It was sometime in the late ’90s. I was a disciple of Pt Rajeev Taranathji, the sarod maestro and literary/cultural thinker. On a quiet, sunny Bangalore afternoon, I finally met Kannada writer Chandrasekhar Kambar, the finest mythmaker of our times, at Taranathji’s house. The bond between the two greats is nothing short of legendary, going way back to the ’60s. Through the decades, Kambar published his works only after a nod of approval and some incisive comments from the maestro. So, the connection between myth and music is ingrained in my mind.
As Kambar was about to leave, I asked him what he was writing. A thoughtful moment, and then: “An image keeps haunting my mind. Shivapada. Doctor, social reformer, thinker, musician, saint! Have I heard of someone like him? Perhaps Pandit Taranath, Rajeev’s father….” (For the uninitiated, a Tagore-like figure in early 20th c Karnataka.) “I keep weaving a thousand strands of narrative around this image. Maybe a novel is being born!” Shikharasoorya (2006) has Shivapada and Ninnadi—inspired by the Taranaths—as major characters. It’s a sequel to Chakori. That 1996 novel tells the story of the dreamer-musician Chandamutta, who’s reborn as Ninnadi in Shikharasoorya. My guru, Taranathji! Kambar explains, “Rajeev and his father are figures who stand for all that is magnificent and human. They are a part of our contemporary folklore.” Later that evening, I read Taranathji’s translation of Kambar’s ’70s play Jokumaraswamy, marvelling at the elan with which its folk rhythms flow into English. I felt my first urge to translate Kambar. Here was my model—muse, co-thinker, my guru! A stature beyond me, but discipleship surely beckoned. The task had to wait, though.
Cut to the Illinois landscape—it’s years later. All Midwest snow and corn field breeze! I’m teaching ‘Global Literatures’, while at once profoundly disturbed by how that fancy phrase homogenises multiple non-Western streams. How do Indian literatures get represented here? Which Indian writers find an entry? Mostly, Indian English writers. I was curious about how many South Indian writers, particularly from marginalised caste and class locations, found a place in this canon. To make my brand-new, updated syllabus, I also searched for Kambar translations. A search that led to a conviction: I would have to plough my own furrow.
In the Christmas break of 2015, I visited India. Taranathji had moved to Mysore, that beautiful old-world city of palaces and music. A huge felicitation event loomed. Who should be the chief guest? Kambar! We talked. I opened up about my plans…. We decided on Karimayi, his earliest novel. Meanwhile, Shivana Dangura too was published, and came to be swept up in that first flush…I was on my way. Both translations came out in 2017 [Karimayi: Seagull; Shiva’s Drum: Speaking Tiger]. Karimayi won the State Sahitya Akademi award in 2019. Penguin published my Two Plays (Rishyshringa and Mahmoud Gawan) in 2020. You know the rest. Lockdown. Anxious discussions. Book launch plans shelved. Literary festivals cancelled, book shops closing. A virus was thwarting a translator’s pilgrimage! Only online reviews/sales and social media discussions were possible. Then, it eased. An avalanche of reviews, print and online, interviews, lit fests, invitations for talks…. I think the pandemic filled us all with a new urgency—to write, to connect with others, to communicate while we could!
Over time, I evolved my own philosophy of translation. It had to be a seamless flow between English and Kannada that preserved the savour and experience of the original while dispersing its seeds. Most importantly, no “glib exoticism”! Besides, a translator must simply soak in the writer’s oeuvre. I draw this immersive paradigm from music. You sing or play a raga over and over again, until it becomes yours, becomes you. Only then can you give it to others…. Did I begin, did I reach there, did I take and bring something? Kambar said this to me: “People say they don’t miss Kambar in your words. It is only Rajeev and you who recreate the rhythm and musicality of the folk language I use. In your translation, I feel the sense of being home!” To think I came home via that Illinois snow.