,I do not know.

I do not recognise the bird chirping

On this sunlit tree branch either!

Machines rumbling across far off fields

Who am I ? What am I doing here?

A sudden depressing loneliness engulfs me

I do not recognise the language, not the bird chatter

Nor the tree murmurs, strangers all around,

An intense , vast, unknown landscape-

Surrounds me, starts to pull me down

With terror, scary darkness that grows within

As it turns into pain, tiredness

Strangulating me-

As I sink to the ground, letting go…

Suddenly I hear

A sweet flute music!

As I open my eyes in wonder

My eyes fall on a young lad

Clambering down the hill!

Dark skinned,dusty long hair

Touching his shoulders:

A bird feather tucked into it,

He is joyously , playfully bounding down!

Around his neck, an amulet shaped like a bell,

A stick to drive the sheep in hand

Curly hair springing all around his forehead!

Through his open shirt, I see

A sun, tattooed on his chest!

He stands so nonchalantly near me,

Drinks from his leather pouch

Strapped across his shoulders.

Turns to look at me

Stranger in a different garb

In that clime

Throws an open, sweet smile my way.

My body cools with exhilaration,

My child,

Your smile showers flowers across my forehead!

I return his smile, my heart blossoms-

You came all this way, only for my sake!

Though your eyes shimmer green,

Though the feather is of a white dove

Though your chest is tattooed

Though you are with sheep,

I recognise you!!

Because of your flute tucked by your waist,

The way in which you sipped your drink, wiped your lips

And turned to cast a glance at me

In the way you then ran off, whistling loudly

Scampering merrily away!

Gently, someone touches my shoulder

As I turn, the young girl stands behind me

Offering water.

As I drink it with gratitude,

The sorrow in the poet’s tune

Becomes two hands folded up high

In faith and devotion!

I recognise that I am never  really alone

Anywhere in the world !

This strange land, suddenly

Becomes mine.