Friday, July 07, 2006

तू मुझे कभी कुछ देती क्यों नहीं ?

कोई गाली
ज़ो तेरे दिल से निकली हो?
कोई शिकायत
कोई बेर
जो तूने खाकर जूठा किया हो
कभी ठूंसती क्यों नहीं
मेरे मुंह में?

चुप्पी सुनाती हैं मुझे
तेरी चूडीयां
खाली सी खनक
भरी रहती है
घर में मेरे !!

घर मेरा ही रख है तूने
“हमारा” बनाकर ,
जूठा नही किया कभी – क्यों ?

क्यों तेरे चेहेरे की लाली
अब भी कुंवारी लगती है?


Bad translation, but here goes:
Why don't you ever give me anything?
A swear word,
that you really mean.. ?
A complaint?
A fruit
eaten half by you, and the other half
kept for me?

I hear silence
in your bangles.
An empty noise
pervades my house.
This house, is mine yet
You have not
made it "ours" -
Why?

Why is the pink of your cheeks
So very .... virgin?

17 comments:

indscribe said...

Nice, seeing a kavita in Devanagari on the net. It's a great joy to see things like this happening. Keep it up!

Tell me no more of enchanted days said...

They always do. Not now, not in this life...but sometime, somewhere...always...the circle always meets itself..the mountain always meets the sea..somewhere...

How do we know said...

then why dont i meet the people I want to meet again!? :-)

Tell me no more of enchanted days said...

because maybe you are not ready to. the day u accept them as they are, not how they were supposed to be to you, you will meet them again and again...at traffic signals, in movie halls...in places where u never wanted to...
so, let them go away. when the time is right...they'll come... and then you would have moved on..

Chiya said...

Wish I could read this.
I still dont have Hindi font on my system.

Aradhna said...

This is good! but a little too difficult to understand.

BTW, How do YOU interpret it.

How do we know said...

Hi Indscribe: will do that!

Hi Chiya: For you, the thing in English will come up on this post in 15 minutes. :-) tell me what u think of the poem after that!

Hi Aradhna: I can only interpret it one way .. mine :-) and that way makes it a very direct and simple poem..

Z said...

A fine poem, you can feel the pain of both of them. Thank you for the translation.

I've just heard on the news about the railway explosions in Mumbai. My love and sympathy to India.

Anand said...

oh wow!!
Is this an original piece?
Why so sad?

Sayesha said...

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Good luck! :)

Chiya said...

Thanx a lot.

First thing I will like to know is that who wrote this poem, though my guess is Amrita Pritam but I am not sure.

Secondly, my take on this poem is too long to be written as a comment. I will write it as a post someday on my blog.

Third, May I know if you have read "Draupdi" by Pratibha Rai?

How do we know said...

Hi Z: Thank you! Really.. Thank you.. for thinking about people in a different continent.. people you will never know.. The good thing is that they managed to do much less damage than perhaps intended.. the whole thing makes me sick!

Hi Anand: :-) For what is original in the world!! Why so sad? Well, sometimes we do not experience. we just simulate an emotion in our heads and then write abt it.. This is one of those times.

hi Chiya: Only shows your level of involvement with this.. will wait for that post on ur blog.. just ping me when its there.

Re. ur first thing.. when i post somthing written by someone else, and its not a standard forward, I do mention the author, or the fact that I do not know the name of the author.. in this case, i got it out of my Diary..
And no, I have not read Darupadi.. please tell me more..

Tell me no more of enchanted days said...

yes..smarty pants..i know squirrels can't procreate by themselves. but if one can get in, so can the others. n fifa cld be already pregnant for all i know :/ hummph

Madhuri Shinde said...

The translation explains the gist in a better way than the original poem.

Hiren said...

Very cheeky indeed. Thanks for the translation.

How do we know said...

Hi tell me no more: Sure, suit yourself! :-)

Hi Madhuri: Thanks! :-)

Hi Hiren: ur first visit here.. Am glad! :-)

Twisted DNA said...

Thanks for the translation, I would've been lost otherwise.

The poem made me nostalgic. When my wife and I were newly married, when either of us got a cake in some company party, we used to save half of it and bring it home for the other. Not that we couldn't buy cake but it felt good to share something we both like so much.

I know, I know... I sound miserably sappy.. but it's the poems fault.