When our hut burnt down
we felt as sad as if someone had died in our home,
So many memories dissolved in the fire!
It was in that hut that I had saved 25 paisa coins in the match box
to pay for tomorrow's dreams,
It was in that hut
that I had played with the flute bought in the Jatara,
It was in that hut
that my printed shirt, which I used to wear
only for festivals, burnt down
my wooden bull is still playing
in my heart.
When the hut burned down my Avva*
felt as sad as if her stomach was on fire,
her tree-sized son had dissolved in the trees,
because she couldn't blame the living
she remembered the dead and wept.
My father felt as sad as if a wolf had snatched a lamb,
As pained as finding an unknown corpse in the hills,
Everything burnt down when our hut burnt down!
The match box in which I hid coins,
The flute bought in the Jatara,
The printed shirt worn only on festivals,
The toy bull I played with:
All these burnt down
and are still chasing me;
I who have saved only pen and paper,
what should become of me now?
I will keep writing lessons
for those who light chuttas**
when huts burn down.
My translation of Taidala Anjaiah's Telugu poem 'maa guDise' (from his collection of poetry 'punaasa').
* avva: grandmother.
* chutta: pronounced cuTTa. cheroot or coarsely prepared cigar.
Tags: Taidala Anjaiah
Thanks for the translation, Naren. This poem is poignant.
thank you.