Jalsa, Mumbai May 28/29, 2021 Fri/Sat 12:59 am
.. the book be in reference .. the page discovered and the fingers mine for it to remain open as I pic it .. as I pic it ? .. hehe .. new express 🤣
.. a selection of poems by my Father , Babuji as I respectfully call him .. not only did he write and select his own works but gave due to the other great works as well .. this poem is one that he has selected to be put and printed as a separate book ..
.. in his recommend for this book of selected poems, on the back page he comments :
‘कविता की कोई उम्र नहीं होती , वो एक वक्त की होकर भी उस वक्त से आगे जा सकती है’
a poem does not carry an age , it does not have an age ; it may belong to a time of time , yet go beyond that time ..
So for the Hindi challenged , the title of the poem is ,
The Roar of Silence / The Roar of Quietness .. ahehh uf , its never easy to get the correct translate
they , whose tongues have sunk beneath the Adams Apple in their throats ; below the sound box of the human .. they also have started to say , so what if we were in quietude .. our quietude is also a roar .. it may or may not happen for you , but for us every ‘molehill is a mountain’ for us ..
It is difficult to translate the राई का पहाड़ .. the rai ka pahaad .. the rai is a small particle , almost seed like .. so for us even a small seed is a mountain for us ..
It comes in reference from the adage in Hindi : अरे भई , राई का पहाड़ मत बनाओ .. the issue, the matter is too small .. stop making a mountain of such a small matter .. a mountain out of a molehill is the nearest I can get to an English equivalent
.. so yes I sought the book which as I have expressed often , lie around me .. surrounded in the ethereal presence of books and in its mostness, those of my Father , or those that have reference to him .. his Anthology, a Thesis on him by students that have formed his works their dissertation .. related works .. objects that bring him closer to me .. an old picture of him and Ma .. his Mother ..
.. and the extreme anger that all his manuscripts have not been discovered yet due to the several changes in residences … manuscripts that when I glance through the pages of his autobiography I find reference to and never knowing where they are now ..
A tragedy .. for now even the events that get reminded to me often I have no sense of its occurrence , and that is equally disturbing .. a careless attribute .. get it .. put in some place , and then be unable to either find it or bring it to immediate use .. because you have forgotten when it did come ..
At times I wonder is there really need or importance of keeping registering documenting all that one goes through .. and then I think of Babuji and wonder .. if he had not , where would many of us particularly I be , without his thoughts and voice and words ..
many discuss now of the consequences of the CoviD expiry .. how and when and if so .. all remain in large question marks about .. the routine of the work and days of decades has been stopped by a barrier that cannot be seen by the naked human eye how shall we ever conduct ourselves .. how shall the reflection of our work be in the time of its presence after ..
And as time passes by each moment begins to develop into a planning nightmare ..
We hold on like we have in the times several times over in the past and pray for the normalisation of its presence .. perhaps normal itself may have undergone change .. we may have forgotten what normal is or was .. the need to develop the new form, the fresh thought and move to the path gingerly .. cautious , in prevention .. and wonder if that would be the right step ..
And the questions continue ..
Questions have a habit of being about you in perpetuity .. the solution is what is often the game .. the treasure hunt that we as the young played with glee and the thrills of finding the gold ..
We will we should we shall ..
Live not in despair .. some door shall open and give opportunity to put that little toe in the doorway , before it closes on us ..
Good night dear ones .. be safe and in prevention and precaution ..
