The Saloon (Madhushala) [1-10]

Today I am starting an ambitious project; to translate Madhushala in English for the benefit of those whose first language is not Hindi. You can read the original poem in Hindi here.  

Madhushala has always fascinated me and this is my way of paying homage to Late Shri Harivansh Rai Bachchan.  

What follows are the first 10 quatrains. Do let me know how they work and if you'll like me to translate more?  

Madhushala 

Tender feelings processed, the molasses I convert into wine,

The first offering is reserved for you, the world can then feast fine,

I’ll make you drink the sweetness, from my own cup and spoon,

It welcomes first and foremost you, my darling, my saloon. [1]

 

I’ll churn the world upside down, to quench your thirst, my love,

Dance on one foot to woo your eyes, in your hand the glass shove,

I’ve showered you with life’s sweetness, from earth till the moon,

Today I’ll empty the barrels on you, of the world’s saloon. [2]

 

Darling, you’re but my wine, I am your pining glass,

You fill yourself in me, and claim, to be the drinking class,

I let you spill and slip and spill, you get intoxicated and swoon,

Today we are entangled such, we are each other’s saloon [3]

 

From the grapevine of sensitivity, I’ve plucked imagination’s wine,

Like the courtier, I pour into the poem’s cup; I am the poet divine.

Even if millions drink from this fountain, it’ll never get dry so soon,

All you readers are my drunkard lot, and the book is my saloon [4].

 

Daily I brew from tender feelings, the wine that is but sweet,

I fill my thirsty inner cup, and let the wine my emptiness meet,

Lifting with hands of imagination, I drink myself and croon,

I am but in myself bartender, the drunkard and saloon. [5]

 

The drunkard ventures forth from home, in the search of a bar,

Which way to go the fool is perplexed, the distance looks far.

There are many paths to take you there, but I tell this to any buffoon,

Just stick to one path and it will take, you to the destination saloon. [6]

 

Much of the life is alas spent, in traveling far and wide,

It’s still further down, the traveler says, the real distance they hide.

I don’t have strength to carry on, nor want to turn back too soon,

Leaving me transfixed and flabbergasted, makes fun from far the saloon. [7]

 

Just keep the chant on your lips, about wine and intoxicating rum,

Imagine in your hands the tempting cup, in which the wine will come.

Meditate in your mind on the beautiful nymph, who’ll pour to you soon,

Keep trotting my dear fellow traveler, you’ll find distance bridged to the saloon. [8]

 

When the desire for the wine itself, becomes the drunkenness,

When your imagination gives form, to the bartender who will caress,

When the pining of the lips, is by itself the cup and spoon,

Then let the nymph and wine and cup be damned, you’ve got your saloon [9]

 

Listen intently, for in rhythmic beats, the wine falls in the cup,

Listen and you’ll make out, the bartender walking and trotting her stuff.

It’s not too far now, just take four steps and you’ll reach there soon,

Just listening, people are getting excited, and bursting at seams is my saloon [10]

 

Constant Striving

Constantly searching for jobs, life is a living hell,

When will I get employed again, no one can tell.

I make good use of the time, write a poem a day,

No better heaven for me, if I may dare to so say.

 

I used to work in IT, heaven on earth,

Making meaningful products, of money no dearth.

The mind plays its tricks, first psychology, now poetry,

Felt like burning in hell, desperately pining to be free.

 

I've arrived at several places, the destination still eludes,

Life always keeps evolving, the current state a mere prelude.

I am eternally caught between, heaven and hell,

They are not merely out there, they are in my mind as well.

 

You can keep your heaven and hell, I'm content with my piece of earth,

Let me live a humdrum existence, sans the drama of constantly giving myself birth.

 

PS: This was first published on Medium here.  

Claiming a Full House

Success is desiring, and getting what you want,

It's writing your life story, in a bold and dynamic font. 

The constant striving, keeps you miserable and driven,

You have to actively stake your claim, it can't be just given.

 

Happiness is liking, and wanting what you get,

If it's lemons, you make lemonade, you don't cry or fret.

The constant adjustment, makes you complacent and dull,

With no unfulfilled desires, what's the point of living, you mull. 

 

The more you strive for success, the more empty you feel,

The more you pine for happiness, the more with ennui you deal.

The wise men say, it's best, to be equanimous and a Karm Yogi,

I think I've fulfilled the requirement, only to be called out a bogey.

 

Striving to be equanimous, adjusting to whatever hand I'm dealt,

I still feel hollow in my quest, and bored is all I've recently felt. 

Party Dynamics

Whenever a B'day party becomes due, scheduling it becomes a task,

You have to be careful of the Naaraz Foofas, lest someone you forgot to ask.

To ensure that everyone's voice is heard, we typically run a poll,

- That most people join and increase the bill - is our mutual unsaid goal.

 

Ram has a fast on Saturdays, Shyam on weekday works till late night,

So the Friday evening doesn't work out, nor any weekday festivity seems right.

Sunday brunch is ruled out, it's more drinks than food we covet,

Sunday evenings are challenging, Mohan has a recurring family date.

 

The above are general factors, there are seasonal reasons too,

That Navratra and pitrupaksh are dry days- who fathomed, who knew.

Some like me are always available, we click all options in the poll,

Till the time the party is finalized, our gustatory health takes a toll.   

 

In the end we always converge, although someone or other we miss,

On the rare occasion when all can make it, the party is pure bliss. 

The Door Not Taken

Some doors we choose, some doors choose us,

To leave the old baggage behind, is normally a big plus.

We can start afresh, breathe in our lives a new hope,

The only question remains, how with regret we cope.

 

For each door entered, means we left one behind,

To succeed we became ruthless, maybe stopped being kind.

The doors open both-ways, we can surely our steps retrace,

But the earlier version of ourselves, can we now truly face?

 

Sometimes we stand in the hallway, confused which door to choose,

A crowd eventually pushes us through, and our agency we lose.

It's better to have chosen and lost, than to let doors slam in our face,

We can be grateful for the door chosen, reminisce about what we left with grace.

 

Walking one door, inevitably means, surrendering our right to another,

Let's not glamorize the door not taken, it too has mortgages and bills, brother.

The Upside

In the stock market invest, what you can comfortably lose,

Trade in futures or options, or buy penny stocks, if you choose.

The upside should be enormous, the downside within limit,

You shouldn't have to play again, if even once the reward you hit.

 

When you write a poem daily, you only waste an hour,

It hardly matters if it's not viral, and doesn't travel far.

But imagine you spent a month, refining and polishing a draft,

When it doesn't resonate, the blow is hard, to your ego, to your craft.

 

If you're bootstrapping a startup, never put in that basket all eggs,

When you become the 9 in 10 statistic, can you snap back, the question begs.

Fail early, fail fast, don't burn too much, is the mantra my dear,

The path to a unicorn is via phoenixes, that much is now clear.

  

I like to keep the costs low, you can call me risk averse,

A masterpiece may still emerge, from my daily outpouring of verse.

12.5

Our federation consists of buildings, 13 to be precise,

We split our expenses by 12.5, in an attempt to be just and nice.

The flats in one of the buildings, are half as much as others,

It's only logical to bill them half, that's basic mathematics, brothers.

 

Within a building the logic falls short, the maintenance is flat,

Whether you live in a 2.5 or 3 BHK, you have to pay per the same diktat.

Some owners insist the maintenance bill, should be as per square foot,

Others who live on lower floors, to them lift replacement a point moot.

 

Each building has 3 EC members, which constitute the federation in form,

There are 39 members in total, but people have started clamoring for reform.

If 12.5 are the expenses, the 'half building' should have half reps,

How to divide a person in half, I'm slightly out of my depth.

 

12.5 or 13, I'm proud we live as one,

Supporting each other during trying times, hell may come.