As I entered the David Sassoon Library Gardens, my attention was grabbed by the provocative book covers which were being flashed on the screen, beauties with guns, some with fangs and blood stained lips. I stared at them, unable to tear my eyes away. They were covers of popular Tamil pulp fiction. I wished I could read the titles.

I had missed the Pulp Fiction workshop. Gods of KG festival had slotted it for Sat and Sunday morning.  I mean, have mercy! This year I found a lot of good workshops happening earlier in the day and I had to miss them. Grrrrrrr!   It had made me doubly keen to attend the event  Pulped and Popped. I could see some girls setting up a table by the side piled with books. A girl with a rasping voice was here there and everywhere. My attention was divided between the screen and that girl.

Jerry Pinto entered the scene almost like a master-ji, asking every one to take their places. The energy levels were high and the sassy girls insisted upon sitting down on the stage. After some persuasion everyone took there seat, order was restored and Jerry started the introductions…

Meanwhile the gruesome slides were still being flashed on the screen.

The panelists were Rajshree aka Raju whose book was launched during this festival, Pritham K. Chakravarthy, Sudarshan Purohit, Kaveri Lalchand, Rakesh Khanna and Rashmi Devadasan who worked on Blaft Anthology on Tamil Pulp Fiction.

Rakesh confessed that his interest was roused by the covers of the books he used to see everyone in Chennai read, but was unable to read them himself.

Sudarshan was well versed in Hindi PF which is known as Pocket Books.

Pritham ( the the most vocal one in the group) was the only one who could both read and write Tamil,

The discussions were energetic. Pritham talked for everyone else and others listened appreciatively. Jerry did a great job of making everyone participate, even the girl who was content to hide behind Pritham

I remembered the Pulp I was hooked to James Hadley Chase, Star Comic romances, Mills And Boon ( are they  still pulp or have been declared  classics by now ? It seems ages…) I am sure everyone had their own favorites.

Meanwhile Jerry was quizzing Raju on her book. She was denying vehemently that her book falls in that category. It was Chic-lit, if you please! Don’t put it on the same shelf along with pulp. Then everyone launched in the debate defining chic-lit and pulp.

Looks like Pulp has a LOT of rules. They have to end happily. Only so much promiscuity was allowed for the main characters, bad girls had more freedom, the language also had it’s own style.

Guys, I enjoyed every minute of the hour long discussion, perhaps best in the whole series. The images were back, a stabbed woman lying in a way to display her  feminine beauty , a macho Inspector with his moll with goggles, with a skull in the back ground etc. etc. A sudden craving for pulp hit me, almost like craving for chaat!

The title “Impact of globalization on Marathi Poetry” sounded promising. As it was slotted right after the Translation workshops I was in a right frame of mind to listen to the poems.

The event was moderated by  Hemant Divate, a young poet who is also a publisher. Others were unknown to me but perhaps familiar to the regulars of Marathi poetry. I am still stuck into the pre- globalization era as I realized .

I was looking forward to listening to the panel’s discussions about their poems, but that didn’t happen. The poets preferred to communicate only through their poems. No discussions took place.

I found the poems mostly mediocre with an exception of Divate himself, and a young poet from Buldhana, Manoj Surendra Pathak. His poem about Death of a man and how it affected his son reached even those who didn’t completely understand Marathi. The words were raw, and emotions true. I thought this was the best poem of the evening.

Another one which I liked was- Sachin Ketkar’s poem in which a lonely man sits in front of his computer, waiting to chat with someone. But even here he is disappointed as no one would chat with him.

Beyond a few references to technology, like computers, chat rooms, and some profanity I didn’t find any marked difference between pre and post globalization poems. Free verse is not newto Marathi poetry. As for the content, God traveling the world in a helicopter, saying ‘Fuck You’ to his devotees, was neither amusing, nor shocking, nor interesting. As a result everyone just waited for that rather long poem to be over.

Dilip Zaveri read the English translations of a few of these poems. Some were done decently, but most were just word to word translation, missing out the essence completely. One was a rather tongue in cheek poem where the poet had strung together street signs, and the messages which we see everyday around us. The poem had a rather humorous feel to it. But when translated, the entire line up of messages became meaningless. Lost in Translation- once again?

Satisfying or not, inclusion of regional language literature in Kala Ghoda Arts Festival added an interesting dimension to the events. How about getting us some popular Marathi  theater guys next year ?

The  Translating poetry  workshop  was starting at 2.30 PM.

It was 2.26 pm and I still hadn’t found the entrance to the Elphinston college! I walked up and down the side walk and in desperation called Ayesha who guided to to the side entrance. Rushed up looking for room no 108 and reached the class room 5 mins late. I was reliving an old nightmare. The teacher here didn’t look as formidable or as pissed off as the teachers in my nightmare. He just nodded when I panted “May I come in “.

Feeling about 2 inches tall I settled in my chair. Sachin Ketkar, was our Teach for the evening. He has an impressive portfolio. A writer and translator, he has done is PhD in languages from Gujrat. He has translated not only in Marathi but also in Gujarati.

There were nine or ten people. Every participant had some experience as a writer, some in English and a few in Marathi.

Sachin had brought notes for us which also had a few poems for us to translate. We got into discussing poetry and how translating it is different that the prose. Is it possible to translate every poem? Or some are more difficult?

Once when I had read a Haiku, four friends came up with  four different interpretations, all different than mine. Does their point of view have same validity as mine?

When they say- lost in translation, what exactly is lost and how?

What about idioms, and cultural references or poetic forms?

Is it possible to carry these from one language into another?

What is more important, translating the words as they are, or assuming more license while capturing the meaning behind the words?

A poem is open to many interpretations. How do we decide what the poet wanted to say? Then in what way is a translation any less than an original creation? etc etc etc.

Not every answer Sachin gave us was acceptable, and very soon it became a ‘students v/s teacher’ debate, but as in any debate, everyone was left to find his own answers.

We were given a poem where all our questions were put to test.We had about 15 minutes to do it. We had been asked to keep Marathi / English dictionaries with us. But frankly speaking, we didn’t need them. As we had discussed earlier, translating the idiom was the real challenge. We submitted our work to our teacher who while not commenting Rightness or wrongness of anything seemed more curious to see what our interpretation had been.

All in all, while not satisfying completely, it was a good experience.

I waited at the Sassoon Gardens at 4.30  as requested .  I had been dragooned into helping out at the Places for Poetry event, a relay poetry reading. Mind Boggled. How the heck does one read relay? I pictured our veteran poets zooming from venue to venue on roller skates (Maybe next year. That will make fitness a prime criteria for participation).

Ranjit breezed in. He always seems to breeze in. After playing with the resident cat a little he got down to business. He explained to everyone, where they gathered, where each one started. Gave us lists explaining who will be where at what point of the evening and we all trooped off to our appointed venues.

I was to take charge of the readings at Kala Ghoda Cafe opp. Trishna, in a little lane near Rhythm House. The place was small and cozy place with hell of an ambiance. Every one went Oooo! The owner welcomed us and shooed away a guy at a corner table who was peacefully working on his laptop. “Let him be” I tried to say, “we need an audience.” But the owner was quite clear how he wanted things done.” That place is reserved for the poets.”  In the meanwhile we had lost one potential listener who had packed his laptop and left.

I had with me Arundhati Subramaniam, Malavika Sangghavi, and Vivek Tandon, the three who were starting the session. We looked around and wondered if we were supposed to wait for anyone to come in. The owner offered that he and the waiters would love to sit and listen. Arundhati started reading and thus began what turned out to be a memorable evening. One after the other the poets were reading. It stopped to matter how many were there. They were reading to each other. I had to make an effort to remember to look at time. The evening was enlivened by Vivek’s dramatic reading, Jeet strumming his guitar, Peter playing Rapunzel from the loft….

A few who peeked in the cafe vanished when they saw the lively bunch. It must have appeared a private gathering to them.

Half way through we broke for a round of coffee. The owner had kept tea - coffee machines shut as they caused disturbance. After finishing with their own reading each poet would leave for the next venue, the new ones would walk in. A few along with me were constant. Soon Manisha walked in and I realized that the evening was almost over. In one evening I had listened to Arundhati Subramaniam, Malvika Sangghavi, Vivek Tandon, Peter Griffin, Arjun Bali, Mustansir Dalvi, Adil Jussawala, Rochelle Potkar, Ranjit Hoskote, Jeet Thayil, Sampurna Chatterji, Manisha Lakhe, Jerry Pinto and Annie Zaidi. PHEW!

My feelings about this event? I loved it and I wish more people had taken advantage of such unique an event. I hope to see this again next year and hope there will be a board outside announcing this as a public event. And my earlier suggestion about the roller skates still stands :)

My photographs of the event are here.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/soney/

I attended KG lit sessions today mainly for the event “Bambaiyya hindi ka Sahitya par asar”. Influence of Bombay dialect on Hindi Literature.Every person invited must have been successful in their chosen field I am sure. But a few seemed to have lost their focus. For example Oma read an amusing but rather long story which had punjabi dialect instead of Bambaiyya. They were a Dilli guy’s impressions of Bombay. Maybe that was meant for the discussion in Dilli – Dilli hindi ka sahitya par asar.

One panelist –I think Alok, suggested that because gangsters invested in films they like their language spoken in movies.. Sorry guys. I don’t buy that. Another panelist presented Bambaiyya more as Anglicized hindi. Yet another took a great pride in not allowing ever to have his Hindi  corrupted. There were ligheter moments. All panelists were good orators. Especially Atul - ji who read a shair in Bambaiyya, whch was fabulous. I would like to assure  all of them them that we LOVE chaste Hindi! It is the question of using appropriate lingo for the characters in the movies. Just as the characters in a mythological film will never speak bambaiyya, the street kids at the traffic signals in Bombay will never speak chaste Hindi.

Hindi is safe. Do not regard Bambaiyya with concern. It’s not a local tapori eyeing your daughter or sister. No need to worry about keeping hindi chaste.  I am sure, writers will continue to write novels and poetry in hindi which will go on to become classics. It was depressing to see the scholarly, worried, not to mention elderly faces of the panelists. Even a couple of young panelists sat with suitable gravity on their faces. This was no light matter.

Bambaiyya is the language of youth. Inviting grandpas was a mistake.

Languages must grow. They grow only by being flexible. Look at english. Every country in the world has their own english. Maybe one day soon we will have full fledged literature in japanese english, chinese english, indian english, Latino english etc. The point is, English today is the world language because it has managed to withstand all the blows it has received and made other cultures and languages a part of itself.

A few seemed uncomfortable with technology and mainly english. I was aware that the hindi dialogues being written in roman and I think its fine and dandy. I am attempting writing dialogues only because I am allowed to write them in roman. Devnagari keyboards are a pain. But here we had people who took great pride in writing long hand. To each his own.

There were no discussions. Period. Panelist came and had their say. Where were the discussions? Where were diverse points of view and debates? The moderator failed to draw them out.

They should understand – and the panelists would have if they had been local people- that Bambaiyya is about attitude. Just as, if you want to pass as a Banglorian you have to learn to say “ Chill maad ri !” That’s why all these ads in bambaiyya are so successful. That’s the language ka funda. Nothing makes you crave pizza like- Hungry kya ?

And to think I traveled from Chembur to Kala Ghoda for THIS :P But the Pulp fiction which followed more than made up for this lackluster event. Mebbe I am a closet tapori. Who knows! Apun to aisaich hai !

The first day of KG always overwhelms me. The colours, the sounds, the energy gives me a kind of high that stays with me for days to come.

After roaming all over the grounds looking at the market place, fighting the crowds in the amphi, eating a plate of chaat, envying the little kids having fun ( I WANT A SURF TEE SHIRT TOO !! PLEASE ?? ) I reached David Sasoon garden for the opening session of the KG lit. events, something I have been waiting for these past few weeks.

First shock. Where …Oh Where is the green bench ? What happened to My GREEN BENCH ? The molded plastic chairs, though economical and durable , are no match for My Green Bench!

I settled in a plastic chair ( identical to the ones on stage).Shriram R did the introductions, Anita Roy ( who we were told, plays good violin)  the moderator and Urvashi Butalia the main speaker took their places ( The plastic chairs).

She gave a wonderful speech. The publishing business, the kind of books that are published, people’s reading habits, and how few people buy books in India. Urvashi, I hereby promise to buy as many books as I can ! And read them of course!

One comment in her speech stayed with me and that was, we have very few books in Braille. I had read this point discussed just a few months earlier. I being as visually challenged as an owl have always been fascinated by Braille.

The KG Lit events were now officially opened. I wished it was cooler, like last year! Now for ten days Sasoon Garden was going to be a second home to me.

The cats settled under my chair.  They looked glad to have me back. Me too Cat, me too. Everything was just as should be. I just wished the Green Bench was there.

Jeet Thayil is a widely published Indian-American poet. I had seen him read his poems in Jaipur Lit. festival in 2007. When I found out that he will be taking a workshop on Performance poetry during KG, I rushed to enroll.

I was asked to submit a sample of my work AND memorize it by heart. That was a toughie, but managed it somehow. The whole week saw me mumbling my lines.

I reached the venue, NGMA, at 2.15 pm, 15 minutes before time. I ran into the great man himself, being interviewed by some one. A tall man, with a shaved head, he had looked very austere on the stage in Jaipur. Here, with a casual attire he looked more approachable. When he found out I was there for the workshop, he asked me if I had memorized the poem. I said yes, keeping my fingers firmly crossed.

(Click here to read the whole post)

I went to Kala Ghoda in severe conflict about what to see and what to do. This was one of the time when you feel like having a few clones and catch the whole show. But friend Ajita won, and we headed for Horniman Circle gardens to attend Sonal Mansingh’s Odissi performance.
The evening was cool and breezy, the gardens were filling up fast. We could see the patron Goddesses of the event, Brinda Miller, Devika Bhojwani and Sarayu Doshi flitting around, getting show started.
The ceremonial Lamp refused to stay lit. Finally the lamp was announced as “lit” behind the shelter of a file, and the show started. And what a show it was!
I was all prepared to give a nod to Culture and then rush over to watch Soparkar’s Troup “Dancing in the streets “. But that was only till Sonal started her first piece, devoted to Goddess Maatangi, the patron goddess of all arts. From now on “Bhavani Dayani” will always look like Sonal.
There was something of a Sybil in her whole persona. Her goddess was not an ethereal being, soft and delicate. She was ageless, wise, compassionate, wrathful, powerful and sexy. A Mother personified every which way. She could vanquish the demons, and lift the mountain. The music, the shadows and Sonal’s body language, all added to the effect. I went ahead to sit on the ground right in front of the stage, catching every nuance every expression emanated by Sonal.
Some one had once told me that to understand space one must learn to dance. It wasn’t quite clear to me, till I watched her dance. Spaces kept shifting and changing as a pint size Waman, grew up to cover the earth and the sky in two steps and she effortlessly covered the entire stage.
Sonal took us through the age old stories of Krishna Leela and Geet Govindam. But for me the show had ended with Sonal as the Goddess Maatangi / Durga.

Crossposted here