What An Ideal Groom – A Translation of Sukumar Ray’s Satpatro
Explore the wit and brilliance of Sukumar Ray through this English translation of Satpatro. Experience his unique blend of humour, satire, and wordplay, making his timeless literary works accessible to a broader audience.
That day, as I sat flipping through the pages of Sukumar Ray’s exceptional literary works once again, I found myself completely engrossed in his brilliant wit and mastery of language. His unique style, infused with humour, satire, and wordplay, has always fascinated me. As I delved deeper into his works in Abol Tabol like Satpatro, Khai Khai and an irresistible urge took hold of me—the desire to translate some of his works and make them accessible to a wider audience.
I had previously shared a translation of Ekushe Ain, a piece that continues to amuse and intrigue readers with its delightful absurdity. Today, I am excited to present yet another fascinating work from his repertoire—Satpatro. This piece, much like his other works, carries Ray’s signature charm, playfulness, and keen social observation.
I would also like to thank Somashis Gupta for his help in reframing some parts of this poem. I hope you enjoy this translation as much as I enjoyed working on it, and that it brings you the same sense of joy and admiration for Sukumar Ray’s literary genius that I have always cherished. Happy reading!
What An Ideal Groom!
I heard the news just yesterday,
At Posta’s bustling old café,
Your daughter’s wedding’s on the way—
A match, you say? Well, who’s the prey?
Ah, Gangaram! A noble lad,
Not too bright, but not too bad.
His skin, you ask? A shade of night,
And eyes like owls—what a sight!
His schooling? Oh, a tale so grand,
Nineteen tries—yet still unplanned!
With courage fierce, he fought, he tried,
And after all, he still complied.
His pockets? Oh, they echo deep,
A fortune lost in dreams and sleep.
His brothers, well, a curious lot—
One’s insane, the next is not.
Another forged some notes, you see,
Now counts his years in custody.
The youngest taps a tabla’s beat,
Five rupees he earns while playing on the street.
And Gangaram? A frail young soul,
Sickly, weak, yet blue of blood.
“Raja Kansa’s kin!” they say—
Royalty in a roundabout way.
And if you know big Shyam Lahiri,
From Banagram’s old grand dairy,
They’re kin—though how, I can’t quite tell,
But doesn’t that sound just swell?
So raise a glass and sing a tune,
Not too bad a groom, I swoon!
What say you—do share your view,
A finer match? Well, just a few!
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