Premchand and (im)Patience

I had my worst fear realised a few days back when, while flipping through channels, I saw the sitcom I revere the most, on SAB TV and dubbed in Hindi. OK, I exaggerate to a little, but can you imagine my anguish on watching Scrubs, yes the one & only Scrubs, in Hindi? Dr. Cox instead of saying Britney or Jessica or Ashlee says Champa, Chameli or Basanti(very relieved none sounded like Swarnachampa, Rajnigandha or something), the classic JD lost-in-thought voice sounds like a teenage boy's who hasn't developed his Adam's apple and the dirty talk just sounds gross. Don't get me wrong, I'm not that americanised yet, though the only shows on TV I swear by are western. (sheer coincidence I tell you) But give me a break, Scrubs in Hindi is a classic case of lost in translation!

That does make me wonder if I will do any justice when I read Premchand's Godan in English. I create an uproar (hey, it's me all alone in a 5-star hotel room, there are only so many ways to entertain yourself!) when a lousy American sitcom (face it, the seasons in between - what were the writers thinking!) is dubbed in Hindi and beamed to an unknowing audience in the most populous country in the world. So many people will not catch the subtle humour is a concern, that they will never hear John Mcginley's real voice and all its glorious variations is another, that they will never experience the complete depth of JD's wanderings is a third and they will most certainly never notice nor appreciate the literary device used so successfully only after Mrs D is the fourth and most horrific (The Hours should count but I want to drive home a point, so The Hours is discounted for being inspired and so closely related to Mrs D) Having said all that, will I completely and totally grasp any of the poetic beauty and the anguish when I read Godan? Maybe I will, but will I experience it in the same vast proportions that I was supposed to, had I read it in Hindi?

I'm an impatient reader. I can't wait till the end of the book. Back when I used to read Nancy Drew's and Hardy Boys', I used to sneak a peek at the ending. Not very sporting of me, was it? (A note here, those ignorant boors who say sporty, you mean sporting. Sporty is used to describe apparel, not people or their attitude. I can go on about how jovial is not the same as jocular but if you were an ignorant boor, you wouldn't be here taking English lessons, would you?)Nancy Drew put an end to the peeping by terming it boring. Instead, I learned to solve the cases with her and many other detectives in turn till I found Herriot and Coelho and Narayan to name a few. This annoying habit of mine ruined practically every Christie novel I've read(I was introduced to her rather late, unfortunately) and quite a few others. Anyway, back from the detour, this impatience doesn't allow me to read something which I can't race through. Hindi and Marathi (those being the only 2 languages which I understand enough to read them) don't permit this pace and this is my convenient excuse to not read any literature written in them. Though given a choice, I would read Premchand and Manoo Bhandari in Hindi and Vijay Tendulkar and the book, "Me Majha" in Marathi. Maybe this can go down in my list for when I'm 50. After all, people do turn to reading only then, though it's mostly religious reading. Who knows, maybe Vijay Tendulkar or Premchand could be my new found God and regional literature my new found religion.

Speaking of religion, someone told my ma that it'd benefit me greatly if I read this particular religious extract daily. It doesn't take more than 5 minutes to read but it is in Marathi. And the first time I read it, I couldn't wait to find out what happens to the demon and the Goddess in the end that I zipped through it without much faith in my words I'm afraid. And the story captivates me so much that this is the case every time. It's like listening to the story of the shikari who observed Shivratri without knowing that he had - you can listen to it an infinite number of times and each time though you don't want your ma to miss out the tiny details you know by heart, you still want her to get to the end quickly. Dilemma, dilemma.

This inability to read at my pace (which is quite a pace, believe you me) in my native tongues does leave me disgruntled. I shelved my plans to read grand plays and novels and poetry from the West to discover Narayan (thank God he wrote in English!) and since this discovery has made it to my top 10 for 2008, I wonder what lies in wait for me when I read Premchand and Tendulkar and maybe Tagore (though I'm yet to feel anything other than apathy for Bongs) Will they thrill me and disappoint me and anger me and disillusion me in the same way as Narayan? Or will it be bigger? Will I miss out on all this when I read Premchand in English? Oh, Premchand Sir, please don't frown upon me, I vow to read the original sometime, dictionary in hand if need be. (mental note to self: add this to things to do before you die)

On that note, I started "The English Teacher" by Narayan today. I must admit, Malgudi feels as much as home as Mumbai or Bangalore or Chennai and going back there couldn't have come at a better time. What's that, you disagree? You've obviously never stayed in Mumbai in October, have you?