What a birthday bash! A few days back, a 6th standard student, Tanmay Prashant Dhage from Aurangabad, celebrated his birthday not with his friends and classmates, but with a widow, who turned 100 on the same day and the inmates of a night shelter for women. The birthday boy Tanmay cut the cake in the Home , run by the Aurangabad Municipal Corporation at Chikalthana, before the inmates. He with his mother also distributed sweets, sarees and woolen garments.
It was no lavish party in terms of food and beverages, no disco or DJ, no sound, light or orchestra. It was more than that. Emotions ran high. There were showers of blessings and wishes straight from the hearts and the women were in tears while seeing off the boy and his mother.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
30 minutes with legendary Soumitra Chatterjee: My ultimate gain
He appears with an angelic glow on his face - as if from nowhere - for the interview in the conference hall of Neeri guest house. We (our galvanizing and motivating force, the 79-year-old young erudite Mr MYB, my colleague Nee and me) are ready to interview the towering personality of Bengali cinema Soumitra Chatterjee.
Time only 10 minutes. What to ask my icon from childhood? Which films gave you more pleasure? How did you feel while acting with Maha Nayak Uttam Kumar? Was there any competition between you? Nah! Not possible. Damn with those lifeless tasteless Qs. He is so an endearing personality, the hero of the masses, like one's next door neighbour, I threw the idea of asking all formal questions into the 'dustbin'.
He appears and I spring up from the sofa. "Aasun dada, ekhane bosun" (please sit here honourable elder brother), I urge him with excitement. "No, no", he says softly pointing to the air-conditioner with a little disdain. He takes a seat in another sofa avoiding direct cool air from the gadget. And my colleague Nee starts asking questions with true journalistic authority. But my mind drifts away and starts wandering somewhere in the autobiographical play, 'Tritiyo Onko, Otoeb…' (Third Act, Therefore…), enacted last night by this illustrious son of Bengal. It was the portrayal of his own life, played by three actors, Soumitrada himself, his daughter Poulami and Dwijen Banerjee.
And strangely enough, the man, who played a major role in sending the Bengali cinema to the highest absolutism, and who was bestowed with many foreign and national awards including the Dada Saheb Phalke, did not mention a single word (in the drama) of his glorious achievements. Perhaps, here lies the greatness of the man with grace and elegance in this world of self adulation. What the play projected was only the unknown side of Manikda's (Satyajit Ray) choicest hero - his childish acts in childhood, the infamous 1943 Bengal famine, struggle in the youth, a job in the All India Radio and in the Tritiyo Onko (Third Act), the deteriorating health and sufferings, augmented by medical persecution through continuous multiple painful tests on his body.
I am engrossed in the last night’s drama and say, “Dada, kalker oi dialogue ta, ‘Ektu fan debe maa….maa-go, ektu…’ bare bare aamar mathay aaghat hanchhe, sara raat ghumute parini”. (A dialogue, which describes the 1943 famine, in the drama delivered by his daughter was, “Mother, I beg a little rice starch to appease my burning stomach”. It is still resonating in my head and I could not sleep well last night for those heartrending words)). Dada’s face turns effulgent. He instantly snatches my words, and says, “Oke kintu keu bole dayni je kemon kore dialogue ta bolte hobe. O shudhu ghatanata shunechhe, aar dialogue ta nijer thekei bolechhe (Nobody told my daughter how to deliver the dialogue. She did not witness the state of affairs. She just heard it and did it on her own). Dada, who turned down many national awards for various reasons, feels happy, perhaps thinking that he could infuse the gravity of the situation in the minds of his audience. He goes emotional, strolls down the memory lane and presents a horrid narration of mass destruction where at least 50,000 people died in and around Kolkata. He does not forget to mention the names of some Marathi literary stalwarts who took down the 1943 catastrophe which influenced him to a great extent later.
"What's about present day rajniti (politics)"? I ask. The classic crusader of humanism heaves a sigh of despair and says, "Now a days it's simply the siphoning of public funds into private pockets".
"And Taslima Nasrin"? "A good writer. I read her book Lajja. She has described well the Hindu-Muslim antagonistic existence. But she is not a literary authority", says the master who is well-versed in both the Bengali and English literature.
“I saw your film ‘Atanka’ (terror). It showed pathetic social deterioration and loss of moral values in youth force. And the tradition still goes on”. “Oh yes, it was Tapan Sinha’s film”, his eyes twinkle with the reminiscence of the classic movie. “Situation is worsening, but someone must emerge for the change”, he adds with a voice of optimism.
“Dada, I should not, but I must say that with advancing age (he is 79), you are glowing more”. Dada blushes, and says, “na na, etato baire, bhetorta to khali (no, no, it’s only in outside, inside is empty).
Dada gets up and says, “now let me go, I have so many things to do”. Oh! Instead of 10 minutes, he has given us over 30 minutes. Perhaps real artistes are emotional and unmindful of time.
But... “Danran! (wait)”, I shout, as if suddenly I am losing something invaluable. The tenor was a mild tremor for all. More so for my hero. “Ekta pranam to kori (Let me bow before you)”, I add instantly, and that intoxicating smile is back on his face. (Next time if we meet, I would definitely ask about his smile, whether it was ever discussed by anybody, including the great Satyajit Ray. “Na na thak, pranam aar korte hobena (no, no, you need not bow), he tells softly. “No, I need it, I don’t know whether we will meet again”. I say, bow and touch his feet. His blissful hand on my barren head transpires a feel of enlightenment, my ultimate gain. After all, he is the sage of the sages in the world of art.Monday, December 26, 2011
A Rainy Night (To be read after 50 years)
West steals the Sun,
dark descends,
and the rains.
A nightful of black
veils the earth.
Torrents roar and
clouds are at war.
The bad mad winds,
flashes of the thunder
imperil man and matter.
World’s uneven,
deep low and steep high,
a mass of evil.
Fraud, fright, frustration,
hatred, cruelty and blood
force the lambs cry,
make the weak die.
Cause and effect!
Heavens burst, Earth
shudders with onrush
of floods in the deadly
night of holocaust.
With purging and
surging, the great
levelling act is on.
Though nobody knows how...
how far there’s
the new dawn.
dark descends,
and the rains.
A nightful of black
veils the earth.
Torrents roar and
clouds are at war.
The bad mad winds,
flashes of the thunder
imperil man and matter.
World’s uneven,
deep low and steep high,
a mass of evil.
Fraud, fright, frustration,
hatred, cruelty and blood
force the lambs cry,
make the weak die.
Cause and effect!
Heavens burst, Earth
shudders with onrush
of floods in the deadly
night of holocaust.
With purging and
surging, the great
levelling act is on.
Though nobody knows how...
how far there’s
the new dawn.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Response to love
My heartfelt response to all who have showered love on me, and also who have not:
A treasure of love in
the stream of Sarayu,
matchless and ascetic,
a symbol of Fortuna,
mother of all divinity.
Fathomless and indescribable,
never try its analysis.
With eyes closed,
I feel, how dear it is
to my heart,
my abode of love.
A treasure of love in
the stream of Sarayu,
matchless and ascetic,
a symbol of Fortuna,
mother of all divinity.
Fathomless and indescribable,
never try its analysis.
With eyes closed,
I feel, how dear it is
to my heart,
my abode of love.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Judicial activism not good for nation?
A bigger section of the society including media heaves a sigh of relief when the judiciary takes on the government for its inefficiency, ineptness and indifference towards the large-scale corruption in the country. Several 'hired' intellectuals cannot digest the appointment of the two-judge committee by the Supreme Court to unearth the blackmoney. They term it as unconstitutional and an act of overstepping the authority of the government.
They sound much, and say that it is a sinister implication that the judiciary has donned the mantle of an administrator and encroached upon the authority of the government. And this is not good for the health of the nation.
It is true that unearthing blackmoney, ending corruption and punishing the guilty is the job of the administration. Normally judiciary does not have any role here. But what happens if the government fails to react against the perpetrators of illegal acts? What happens if there is violation of social, economic and political norms? And government remains sloth and sluggish to deal with the state of affairs?
The fact is that it was the initiatives of the Supreme Court which censured our investigative agencies for their indifferent and apathetic attitudes against the misdeeds of politicians, bureaucrats and corporate powers which resulted in the loss of lakhs of crores rupees to the state exchequer. It was judicial activism that puts Raja, Kalmadi, Balwa, Kanimozhi, Hassan Ali, several top bureaucrats and corporate executives behind the bars.
It is likely that a single Kalmadi, or a Raja may have done more harm to the nation than sum total of the prisoners (the number may be several lakhs) languishing or serving terms in Indian jails.
Moreover, though the elite prisoners are in jail, they still hold a substantial influence over the jail administration. Kalmadi's snacks party with the jail superintendent or the freedom of the high profile inmates in the jail premises are the proofs of that. It was a judge who witnessed the goings on in the 'Hotel Tihar' during an inspection. Here the judicial activism plays the spoilsport of administrative hobnobbism!
Yet the principles of these 'intellectuals' are that, if you are attacked or looted in public, the people around should just witness the incident or at best they can inform the police or the constitutional authority to redress the grievances of the victim. Or when there is an accident, and the injured groan in pain you need not take him to hospital, because it is the duty of the police.
As a layman what I understand, among the three pillars of democracy - legislature, executive and judiciary, the two formers are eaten up by the termites to a great extent, and the later, it seems, emerges as the strong backbone of the country. Please don't try to weaken it with your insidious attack on judiciary.
They sound much, and say that it is a sinister implication that the judiciary has donned the mantle of an administrator and encroached upon the authority of the government. And this is not good for the health of the nation.
It is true that unearthing blackmoney, ending corruption and punishing the guilty is the job of the administration. Normally judiciary does not have any role here. But what happens if the government fails to react against the perpetrators of illegal acts? What happens if there is violation of social, economic and political norms? And government remains sloth and sluggish to deal with the state of affairs?
The fact is that it was the initiatives of the Supreme Court which censured our investigative agencies for their indifferent and apathetic attitudes against the misdeeds of politicians, bureaucrats and corporate powers which resulted in the loss of lakhs of crores rupees to the state exchequer. It was judicial activism that puts Raja, Kalmadi, Balwa, Kanimozhi, Hassan Ali, several top bureaucrats and corporate executives behind the bars.
It is likely that a single Kalmadi, or a Raja may have done more harm to the nation than sum total of the prisoners (the number may be several lakhs) languishing or serving terms in Indian jails.
Moreover, though the elite prisoners are in jail, they still hold a substantial influence over the jail administration. Kalmadi's snacks party with the jail superintendent or the freedom of the high profile inmates in the jail premises are the proofs of that. It was a judge who witnessed the goings on in the 'Hotel Tihar' during an inspection. Here the judicial activism plays the spoilsport of administrative hobnobbism!
Yet the principles of these 'intellectuals' are that, if you are attacked or looted in public, the people around should just witness the incident or at best they can inform the police or the constitutional authority to redress the grievances of the victim. Or when there is an accident, and the injured groan in pain you need not take him to hospital, because it is the duty of the police.
As a layman what I understand, among the three pillars of democracy - legislature, executive and judiciary, the two formers are eaten up by the termites to a great extent, and the later, it seems, emerges as the strong backbone of the country. Please don't try to weaken it with your insidious attack on judiciary.
Monday, March 28, 2011
In the land of fascination
(A visit to Andaman and Nicobar Islands)
Cellular Jail
Have you ever heard the silent cry of the earth? Stick your ear to the ground, the walls and railings at the Cellular jail in the Andamans. And for sure, you will hear the sacred souls sobbing, sounds of barbaric persecution, umpteen boots kicking and crushing backs and bellies, hands and legs of those who fought for the country’s freedom.
Cellular jail is now a memorial, nay, a temple, where every particle of its dust is sacred, where the fictitious gods are replaced by the martyrs and where the hundred of visitors from mainland bow their heads in true reverence.
Here is a museum and an art gallery which will take you back to the barbaric British era. This is replete with heart-rending and hair-raising stories of inhuman torture.
If you are in Port Blair, don’t miss the son et lumiere (sound and light), the most soul-stirring phenomenon in the jail premises. The programme is conducted every evening in this castle of torture, now a memorial. The show takes you to the pre-independence era of nightmare. You are lost in the narration of jail inmates’ lives - tiny cells with no urinals, worm-swarm dal-roti-chawal and vegetables, gunny-bag uniforms, neck-ring shackles, hand-cuff, gallows et all. Hold your tears if you can! I couldn’t. I picked up a small piece of brick from the ground and put it in my bag - a memento extraordinaire.
If political will allows, the Cellular Jail could have been the best training school for our present ruling clan.
The topography of the islands is hilly, 92 per cent of it is covered with evergreen forests. Neem, banyan, coconut, palm and many anonymous trees are in plenty.
Oh Andamans! A land of the honest humans. Here the air is fresh, so are the hearts of the people. People are honest. No fear of losing your purse. Even if it is lost you will get it back in no time. Hindu, Muslims, Christians, Sikhs live in perfect harmony, a true secularism indeed!
Jolly buoy - a thrill-filled island:
On the way from Port Blair to Jolly Buoy there is a government farm called Sippighat, spread over 80 acres of land. Spices like cloves, nut-meg, cinnamon etc. are produced in abundance here. Coconut trees in hundreds with their bunch of raw fruits happily swing in soothing air and whisper with each other. The betel nut trees go one step further. They bare all their elegance as they are in a beauty contest.
Our voyage for Jolly Buoy starts by a boat from Wandoor. This is a part of Mahatma Gandhi Marine National Park that comprises 15 islands.
The boat sails and sails over the blue lagoon. Away from the crying-frying, hustle-bustle, ego - tussle at home, we are lost in the treasure trove of the nature. We sail leaving many islands of dense mangrove forests in the right, in the left, islands ahead and islands behind.
After an hour we land in Jolly Buoy. There are jolly boys and girls, men and women, even the oldies are jolly. Here is beauty in land, awfully fascinating the forest behind, and the beach ahead. There is madness in the water and ecstasy in the sky. Almighty, the architect, displays a vision of heaven on the earth. Nature is so gaudy...
A couple of hours is spent, splashing, swimming and dipping in the waters. Yet thirst remains unquenched. Snorkeling (taking a dip in the water wearing a special kind of glasses over the eyes and a pipe in the mouth to breathe) gives you a clear vision of exquisite coral reefs on the sea-bed. Shoal of small fish in several mystery colours gives a touch of colour to your soul. You are in the aquarium of the nature. Forget not, you are under the sea - by this time you gulp an ounce of salty water. And you are quick to surface leaving all the underwater poetry.
.............................
Let’s take a round of Ross Island. This island is named after Sir Daniel Ross, a British surveyor. Just 800 metres away from Port Blair, it was once called ‘Paris of the East’. Ross used to glitter with all modern amenities packed with architecturally beautiful buildings. With the dense jungle in and open sea around it was a thriving township. Only 0.6 km area with hilly terrain this island was a seat of British administration. It had a settlement club, bakery, printing press, water distilling plant, troop’s barracks etc. Now they are all in ruins. There are several underground tunnels built by Japanese in 1942. One can have a thrilling experience while going through it.
..................................................
Another nearby mountain is Mount Harriet -- the highest peak in the south Andamans with 365 metres above sea level. Our journey by jeep to the top is an amazing experience. Branches of colossus trees coming from the low ground greet you on the way. At the top of it nature awaits you with bliss supreme. Once the summer headquarters of the chief commissioner during the colonial rule Mt. Harriet gives you a fascinating bird’s eye view of the sun, sea and the dense forest. But beware! Don’t get carried away. There are leeches in plenty to swoop on you.
.......................
The islands live mainly on tourism, fisheries agriculture and small scale industries. Once you are here by air (there are regular flights from Kolkata, Chennai and Vishakhapatnam) or by sea (also from the same places) the hospitality industry comes forward to serve you with hearts and hands.
Almost all hotels in the islands are either named after the indigenous birds or tribes. Some of the luxury hotels are Teal House, Megapode Nest, Horn Bill Nest, Hotel Shompen, Hotel Sentinel etc. Economy accommodation are also available at a few places like Youth Hostel or Zilla Parishad Niwas. And every hotel gives you nature’s splendour absolutely free of cost.
..............................
But everything is not well with the Andamans. There are some prosaic parts too. In comparison to Maldives or Mauritius as tourists paradise, Andaman and Nicobar islands are miles behind. Lack of infrastructure and sustainability problem slow down the pace of development.
Another visible shortfall is the town lacks planning. A selected few places like Corbyn’s Cove, where the beach is fringed with coconut and palm trees, a place ideal for swimming, surfing and sun-bathing, or the Water Park where you can drive a water scooter or zoom away from one island to the other in a speed boat. But haphazard setup of huts, and houses, unwanted growth of bushes and shrubs here and there tease the eyes.
Here still exists the primitive life. However, many of the tribals like Jarwas, Sentinelese, Onges and the Nicobarese are gradually becoming friendly with the people from the main land who have settled there for long.
...................................
Andaman and Nicobar is a vast book with the scripts of pain and pleasure. I have gone through a leaf or two. My desires remain unfulfilled. Many exquisite art works of nature are yet to be seen. I board the ship for Chennai. My heart is heavy. A curtain of sadness covers the eyes. Our ship M V Nancowry starts by the evening. Tears roll sown from her eyes and mine. No one can see but only she and I.
Au revoir Andani.
Will come again. I promise.
Cellular Jail
Have you ever heard the silent cry of the earth? Stick your ear to the ground, the walls and railings at the Cellular jail in the Andamans. And for sure, you will hear the sacred souls sobbing, sounds of barbaric persecution, umpteen boots kicking and crushing backs and bellies, hands and legs of those who fought for the country’s freedom.
Cellular jail is now a memorial, nay, a temple, where every particle of its dust is sacred, where the fictitious gods are replaced by the martyrs and where the hundred of visitors from mainland bow their heads in true reverence.
Here is a museum and an art gallery which will take you back to the barbaric British era. This is replete with heart-rending and hair-raising stories of inhuman torture.
If you are in Port Blair, don’t miss the son et lumiere (sound and light), the most soul-stirring phenomenon in the jail premises. The programme is conducted every evening in this castle of torture, now a memorial. The show takes you to the pre-independence era of nightmare. You are lost in the narration of jail inmates’ lives - tiny cells with no urinals, worm-swarm dal-roti-chawal and vegetables, gunny-bag uniforms, neck-ring shackles, hand-cuff, gallows et all. Hold your tears if you can! I couldn’t. I picked up a small piece of brick from the ground and put it in my bag - a memento extraordinaire.
If political will allows, the Cellular Jail could have been the best training school for our present ruling clan.
The topography of the islands is hilly, 92 per cent of it is covered with evergreen forests. Neem, banyan, coconut, palm and many anonymous trees are in plenty.
Oh Andamans! A land of the honest humans. Here the air is fresh, so are the hearts of the people. People are honest. No fear of losing your purse. Even if it is lost you will get it back in no time. Hindu, Muslims, Christians, Sikhs live in perfect harmony, a true secularism indeed!
Jolly buoy - a thrill-filled island:
On the way from Port Blair to Jolly Buoy there is a government farm called Sippighat, spread over 80 acres of land. Spices like cloves, nut-meg, cinnamon etc. are produced in abundance here. Coconut trees in hundreds with their bunch of raw fruits happily swing in soothing air and whisper with each other. The betel nut trees go one step further. They bare all their elegance as they are in a beauty contest.
Our voyage for Jolly Buoy starts by a boat from Wandoor. This is a part of Mahatma Gandhi Marine National Park that comprises 15 islands.
The boat sails and sails over the blue lagoon. Away from the crying-frying, hustle-bustle, ego - tussle at home, we are lost in the treasure trove of the nature. We sail leaving many islands of dense mangrove forests in the right, in the left, islands ahead and islands behind.
After an hour we land in Jolly Buoy. There are jolly boys and girls, men and women, even the oldies are jolly. Here is beauty in land, awfully fascinating the forest behind, and the beach ahead. There is madness in the water and ecstasy in the sky. Almighty, the architect, displays a vision of heaven on the earth. Nature is so gaudy...
A couple of hours is spent, splashing, swimming and dipping in the waters. Yet thirst remains unquenched. Snorkeling (taking a dip in the water wearing a special kind of glasses over the eyes and a pipe in the mouth to breathe) gives you a clear vision of exquisite coral reefs on the sea-bed. Shoal of small fish in several mystery colours gives a touch of colour to your soul. You are in the aquarium of the nature. Forget not, you are under the sea - by this time you gulp an ounce of salty water. And you are quick to surface leaving all the underwater poetry.
.............................
Let’s take a round of Ross Island. This island is named after Sir Daniel Ross, a British surveyor. Just 800 metres away from Port Blair, it was once called ‘Paris of the East’. Ross used to glitter with all modern amenities packed with architecturally beautiful buildings. With the dense jungle in and open sea around it was a thriving township. Only 0.6 km area with hilly terrain this island was a seat of British administration. It had a settlement club, bakery, printing press, water distilling plant, troop’s barracks etc. Now they are all in ruins. There are several underground tunnels built by Japanese in 1942. One can have a thrilling experience while going through it.
..................................................
Another nearby mountain is Mount Harriet -- the highest peak in the south Andamans with 365 metres above sea level. Our journey by jeep to the top is an amazing experience. Branches of colossus trees coming from the low ground greet you on the way. At the top of it nature awaits you with bliss supreme. Once the summer headquarters of the chief commissioner during the colonial rule Mt. Harriet gives you a fascinating bird’s eye view of the sun, sea and the dense forest. But beware! Don’t get carried away. There are leeches in plenty to swoop on you.
.......................
The islands live mainly on tourism, fisheries agriculture and small scale industries. Once you are here by air (there are regular flights from Kolkata, Chennai and Vishakhapatnam) or by sea (also from the same places) the hospitality industry comes forward to serve you with hearts and hands.
Almost all hotels in the islands are either named after the indigenous birds or tribes. Some of the luxury hotels are Teal House, Megapode Nest, Horn Bill Nest, Hotel Shompen, Hotel Sentinel etc. Economy accommodation are also available at a few places like Youth Hostel or Zilla Parishad Niwas. And every hotel gives you nature’s splendour absolutely free of cost.
..............................
But everything is not well with the Andamans. There are some prosaic parts too. In comparison to Maldives or Mauritius as tourists paradise, Andaman and Nicobar islands are miles behind. Lack of infrastructure and sustainability problem slow down the pace of development.
Another visible shortfall is the town lacks planning. A selected few places like Corbyn’s Cove, where the beach is fringed with coconut and palm trees, a place ideal for swimming, surfing and sun-bathing, or the Water Park where you can drive a water scooter or zoom away from one island to the other in a speed boat. But haphazard setup of huts, and houses, unwanted growth of bushes and shrubs here and there tease the eyes.
Here still exists the primitive life. However, many of the tribals like Jarwas, Sentinelese, Onges and the Nicobarese are gradually becoming friendly with the people from the main land who have settled there for long.
...................................
Andaman and Nicobar is a vast book with the scripts of pain and pleasure. I have gone through a leaf or two. My desires remain unfulfilled. Many exquisite art works of nature are yet to be seen. I board the ship for Chennai. My heart is heavy. A curtain of sadness covers the eyes. Our ship M V Nancowry starts by the evening. Tears roll sown from her eyes and mine. No one can see but only she and I.
Au revoir Andani.
Will come again. I promise.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Remorse
Stream of wisdom flew with time,
Calm and quiet, pure, unstinted,
With sweetness infinite,
Which I never cared for,
Nor I drank a cup of it even.
In me, there was a brute,
During the prime time,
When energy was brimming,
And spirit undying.
Saplings of venom plants
Grew in my field,
That troubled and panicked
The people of my world.
They cried, I laughed at;
They groaned and I clapped.
The savagery, the brutality
What I only loved for.
The wise said,
"You are a hell personified.
I argued,
"I am the gale epitomised".
In solitude, still I see
The stream of wisdom
Is flowing with time,
Calm and quiet,
with sweetness infinite,
Like the moon-lit night,
The radiance of the dawn,
The stillness of the woods,
The rose fragrant breeze;
Like the majestic Himalayas
With ego-less elegance and
The fathomless ocean of magnificence.
Hungering and thirsting,
I am eager to have a little of them,
But the energy is dipping
And the spirit dying.
Now, with a long sigh of remorse,
Often I say,
"This life has gone astray".
Calm and quiet, pure, unstinted,
With sweetness infinite,
Which I never cared for,
Nor I drank a cup of it even.
In me, there was a brute,
During the prime time,
When energy was brimming,
And spirit undying.
Saplings of venom plants
Grew in my field,
That troubled and panicked
The people of my world.
They cried, I laughed at;
They groaned and I clapped.
The savagery, the brutality
What I only loved for.
The wise said,
"You are a hell personified.
I argued,
"I am the gale epitomised".
In solitude, still I see
The stream of wisdom
Is flowing with time,
Calm and quiet,
with sweetness infinite,
Like the moon-lit night,
The radiance of the dawn,
The stillness of the woods,
The rose fragrant breeze;
Like the majestic Himalayas
With ego-less elegance and
The fathomless ocean of magnificence.
Hungering and thirsting,
I am eager to have a little of them,
But the energy is dipping
And the spirit dying.
Now, with a long sigh of remorse,
Often I say,
"This life has gone astray".
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