beyond the letters

-

2012-01-02T19:29:00.000+05:30

yellowish sunlight clicked in the window-glass

the vapours coming from the hot tea

made the eyes brownish

past

2010-12-22T14:47:00.002+05:30

We can not change
the past
nor can we bring it back

It's gone,
lost

So, emerges
the nostalgia
from the void of memories

Probably to bring back
the past
lost
in the melancholic eternity

The building- 1

2010-02-28T18:16:00.002+05:30

For Ranade Institute

It's more confusing to think about the confusing emotions that the building brings into the mind.

It makes you nostalgic.

This particular nostalgia makes you sentimental.

Why does it make you sentimental?

Probably, its stone walls have some haunting feature.

Or may be, the thought of the hands that have touched the walls over the years brings in the sentimental touch.

Or may be, the thought that you could never touch the hands that you saw touching the walls makes the whole thing sentimental.

Somebody may laugh over the sentimentalism of the thought, but that is what the building does to you. You can't stop it.

"Sorry, My Lord, but I can't stop it."

Sadanand Rege and Kafka

2010-02-11T18:40:00.008+05:30

When did Sadanand Rege meet Franz Kafka?
Sadanand rege was born on 23 June 1923 and Franz Kafka died on 3 June 1924.
There is no source of knowing the exact date and day of their meeting.
Only record of their meeting is Sadanand Rege's poem, titled 'Franz Kafka'.
I couldn't find the English translation of the poem and couldn't translate it myself.
Sadanand Rege was one of the unsung voices from Marathi literature.

To get rid of the bed bugs in the mattress, Rege was laying it in the sun. The heat made the insects run for life. But still, some of them lost their lives after mistakingly getting crushed under Rege's foot. He prayed to God for dead souls of the bugs. May be one of them is a Franz Kafka, Rege thought.

Below is the Marathi text of Sadanand Rege's poem:

फ्रान्झ काफ्का

म्हटलं

आज गादीला जरा

ऊन खाऊ दे.

गच्चीवर टाकली न टाकली तो

पसाभर ढेकूण

जीव घेऊन

सैरावैरा ढुंगणाला पाय

लावून धूम पळत सुटलेले.

तरी तीनचार पायाखाली आलेच.

त्यांच्या कुळथीच्या रंगाचे

रक्ताळ धूमकेतू

जमिनीवर गोंदणासारखे

उतरत्या सूर्याला साक्षी

ठेवून मी स्वत:शीच पुटपुटलो,

देवा, त्यांच्या आत्म्यांना शांती दे
त्यातला चुकून एखादा असायचा फ्रान्झ काफ्का!
____

Photograph Courtesy: Internet (Cover page of 'The Metamorphosis')
____
Another poem of Sadanand Rege translated by Dilip Purushottam Chitre- Horses
_____

Kafka- 3

2009-11-27T14:13:00.002+05:30

For Kafka, words were like a window. Window to allow fresh light and air into his darkened room. Window to peep into the world. Window to observe what the world is doing. Window as a solace in the chaotic world. Window to look at the complexities of the moving world. Window to stop by and think.

Reading Kafka gives you the pleasure of sitting by the window in solitude to observe the crowd outside.

Reading Kafka is like sitting by the window in twilight with a strange, serene, faint yellowish melancholy around.

Kafka- 2

2009-11-18T22:19:00.007+05:30

Generalised statements should be avoided while talking about Kafka.

Kafka is a puzzle, which can be solved in infinite number of ways. But, probably no way leads to the ultimate solution. No way can claim that, it is the only right way. There is nothing right or wrong in Kafka. Kafka is The Truth. This Truth is the beauty of Kafka's literature.

Truth is difficult to accept. Truth is difficult to face. Truth is difficult to move forward with. Truth is sometimes horrifying. And when hypocrisy is the only thing roaming around, in the market of the world, Truth is the most neglected thing. But still, Truth remains, so remains Kafka and his literature.

Somebody may question, "Why truth is so difficult?"

It is difficult to answer, because the question per se is a Truth.
In the same way, somebody may question, "Why Kafka is so difficult?"

Barrister Aniruddha Dhopeshwarkar

2009-10-02T19:33:00.018+05:30

One of the Bhau Padhye's masterpieces, 'Barrister Aniruddha Dhopeshwarkar' (In Marathi: बॅरिस्टर अनिरुद्ध धोपेश्वरकर) talks about the life of a barrister residing in Mumbai who leaves his failed career to do NOTHING. Bhau Padhye describes the 'lifelessness' that the protaganist of the story finds in his metropolitan life. Barrister Aniruddha Dhopeshwarkar, bored with his married life, irritated by the hypocritical attitudes of the people around, is haunted with the question- 'Why do I exist?'. Bhau Padhye, the master when it comes to describing metropolitan life, was one of the few Marathi writers who wrote about contemporary issues without running away from the reality.

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Picture: Front cover of 'Barrister Aniruddha Dhopeshwarkar', published by Popular Prakashan, Mumbai.

For an article about Bhau Padhye's literature and translations of few of his writings, visit following link-
Bhau Padhye- the unsung 'voice' of Mumbai (by Jayant Deshpande)

A paper, A pen, Words and Zero

2009-09-27T13:33:00.010+05:30

There is a paper... There is a pen... There are words... and there is Zero who wants to write.
But, why does Zero write,
when Zero can not use the words he wants to use,
when nobody wants to read what Zero writes,
when Zero's language is used to spread hypocricy,
when Zero can not stop hypocrites from killing his language.
Why does Zero write?
Probably, he knows he is a zero,
So, he writes on the paper with the pen in the words that come to his mind.

Bhau Padhye- 1

2009-09-15T16:41:00.012+05:30

Bhau Padhye does not deserve such a brief note. But what else can a creature like me do than to write a small blog-post about this great Marathi writer of 20th century.
Bhau Padhye captured the most possible subtle aspects of the vibrant life in Mumbai, giving every subtlety a fair chance to play its role. His fiction reflects Mumbai lamenting for its filthyness... Mumbai crying for help... Mumbai giggling in the chaos... Mumbai moving on varied layers.
Bhau Padhye's characters speak the language which they are comfortable with and not the language which will comfort the readers. His narrative style absorbs the language that conveys the meaning that he tries to convey through his characters.
Bhau Padhye's Mumbai symbolises life itself. His writings picture the reality of life giving every colour its deserving place.
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Bhau Padhye's Page on Wikipedia
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Picture: Front cover of the book 'Bhau Padhye Yaanchee Shreshth Kathaa', A collection of Bhau Padhye's stories, Edited by Dilip Purushottam Chitre, Published by Lokvaangmay Gruha, Mumbai.

Remains

2009-08-04T15:21:00.012+05:30

The rains come and go,
The drops remain

The moments come and go,
The memories remain

The trees come and go,
The woods remain

The beings come and go,
The life remains

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Shadow

2009-07-27T15:19:00.005+05:30

Does a shadow represent the reality?
Does a shadow convey the meaning of the reality?

Shadow reflects the reality.
Shadow is a stretched and manytimes, distorted meaning of the reality.

Between the dark shadow and bright light, there are different shades of black and white.

Clouds

2009-07-08T17:24:00.011+05:30

Clouds with uncountable drops inside

Mind with uncountable thoughts inside

A bird thinking of what for to fly

A mind thinking of what for to think

The Morning

2009-06-29T14:32:00.006+05:30

The Morning is a poem.

When you get the meaning, it opens a window to the new world.

A window that brings in new light.

Light that brings in new thoughts. . .

Light that travels eternally. . .

Rain

2009-06-23T17:01:00.005+05:30

Rain is a nostalgia.
Each drop of rain makes you travel through a different memory lane.
Lanes having walls on both sides.
Walls with bricks.
Bricks having shades of black and white.

(Rain is also a repetition, So this nostalgic and conceptual repetition of what was said in 'A Window'.)

Kafka- 1

2009-06-17T15:56:00.003+05:30

Kafka is a Thought.

Many times a thought comes in an absurd way.

Comprehension of the way a thought comes is sometimes a spur-of-the-moment click, but most of the times moments come and go but the thought keeps the distance and comprehension of the thought becomes a complex and long running process.

Understanding Kafka is also a continuous process.

He resides in the mind. His words haunt you.

Your sensibility does not let him go from your conscience.

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Franz Kafka's Letter to his father

A Swing

2009-06-03T13:29:00.001+05:30

A preschooler girl wearing the chequered school-uniform.
A uniform with checks like the iron rods of a cage.
A tree standing high in the wood.
A tree shading peace, serenity and liveliness.
A girl riding on a swing
. . . enjoying the freedom as she swings.

A Window

2009-05-29T17:42:00.002+05:30

A Window is to view the world which is outside the world that you create.
A Window is to experience the storming rain outside the storm inside your mind.
A Window is a nostalgia which helps you to travel through the lanes of memory.
Memories of different shades . . .
. . . Shades of black and white.

Letters, Meaning and Beyond

2009-05-28T20:26:00.001+05:30

Do letters satisfactorily convey the meaning that one tries to convey through them?
Are letters capable of conveying the (real) meaning?
What is the meaning of a meaning?
Is a meaning something which one tries to convey or is it something that the letters convey?
Does all this chaos of letters and meanings start the search for something beyond the letters?