Translation: Eka by Lakkhichhara

I have written about this song before (in yet-to-be-published-if-ever vignettes), but now I am translating it to share with you. The guitar tells you everything you need to know though; the translation is simply a bonus.

Thanks to Rakesh S. Tova E., and Supriyo S. for insights :)

Lyrics and Translation:

একা - লক্ষীছাড়া

Eka - Lakkhichhara

Alone

Eka eka hoyto gopone

Chupishare boroi anmone

Shunyo haate bhari ondhokar

Alone; perhaps in secret

Noiselessly; indeed unconsciously

With empty hands full of darkness

Charidhare jhapsa mukh koto

Chena kichu ochena hoyto

Eki kotha bole barongbar

So many blurred faces surrounding

Some recognizable, perhaps some unknown

Repeating only one thing, over and over

Bujhina je tar maane

Raat jaane, 'raat jaane'

Kothay, kobe, konkhane? 

I don't know what it means

The night knows

Where, at what time, in what place?

Keno mishe jachche bortoman 

Neme ase somoyer shopan

Shob kichu lagche bemanan

Why is Now becoming dark

As it descends the steps of time

Nothing seems as if it fits

Deke othe raat-jaaga pakhi

Kome ase jiboner goti

E du'haate mukh dheke rakhi.....

The nocturnal bird calls out

As life's pace winds down

I cover my face with these two hands

Amar e dike cheye

E akashe utheche chand

Bonnay aalor bhengechhe baand

In this sky the rising moon shines upon me

And the flood of light breaks through

Chole jae majh raati re

Shanto nodir tire

Hajaro bochor aager 

Sriti ase phire

Midnight retreats to the bank of the peaceful river

Memories of the distant past return

It's as crazy as it's ever been, love's a stranger all around

I haven't posted in a long while, and that's because there has been so much to write about.

So much I don't feel qualified to write about.

Twenty-six people died at Sandy Hook Elementary School, twenty of them children, on December 14 of last year, bringing the total to 88 fewer people in this world because of some madman with a gun. The typical knee-jerk reactions of 'ban guns' and 'lock up the crazies' reverberated around the internets for some time, but then the NFL playoffs started and celebrities did stupid things and no one cared anymore. Simplistic and myopic solutions aren't anything you can rally around. I sit here wondering how I can advocate for better preventive mental health care in my community, but no one wants to talk about that.

A girl was brutally raped in New Delhi, and died days later in a Singapore hospital from her injuries. This news hit home pretty hard for me, as I frequented the same theater she had gone to, had difficulty getting rides back to the general area of town she lived in, and the place she and her friend were deposited after their torturous experience was on the road I traveled daily to go back and forth from work. My mind's eye cannot stop picturing that scene - two naked, bleeding bodies lying in the cold foggy night, perhaps in front of  the dentist's office, or the tire shop, shutters down. People all around saw and minded their own business. Civic sense did not exist. But it was still the straw that broke the camel's back; now people have started talking about rape in terms of power, in terms of drawing shame upon the rapist and not the victim; calls for changing the system from the ground up are being made -- but are they heeded? Outside the Internet, has anything really changed? Rapes are still happening. I suppose it is the trend we should be looking at. In five years, will women stop telling each other not to go out on the streets? Will the term 'pervert' have replaced 'eve-teaser' ? All we can do is just make tiny steps in the direction of justice.

It takes much more than talk, more than pontificating on the Internet, to change things. But talking - and listening - are still so very important. The words we use are important. Loner, loser, reject, crazy; slut, whore, dented and painted women - why do we say these things about others? Why do we say things and act in ways that push people to the margins? Are we simply trying to make ourselves look good in comparison, glad we are not 'one of those people' -- deep down, we know that there but for the grace of God we go. Marginalizing others leads to the disconnect, the lack of community that breeds a madman. Demonizing women for being women, upholding the virgin/whore dichotomy which relegates women to the status of baby factories and sex toys, leads to a culture where rape is normalized as a way for men to discredit other men and remind women of their place. Neither one is just.

The battle has raged for years in epistemological circles - does language influence culture, or is it simply the other way around? I do think that the influence does go both ways, and that as we change our language, we can start to move toward less inflammatory and more logical ways of dealing with others and moving toward a better joint future. This is not saying we should be ultra politically-correct all the time; just that the words and labels we use for others should give them respect instead of take it away.

It's not much in the face of these huge problems facing our societies today, but it is one place to start.

No explanation is necessary; here is mine

I woke up to a barrage of concerned emails today after I'd made the decision to shut my Facebook fan page and YouTube page down. Some of my friends were worried about me; others thought it was their fault.

The fact is, there's nothing to worry about. I just made a decision I'd been thinking about for months, even years now.  

I have sung Hindi songs for over eight years. I've performed all over the US, and some in India. I even got audiences with three music directors, but I never pursued those avenues further. I have sung for crowds as large as 10,000. I ended up being able to move to India because of it. I'm very appreciative of all those things.

But I have come to a realization over the past few years, and that is that I can never really succeed at it. And by "succeed," I mean "meet the standards I have set for myself."

My first show was October 30, 2004. That night, I had said to myself I did not want to be known as "that white girl who sings Hindi songs." I wanted to be known as someone who sang Hindi songs well. The first is easy to achieve. The second is much more difficult. I don't want to be a parrot who sings unknown words without understanding their meaning, good at imitating but no originality. It's been done. I don't want to be a pretty face, a gori who sings Hindi songs, Carefree White Girl jaunting off to India for "adventure" and singing for the novelty factor. It's also been done. 

I have, over many years, come to the understanding that I did not grow up with these sounds in my ears, do not have extensive Indian classical training or exposure, and so the beautiful songs of yesteryear are inaccessible to me; I cannot do them justice. I can only give a mere shadow of their subtle beauty.

And to tell the truth, the more Hindi I know, the less I like the modern songs. Turns of phrase that seemed romantic at one time (tere saath jiyoon, tere saath maroon) are so incredibly cliche, and some songs are just so stupid and immature (Mere jaise laakhon mile honge tujhko piya, mujhe to mila tu hi - seriously?). Not to mention Hinglish lyrics like "Zara zara touch me touch me touch me" which have absolutely no literary merit and don't do anything for the gori stereotype I constantly have to challenge. 

I've become quite disillusioned, to say the least. By the songs themselves, by the vocal brick walls I run into, by the fact that people are so okay with my doing this just because I'm white that I don't get any sort of constructive feedback but lots of empty praise, by the fact I have sung for eight years and I still cannot solve the vocal issues I started out with. 

I had been feeling this way for a long time, but finally realized I needed to make an actual decision about what to do with these feelings when a friend Liked one of my old videos on Facebook, which made it pop up in others' feeds, and suddenly I had 39 Likes and 38 comments in the span of a few hours. My reaction was not to be happy at all, but to cry all evening and wish it would just go away. I didn't want to be associated with that three-year-old video. It was Andrea -- nay, Adriana, the one-trick pony, the party novelty, the girl dragged, protesting, over to Vishal Dadlani at a club in Delhi and being commanded to sing on cue. The person who doesn't need to improve even over three years or eight years because HOW DIFFERENT, SHE SINGS HINDI SONGS.

Those are not the standards I set for myself. I didn't want to be appreciated for being different, or for 'just trying.' I wanted to be good at it, to sing what was really in my heart. But it's a far-off goal, unreachable as long as I cling to my quotidian life, which I have never been able to let go of, nor do I think I should. I can think of many more ways to spend my waking hours than to beat my tiny wings on this particular pane of glass. I know there's another direction I can go in. Spend more time at the gym. Cook good dinners. Translate some Bengali songs. Pick up the phone and call my friends. 

You want to hear a white girl singing Indian songs who is actually good? Listen to Nicki Wells. And then close your eyes and just listen and forget she's not Indian. Because you can. 

Now, I'm not quitting singing forever. I still take Rabindrasangeet lessons - that place I fled to when the Bollywood illusion proved itself to be so. But I do that for me, on my own terms. I'm not spreading myself too thin, trying to be everything to everyone; I am concentrating on one thing and doing it for my own love of it, not for others' admiration of me. 

I am thankful to all of those who supported me along the way and am glad for all the good things in my life that have come from singing. I know those friendships and those good things don't need the excuse of my singing to exist, and those are things I hope to keep forever.