Charkha mera rangrra rang laal

My colourful spinning wheel I painted red
Bigger grew the wheel, greater the weave
Twelve years passed
For the sake of my Sain these eyes weep
and weeping worsens my state
Bigger the wheel, wider the spins
They all came to get their hair done
No one came to share my sorrows
No one willing to go along
A calf ate up the cotton ball
All my neighbours raised a ruckus
What did I do wrong? They all went after me
Bigger the wheel, heavier the basket my parents placed
on my head. Says Hussein, the fakir of the Sain,
take good care of what you carry



Variation

Pretty red I painted my loom, my plaything
Happily I reached my pubescence
Now I weep, and weeping
worsens my sorry state
Pretty spins my wheel, attracts
weavers far and wide. No one asks
why you weep. No one offers
to take me yonder
The handsome weavers
whet my lust, provoke
the complaints of neighbours
What did I do to madden
the whole damn neighbourhood?
O my mother, O my father
why did you teach me to spin
yarns that dazzle and condemn?
Says Hussein, the Sain's fakir,
you better take care of
your wheel

Naveen Alam
Verses of a Lowly Fakir - Madho Lal Hussein