Zapisi sa Svačke: Sulagna Mukhopadhyay

Hvala - hvala nije dovoljno da izrazim svoju sreću.

I’ve tried—really tried—and after three weeks, with a lot of help from Google Translate, I’ve picked up only a little Croatian. The days flew by like a dream.

Before coming to Europe this time, I was nervous. If the war was still ongoing, I feared my dream would slip away again.

I landed in Frankfurt on June 28, 2025, and spent two days at my friend’s place in Heidelberg. Then I boarded a night train to Zagreb—something I’d always wanted to experience.

The journey was everything I imagined. The train cut through southern Germany, touched parts of Austria and Slovenia, and finally rolled into Zagreb.

Zagreb’s railway station struck me. Its architecture carried the weight of history. It reminded me of old wartime films—of families clutching each other on crowded platforms, waiting for a train… or a spy quietly trying to cross borders. The structure felt cinematic. Timeless.

This entire residency wouldn’t have been possible without my Croatian friend Slavica Klimkowsky—an author and translator living in Berlin. She introduced me to a well-researched German text on Lea Deutsch by Martina Bitunjac, and that set everything in motion.

Two years ago, I began translating it into Bengali, the official language of West Bengal in India. When my publisher, Rritobak, was unsure about how to secure funding, Slavica once again stepped in—this time connecting me with Mihaela Majcen Marinić from the Croatian Ministry of Culture. Thanks to that link, the book finally took shape.

My interest in Croatia, especially its history during the Nazi era, had grown over time, and I felt a strong urge to explore this part of the world. I applied to Društvo hrvatskih književnih prevodilaca (Croatian Literary Translators’ Association), commonly known as DHKP, and was thrilled when my application was accepted!

Upon arrival, I was warmly welcomed by Vlatka, a French-Croatian translator whose kindness and attentiveness made every guest feel at home. Alongside her, our dear Erika was always there to help me navigate through any confusion I faced.

One of the most comforting aspects of being here is that most people speak English, which makes communication much easier and adds to the overall welcoming atmosphere.

I came here not only to learn more about the culture, but also to visit Lea Deutsch’s house on Gundulićeva Street 29 and the famous Croatian National Theatre, where Lea had once danced, acted, and sung in many operas. Her story deeply moved me, and I wanted to walk the same streets she once did.

On top of that, Mihaela suggested a few books for translation, and I chose Zagreb Noir. After reading a few stories, I felt that exploring the city first hand would add a deeper layer of understanding—an experience that would enrich the translation process.

Sulagna i Antonela

As translators, it's vital to use our language not just as a tool, but as a vehicle—to carry the essence of one culture into another, allowing voices, histories, and emotions to resonate across borders.

Translating the German novel Tauben fliegen auf (Pigeons Fly) by Melinda Nadj Abonji has been a journey both literary and personal. The novel’s emotional terrain spans Vojvodina and the Yugoslav Wars that erupted in 1991, touching deeply on the complex histories and the lived experiences of the ethnic groups in the Balkan region. Being here, in this land still echoing with memories of those times, has added profound depth to my understanding of the text.

I have listened to people speak of the war and its shadows—stories that will help shape my Bengali translation’s foreword with greater authenticity and empathy. Meeting Sanja Klisurić, Mihaela, Antonela Marušić (a remarkable author), Ivan Sršen (writer and publisher of Zagreb Noir in Croatian), and Seid Serdarević of Fraktura publishing has been an unforgettable experience. Their warmth, insight, and literary dedication have left an enduring imprint on me.

I walked the streets of Zagreb, sipped coffee in its bustling centre, dined at Pithos, wandered through its ancient marketplace, where the farmers come with their fresh products, visited its museums, and stood silently before the frescoes in its churches. Each step felt like a conversation with the city.

Tomorrow, Monday, I leave for Ljubljana. But I cannot—and do not want to—say goodbye. I long to return, to immerse myself once again in the stories I carry back with me. There is much more waiting here to be read, translated, and shared.

Sulagna Mukhopadhyay

Translator from Kolkata, West Bengal, India