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No mincing words

Kanda Haage (Volume 1) by Gauri Lankesh

Rs. 125, Lankesh Prakashana

Gauri Lankesh is known for her daring anti-establishment stances, be it in her speeches in public fora or in the columns of the Kannada weekly she edits. She has been a loud and clear voice in recent times especially on issues of communalism. “ Kanda Haage”, a compilation of her eponymous weekly column, reflects her concerns as a journalist and an activist.

The themes of these essays are varied. But the most interesting among them are those which pick up a contentious theme and draw the reader into a passionate debate.

Her essays on Uniform Civil Code, portrayal of Tipu Sultan, furore over the “foreign” origins of Sonia Gandhi, events during Savarkar’s stay in Andaman jail, the context in which our national anthem was written or the beef eating traditions of India are testimony to her firebrand positions and ability to uncover carefully camouflaged facets of history. Never a votary for safe middle paths, she minces no words in making it clear where she stands in these debates.

These politically-charged writings are punctuated with a few essays which speak a mellower language. The article that compares Gorur Ranaswamy Iyengar and Stephen Spielberg or her meeting with B.V. Karanth are examples of this.

Gauri took over as the editor of “Lankesh Patrike” after her father died. Initial writings of Gauri were marked by a strong influence of her father P. Lankesh, an inimitable writer, film-maker and a man who re-defined the parameters of journalism through his weekly. In fact, there were times when the shadow of “appa” seemed too overbearing in Gauri’s writings.

But this collection shows that she has outgrown that phase. Her concerns, marked by the compulsions of a time distinctly different from that of her father, are on a very different trajectory.

In the introduction to the book, Gauri talks about the travails of shifting to a different mode of journalism after being a mainstream English journalist for 16 years. What stood her in good stead, she says, were these words of her father: “There is a secret to good writing. Just write what is on your mind in a simple, straight language. Pompous words and sentences disfigure prose. If a reader has to go over a sentence a second time to understand it, it simply means you have failed as a writer.” Sound advice not just to a daughter, but to all those who aspire to write lucid prose.

BAGESHREE S.

Ushodaya by Olga

What’s happening next door?

Translated by Miss Sampath

Navakarnataka Publications, Rs. 65

Guntur district in Andhra Pradesh, once known for chilli is famous in recent years for farmer suicides.

The novel is set in a village called Durgapur in Guntur District. It all begins with the return of Jasintha from Guntur to her village and ends with her gruesome murder.

The travails of cotton farmers, political groupings, one upmanship, hardwork and suffering of the womenfolk, controversy regarding the location of Panchayat office building, identity issue of an educated Maadiga girl, Jasintha seizing an opportunity to have toilets for women built at the disputed site with external and internal help, the eventual backlash from vested interests… there is no dearth of incidents, their interlinking and intertwining has also been achieved quite effectively.

The original work won the Andhra Sahitya Akademi Award. The author (real name Lalithakumari) is associated with a women’s group. The translator T.S. Rukmaayi (real name) has the distinction of rendering many Telugu short stories (eg. Abburi Chayadevi’s) and novels in Kannada.

An objective reader may be confronted with two questions: Should a writer give room to be branded and bracketed off as a feminist? Should a realistic account of rural life be packaged as vanitha chintana?

While the author provides windows on the ground realities, sometimes it turns out to be a mere intellectual analysis (eg. feudal relationships – p.86). Besides, the Chandravathi-Lakshmana swamy episode seems a bit contrived. Olga is bold enough to take pot-shots at “ideologists” and there is also some humour in dialogues. But the activist streak comes to the fore at times hindering the flow of the narrative.

The translator is forced to grapple with all the pitfalls in the original.

While she has grasped the essence of the original work and the colloquial niceties of the regional variant of Telugu, her usage of words in the target language is inadequate, even inappropriate at times. To cite a few: Asthibhaara (for paaya: Shanku Sthapane: foundation), yaajamaanya (Yajamaanike) paddhati (vyavaste) world rarely used/not used in Kannada: Adavudi, Prasakti, Varasa, Parishkaravaada, ganjaragola. One comes across quite a few syntactical errors as well. A language editor knowing the nuances of both the languages would have improved the quality.

When the original author is well known and the translator is quite a veteran, it is but natural to expect quality stuff. But bringing out books in series can sometimes lead to lack of individual and careful attention.

“Sagam” in Telugu means half. Ushe in Kannada is the time of sunrise. One wonders whether the title “Ushodaya” fits well.

While the intention of bringing the novels from other regional languages into Kannada is laudable, much more care is necessary in selection and editing.

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