AN OLD REFRAIN FOR A NEW YUGADI - SUBRAYA CHOKKADY's ಹೊಸ ಯುಗಾದಿಗೆ ಹಳೆಯ ಹಾಡು 'HOSA YUGADIGE HALEYA HADU'

Another Yugadi poem ... ಇನ್ನೊಂದು ಯುಗಾದಿ ಕವನ ...

 

My search for different ‘tones’ of Yugadi by Kannada poets led me to 4 poems by one of my favourite Kannada poets, Sri Subraya Chokkady ... this poem AN OLD REFRAIN FOR A NEW YUGADI is one of them ... 

 

This poem appears in Sri Subraya Chokkady’s 1983 collection ‘nimmavoo irabahudu’ ನಿಮ್ಮವೂ ಇರಬಹುದು.  There is a reference to Kalayukti, which is the name of the ‘year’ or ‘samvatsara’ that began on Yugadi day in 1978.  So, I guess, this poem was written and published in 1978 and later included in the 1983 collection.  I was intrigued by ‘Kalayukti,’ which I am sure the poet did not include just to indicate the name of the new ‘samvatsara’ ... I played around with the word ... kalayukti, separated as ‘kala’ ಕಾಲ and ‘yukti’ ಯುಕ್ತಿ could resonate differently as ಕಾಲದ ಯುಕ್ತಿ ... a sort of hidden force, given the context of the poem ... I am not sure though ...

 

People of my ‘vint’age might also recognise the old and inexpensive ‘Greetings Telegram’ in this poem that was popular in those days ... 

 

 

Kannada original: ಹೊಸ ಯುಗಾದಿಗೆ ಹಳೆಯ ಹಾಡು 

HOSA YUGADIGE HALEYA HADU

Poet: SUBRAYA CHOKKADY ಸುಬ್ರಾಯ ಚೊಕ್ಕಾಡಿ

Translated into English by S. Jayasrinivasa Rao

 

AN OLD REFRAIN FOR A NEW YUGADI

 

Yugadi comes every year without fail

Carrying its unwelcome bag of hopes 

and disappointments.

We remain the same old people 

of yesterday and the day before. 

We welcome it wearing new guises.  

 

What’s the costume for today?  

‘Full-suit’ or shirt and panche or

saffron robe or hippie costume?

We are a brave and hospitable people 

ever ready to alter our appearances 

to suit our guests. 

 

Days before Yugadi’s arrival, on every tree 

the same shoots, the same seasonal cycles 

begin for flowers and fruit. 

We are the same old people 

who smack our lips while searching 

for something new in the retelling of old tales.  

 

Ultimately, we too need the garb of newness, 

a new slogan.

We need a poster every day for our achievements.

We need the magic of praise around us and

a clique that makes us believe that 

the newcomers are our benefactors.

 

We who don’t see the line between 

hope and hopelessness,

We make a syrup of jaggery and neem.

We lick away all the jaggery, and 

distribute neem everywhere and 

thus continue to ply our old trade.

 

We don’t need to search far to send greetings – 

the post office is close by.

Readymade lines are available.

We identify the number, pay the money, 

and sing a happy song for all.

Then we return to the same old new day.

 

Lamps are unlit, the landlord is not at home.

No harvest tributes too.  Anxiety even if received.

The credit-slip from the cloth merchant 

has reached the doorstep.

The tailor makes a face at old clothes.

 

The same board at the grocer’s, same faces, 

the same girl at the street corner.

The unlettered band of boot-polish boys, 

skin and bones and breaths squeezed,

whose homes are slums.

 

Is this painful, friends? 

Close your eyes for a while, 

while we will sing a song 

welcoming the new Yugadi.

using lovely words chosen from dictionaries 

mixing them with cuckoo’s sweet cooings

and mango shoots.

 

Consider this as jaggery. 

You already have neem with you. 

We are second to none

in singing praises when 

Kalayukti, hidden everywhere, appears – 

this moment is witness.

 

*****