मेघदूत: "नीचैर्गच्छत्युपरि दशा चक्रनेमिक्रमेण"

समर्थ शिष्या अक्का : "स्वामीच्या कृपाप्रसादे हे सर्व नश्वर आहे असे समजले. पण या नश्वरात तमाशा बहुत आहे."

G C Lichtenberg: “It is as if our languages were confounded: when we want a thought, they bring us a word; when we ask for a word, they give us a dash; and when we expect a dash, there comes a piece of bawdy.”

C. P. Cavafy: "I’d rather look at things than speak about them."

Martin Amis: “Gogol is funny, Tolstoy in his merciless clarity is funny, and Dostoyevsky, funnily enough, is very funny indeed; moreover, the final generation of Russian literature, before it was destroyed by Lenin and Stalin, remained emphatically comic — Bunin, Bely, Bulgakov, Zamyatin. The novel is comic because life is comic (until the inevitable tragedy of the fifth act);...”

सदानंद रेगे: "... पण तुकारामाची गाथा ज्या धुंदीनं आजपर्यंत वाचली जात होती ती धुंदी माझ्याकडे नाहीय. ती मला येऊच शकत नाही याचं कारण स्वभावतःच मी नास्तिक आहे."

".. त्यामुळं आपण त्या दारिद्र्याच्या अनुभवापलीकडे जाऊच शकत नाही. तुम्ही जर अलीकडची सगळी पुस्तके पाहिलीत...तर त्यांच्यामध्ये त्याच्याखेरीज दुसरं काही नाहीच आहे. म्हणजे माणसांच्या नात्यानात्यांतील जी सूक्ष्मता आहे ती क्वचित चितारलेली तुम्हाला दिसेल. कारण हा जो अनुभव आहे... आपले जे अनुभव आहेत ते ढोबळ प्रकारचे आहेत....."

Kenneth Goldsmith: "In 1969 the conceptual artist Douglas Huebler wrote, “The world is full of objects, more or less interesting; I do not wish to add any more.”1 I’ve come to embrace Huebler’s ideas, though it might be retooled as “The world is full of texts, more or less interesting; I do not wish to add any more.” It seems an appropriate response to a new condition in writing today: faced with an unprecedented amount of available text, the problem is not needing to write more of it; instead, we must learn to negotiate the vast quantity that exists. How I make my way through this thicket of information—how I manage it, how I parse it, how I organize and distribute it—is what distinguishes my writing from yours."

Tom Wolfe: "The first line of the doctors’ Hippocratic oath is ‘First, do no harm.’ And I think for the writers it would be: ‘First, entertain.’"

विलास सारंग: "… . . 1000 नंतर ज्या प्रकारची संस्कृती रुढ झाली , त्यामध्ये साधारणत्व विश्वात्मकता हे गुण प्राय: लुप्त झाले...आपली संस्कृती अकाली विश्वात्मक साधारणतेला मुकली आहे."

Monday, May 23, 2022

Pasttime or Food?


Miguel de Montaigne:

“When I play with my cat, who knows whether she is not making me her pastime more than I make her mine?"

[Montaigne. 1592. In Defense of Raymond Sebond. Chapter II, Section 3, Man's superiority over the animals a delusion based on pride.]

Artist: Carolita Johnson, The New Yorker, September 2018

Friday, May 20, 2022

The Last Sunset



This is how H G Wells describes 'the end' in his ‘The Time Machine’:

“The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow in freshening gusts from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air increased in number. From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond these lifeless sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey the stillness of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives—all that was over. As the darkness thickened, the eddying flakes grew more abundant, dancing before my eyes; and the cold of the air more intense. At last, one by one, swiftly, one after the other, the white peaks of the distant hills vanished into blackness. The breeze rose to a moaning wind. I saw the black central shadow of the eclipse sweeping towards me. In another moment the pale stars alone were visible. All else was rayless obscurity. The sky was absolutely black.”

And just before that...

Artist: Harry Bliss, The New Yorker

Monday, May 16, 2022

If E.T. Came Earlier....


“You’re a demanding little chap. The nearest telephone is in the next century.”  

Artist: Tom Chitty, The New Yorker, December 2014

Saturday, May 07, 2022

आमच्या बोटांना पाकळ्यांचा रेशमी स्पर्श शिकवला...Remembering Durga Bhagwat, 20 Years After Her Death

आज मे ७ २०२२, दुर्गाबाईंना जाऊन २० वर्षे झाली

या एका परिच्छेदात कलावंत दूर्गाबाईंची सर्व शक्तीस्थळे दर्शनास येतात ...

एक स्त्री, एक naturalist , एक चौफेर वाचन असलेली ललित लेखक जिचे लेखन काव्याच्या सीमेवर लीलया जात असते , एक सौन्दर्यासक्त, एक मानवतावादी ....

दुर्गा भागवत:

"... गुलाबपुष्प काही भारतीय फूल नव्हे. आपले फूल कमळच. पण नूरजहाँच्या वेळेपासून गुलाब भारतात बहरला. तो होता लाल लाल वसंत गुलाब नि आपला नेहमीचा सुगंधाची बरसात करणारा लहान, देशी गुलाब. यानेच आपल्याला अत्तर दिले. गुलाबपाणी दिले, गुलकंद दिला. यानेच गरिबांची लहान लहान परसदारेही सुशोभित नि सुवासिक केली. यानेच आम्हाला लहानपणापासून आपल्याबरोबर बागडू दिले. आमच्या बोटांना पाकळ्यांचा रेशमी स्पर्श शिकवला. याच्या अर्धोन्मीलित कळीनेच हसू-रुसूच्या-प्रीतीच्या खेळाचे रहस्य वयात येणाच्या वेळी आम्हाला सुगंधाच्या भाषेत सांगितले. यानेच जीवनाची भंगुरता दाखवली नि अमर सुगंधाच्या आत्म्याची खूण पटवून दिली. वाळल्या तरी पाकळ्या सुगंधी. यानेच आमच्या केसांना शोभा दिली . गंध दिला. यानेच आम्हाला रंग पारखायला शिकवले. यानेच काट्यांचे भयानक अस्तित्व ठायी ठायी असते हे पटवून दिले...."

(पृष्ठ ४६-४७, 'भावसंचित', २०१५, संपादन : मीना वैशंपायन )


The Rose (undated) by Eugene de Blaas (Italian, 1843-1932)

Wednesday, May 04, 2022

हेअरपीन लावताना, वेणी घालताना, बुचडा बांधताना....Hair by Takeuchi Keishu, S S Hawaldar and Jillian Tamaki

Please refer to earlier post dated December 29 2017.

 

 Artists: Takeuchi Keishu - 1861-1942 , Jillian Tamaki,  S S Hawaldar

More on the picture on the extreme left: 
Title - Beauty and Hairpin
Description- A beauty is putting a "kanzashi" (hair pin) made of red coral on her hair. She is peeking out from a green bamboo shade. 

An Illustration for the novel, "Aki Donari", published in Bungei Kurabu magazine, Vol.19, No.12.

 

Sunday, May 01, 2022

लम्बकर्णगंधा, मत्स्यगंधा, वराहगंधा, कुकुटगंधा...कंपोस्टगंधा...Everyone had Pimples and Smelled of Compost

While reviewing Anthony Harvey's 'The Lion in Winter', 1968, Alex von Tunzelmann writes in her remarkable book 'Reel History: The World According to the Movies', 2015:

"...The Lion in Winter takes place at Chinon, a French residence of English king Henry II, over Christmas 1183. Henry’s heir, Henry the Young King, had died just months before. His wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was his prisoner. Relations with his three remaining sons, Richard the Lionheart, John and Geoffrey, were on a knife edge.

People: The events shown did not actually take place at Chinon over Christmas 1183. The film elides a meeting of Henry with his sons at Angers earlier that year, with a summit between him and Philip II of France at Gisors on 6 December. Still, the prickly family Christmas is an event with which many in the audience will identify, though most families only plot each other’s grisly demises as a whimsical fantasy. Not so the Plantagenets, who are ready and waiting with actual armies to take each other out if the division of the turkey (or the kingdom) goes the wrong way. Peter O’Toole gives the same performance as Henry II he gave in Becket, with the same delicious result. This time, though, an Eleanor of Aquitaine has been found to match him in the form of Katharine Hepburn. ‘I haven’t kept the great bitch in the keep for ten years out of passionate attachment,’ growls Henry. ‘I could peel you like a pear and God himself would call it justice!’ bellows Eleanor.
Romance: Henry has decided to marry his young mistress, Alys Capet, to his drippiest son, John. Petulantly, Alys objects: ‘I don’t like your Johnny. He’s got pimples and he smells of compost.’ Goodness, you couldn’t be that picky in the twelfth century. Everyone had pimples and smelled of compost...."



Peter O'Toole as King Henry II and Jane Merrow as Alais


 courtesy: AVCO Embassy Pictures

That was the reality of 12th century: Everyone had pimples and smelled of compost...

Sadly no history book, movie, play captures the smells....

George Orwell has said: "One of the essential experiences of war is never being able to escape from disgusting smells of human origin. Latrines are an overworked subject in war literature, and I would not mention them if it were not that the latrine in our barracks did its necessary bit towards puncturing my own illusions about the Spanish civil war."

No literature in Marathi on Panipat, 1761 quite captures the smells that must have prevailed when Marathas were caught in a siege for weeks before the famed battle that broke out on January 14 1761. 

For some one like me, with ultra sensitive sense of smell,  it would have been hell, probably enough to kill me much before the battle!

On this blog, I have written lovingly about the days we spent at Kolhapur during our childhood. What I never mentioned while writing that was the smell of night soil that prevailed around our aunt's house where we stayed. Manual scavenging was still practised. The bucket of the bucket-toilet that was used by almost half a dozen families was located just a couple of meters away from the entrance of my aunt's house!