You had said at that time, ‘You will have your days, you will be famous one day.’ Today people say that ‘You are a successful writer.’ ‘Actually, success is a temporary phase in an author’s life. In a way it is the extended failure.’… Today, when I see the books written by me, all lined up in a glass showcase, I somehow get a feeling that after 10 years, there will be none of those books. Still I am writing, Why….? Let us try to find out the reason behind this from the incidences in the author’s life. Each morn out of these four walls should actually begin with new vigour and vitality. This is the solace moment when birds sing, buds blossom and trees shoot out into new branches… All the thoughts and ideas that those thinkers and literati had had towards the welfare of the human race must have arose in those wee hours…for sure … This book talks about one of those self-willed author and of his ‘Tender Days’
These were people who presented stories before spectators. They used pictures, songs and instrumental playing to relate stories before people. They were known as ‘Chitrakathi’, but this was some time back, may be a few thousands year. As the years passed, the trends changed, old customs were replaced by new ones. Old was forgotten in the chaos of new. But it was not vanished completely. Cinema today, is the more advanced form of those ‘chitrakathi’. Madgulkar reveals the stories behind these cinemas, taking the place of a chitrakathi
‘Manadeshi Manase’ is an inseparable part of post-Independence Marathi literature. The character sketches in this collection are not only tales in the old mould, but also have the magical quality that touches upon the very essence of Life. The characters are genuinely Marathi in nature, and they have been drawn with the ease with which dawn turns into day or a bud blossoms into a flower. With innocence, Vyankatesh Madgulkar tells us about the poverty-stricken lives of the people of Mandesh and their saga of never-ending sorrows. Their tragedy is moving. The mind is filled with the thought that while men seek some happiness, their lives were never scripted to find it. This essential tragic fact is told by Madgulkar with the detachment of an artist. This renders his characters unforgettable. Our mind is disturbed every time we think of them.
I am inspired with a story and this story has its definite shape as it acquires my thoughts. But I cannot say that this is what happens always. at times, there just a tiny seedling that drops onto the soft cushions of my mind, awaiting favourable conditions for germination, just like the peepul seed. It is also true that every now and then many such seeds drop into my mind. It is not possible to differentiate the peepul seed from that of grass. Yet, I can surely hear the wind passing through the dense foliage of the peepul. These stories resemble the wind passing through it.
Arjun had been to Pandhari on his Wari pilgrimage, but he returned without the darshan of Lord Vitthala. Bhalya Dhangar, the ferocious thug, who saw nothing wrong in killing those innocent travelers passing through the jungles. But, a ‘fauzdar’ showed the courage to catch him. The lake brought development to the village. Everyone was reimbursed by the Government. But the village… it was lost in this process. Uma Ramoshi took care of his cow even during the famine, but he committed sin under the influence of alcohol. The family was so very unhappy for the past 20 years, the sister also had the same grief. But one fine day, she became rich… all of a sudden. While travelling by the railway, Manjula was accompanied by the blind man and his companion a lame lady, but still Manjula never reached home. Ranganath was ready to get tied up in the ‘knot’, but he decided never to get married. This ‘Wari’ is the journey of many; right from Arjun, Bhalya, Umaji, Bhalu, Manjula and Ranganath…
This is a translation of the book ‘Laughter with My Father’ a book by Carlos Bulosan, an author from the Philippines. In our society, we do not approve of a relation between a father and his son which is so very free, yet, the many other things in the books like the humour, the naughtiness are the same as in our society. The overall atmosphere is also quiet close to that of ours. I would also say that the readers will find many characters from this book very familiar.
The author had camped in the exquisite landscapes of Nagzira. His only accessories being a pair of binoculars and an enthusiastic mind full concern towards the wild life. And loo…. The findings were truly amazing. During his stay there, he would wake up to the early morning calls of the Dayal bird. The disappearing moon on one horizon and the spreading daylight soothed his eyes. The tall trees, their widespread but leafless branches would slowly come into sight. The only lantern which spread enough light throughout the night would appear to be lightless with the emerging sun-rays. This would initiate him to come out of his bed, wrap it back quickly and start his day anew.
When…The days of the black berries come to an end…then. It takes a long time for Vamanrao to walk down over the hill slope…then. The postman’s naked feet find the comfort of chappals…then. The ‘lady’ who never allowed anyone to enter her mind or house changes…then. ‘Vancha’ who had never crossed any limits starts walking towards the market and expresses herself freely at the same time…then. The forgotten love enters into Anantroa’s life one fine morning…then. Kale Master breathes a sigh of relief even when the cycle gets stolen, the one which he had bought after much struggle and from his meager savings…then …What happens then? The present book is the blossom of many such experiences.
At times, I find myself to be too gloomy. All the ideas about new stories remain idle in my mind, resembling an inactive toad sitting on a stone, doing nothing. Somewhere, I do get the feeling that I am carrying many single burdens over my head, and now these all have turned into a huge, heavy load. Writing is the first and foremost thing, other things are secondary. Hence, whatever tries to block the path of writing should be discarded firmly. Yet, at times, it becomes impossible. The reasons are varied. Sometimes, it is lack of competency and at other it is the thought that prevails in mind, suggesting that I myself am spoiling my strengths, for reasons unknown. Deep in my mind, I have never once felt that I have achieved great many things in the capacity of an author. Would it not have better to believe it though? At least, my mind would have been entitled to the solace that an innocent experiences! But then, this is again yet another thought. All of a sudden, my mind bounces off, wants to throw away everything and gush out. God knows, what is going to take place now!
Once I had gone to the Mulshi Dam. One deer crossed our path, I took an aim and killed it. My friend Nimbalkar got down from the jeep and brought back the deer. He was astonished to see that the deer was a female deer, a doe and was also an expecting mother. We returned to Nimbalkar’s farm house in Kothrud. The deer was cleaned and cut. A full grown baby deer was found to be at peace inside the doe. Nimbalkar’s old mother was very upset to see this. She regretted our killing. Still, I would not say that it was this incident that made me leave the gun and rely more upon binoculars. On the contrary, as I grew not just physically but also with respect to my thinking, my mentality changed, I accepted new concepts. Now I feel that it is only the waywardness of the mind that prevents it from recognizing the importance of aliveness. Once we are able to bring ourselves out of this overlapping waywardness, then we suddenly see the magnitude of being alive, whether it is a human being or any other living being! And then, no one wishes to kill any other animal.
I am a typically capricious person. I enjoy being aloof from the crowds and get lost in my own world. I love to pursue things that satisfy me the most and I see myself as the pursuer. We often wish to have a long quiet moment adorning our life, yes, we all do! But then, we are equally bound by the limitless expectations from life. Willingly or unwillingly, we have to start earning and spend all our energy and enthusiasm in keep life going. Our lives are entangled with the terrible speed that the world has. Everything has become mechanical and we cannot deny being a part of it. We have forgotten to enjoy the starlight, listen to the soft rustling of the leaves, bathe in the spring, watch the starry sky…and many other things. I am in no way an ornithologist or a botanist. Yet, buried deep in my mind is my infatuation about the jungles. My quirky mind often ponders over this mysterious world. It is a never-ending thirst that I have about this particular life. Here is a brief stating my curiousity. If any of you readers is inspired with these jungle stories and sets towards jungles in search of the vastness, richness and beauty of wilds, then it will surely be a wonderful thing.
Deva was continuously gazing at the ‘saheb’. He had rested his chin on both his palms which were resting on the upper end of the stick that he always carried. Within moments, his eyes reddened and enlarged twice their original size. He was breathing very heavily now. He was terribly infuriated by now. His arms started shivering under stress. Doctor shouted; ‘What are you listening to, you sister fucker….’ Before he could complete his sentence Deva bent down in swoop and picked up his battered and soiled chappal. He shouted with all the energy that he possessed, ‘You rotten piece of meat, get down from the office. And I will smash your face with my battered chappal. This is a story of ‘Deva Satva Mahar’. This was written ages prior to the Dalit literature gaining any momentum and recognition. This represented the rebellion mind of a dalit. Many such stories help us to understand the poverty, misery and despondency of the dalits. Today we see the line separating the dalit literature from the rural one. But Madgulkar had interwoven these two aspects harmoniously in his literature.
Have we considered writing to be the only passion of our life? Have we ever given away our life as a Muslim singer gives away his pursuing his passion? Have we been immersed in addiction for all twenty-four hours? No, never! We have neither lived our life nor seen it. We did not dare to do so.Till the time we are trying to maintain our monetary gains, our name and fame, we won’t be able to create something worthwhile, something constructive. Only an exclusive mind would dare to throw away all the rules of grammar and take the language further away. Only an artist would dare to kick the set values of virtues and display a magnificent show of unknown set of virtues. As an artist, a dacoit also kicks the set values. But the dacoit is responsible for the moral degradation of the society while the society rises high above in the company of an artist.
All around us, we see people who have aged for all our life. The neem tree here is also one of them. Has anyone seen the tree when it was young, is a doubt that I have about it. It has a huge trunk. All over the trunk you will find many hard knot-like structures. It is as if the neem has reached a certain age and is going to remain like that forever. As if the time for it has stood still. But the month of Chaitra brings some change with it. Many shades of parrot green start appearing all over the age-old neem tree. It spreads a sort of aura all over. It shades a wonderful light. As the scorching sun goes on roasting everyone around, people automatically turn towards the neem tree. Its shadow has mesmerizing effect, that of the air conditioning system.
Time flows relentlessly and so does the struggle. It does not take a break. If at all there is any change then it is in the form of high tide or overflowing. It is always on the side of worsening. Whenever there are more mouths to feed, a lot of people around this struggle reaches to peak. Whenever sharing land and food becomes inevitable, resistance is unavoidable. Confrontation is at its worst when someone tries to intrude our caste and our system and then tries to break through the impregnable walls of society. Those who are really able to speak, often blurt out their anger and antagonism through words. Those who are not able to speak out, reflect their love and hatred through actions, body language and so on. Once struggle starts, it takes a hideous form. Words appear to be deficient. Weapons take place of words then. Whenever there is a shortage of weapons, then often tusks and nails are used in place. Struggle envelopes everything.
मोठ्यात मोठी खरेदी केव्हडी असावी - हत्ती एवढी! तानाजीला दंड झाला, शिक्षा झाली गुन्हा नसताना; खरोखरीच गुन्हा केल्यावर मात्र - सुटका झाली! श्रीमंत होण्यासाठी वेडसर गणाने आधार घेतला चक्क - इंद्रजालचा! मिरी आणि सुबाची जातविरहित घट्ट मैत्री तुटली - बावामुळे! ...अशाच अवीट गोष्टींचा 'रानमेवा'!
All over there was an excitement in the atmosphere…. All around the progress work had caught momentum. One village built a school, the other constructed a road while yet another constructed a dam. This initiated Anna Vani with an exclusive idea. He persuaded all to construct a bridge on the river Belvan in their village Hiwra. The villagers could not digest the idea of the bridge over the river but they agreed upon tiling. Much consideration was given to the amount required and the contribution expected. All of a sudden, Bhima Vastad dropped a bomb. He said that whosoever constructs the bridge will suffer lots of adversities. Hearing this each and every member preferred to stay in the background. None came forward. Actually, this work would have benefitted each and everyone. Then why did not Bhima and his company did not approve of it? Why did they oppose so strongly? Did it benefit Bhima or did it prove to be detrimental? Belvan is the most perfect example of those selfish mentalities who often take pride in obstructing the progress works…
All around us we find most of the people trudging along the set paths of life. Very few dare to step in new directions and make their own ways. A glimpse at some of these few…Tim Severin, crossing the oceans like Sindabad, the sailor.Jane Goodaal, the British primatologist, world’s foremost expert on chimpanzees, studied the social and family interaction of chimpanzee while staying in the Gombe National Park in Tanzania, Africa.Farley Mowat, stayed in the North Pole and explored the Arctic.Orea who stayed in the wild forests of Tanzania. She stayed there in the company of the elephants for 5 years. Kuno Steuben who crossed the Nile on his own.Salim Ali, the ornithologist and the naturalist, studying the conduct of the birds for more than 50 years.Marutrao Chitampalli, a Forest Officer, born and brought up in the open forests.