The year was 1290 . A crowd had gathered around a clearing, where broken down pillars marked the presence of an ancient temple, now long gone. A young boy, just 14 years old, leaned against one of those pillars, deep in thought. Then, he began speaking, and the crowd fell silent, listening to his every word. He spoke without any notes, translating the Bhagavat Gita, from Sanskrit, which only the pundits knew, to the language everyone in the village knew and spoke – a variety of Prakrit which developed into the Marathi language. Even as he spoke, one of the men in the audience realized how momentous this event was, and how important this composition would be. He began writing down the words the young boy spoke, and this composition was named by its author and composer, the Bhavartha Deepika – the enlightening meaning (of the Bhagavat Gita). Now, the ancient, holy text, was no longer restricted to the pundits, but accessible to all, understood easily by them, composed as it was, in their...
On our recent journey to Chandigarh, we were the only passengers in our
coach after most disembarked at Delhi.
After
24 hours of listening to the chatter of our fellow travellers, the
sudden peace and quiet was strange, to say the least! With just us to serve,
even the vendors gave our coach a miss, leaving us practically alone for the
remainder of our journey. Never have I enjoyed a journey more, the window wide
open, feeling the wind in my hair. We passed by yellow and green fields... the
shades too numerous to count.... and trees of all shapes and sizes, and colours
too...
And back came the memory of a poem I learnt at school, so long back....
Trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
- Joyce Kilmer (1913)
No, I didn't remember the whole
poem. That was thanks to Google and Wikipedia! And it was only then that I learnt that the
poem was written in 1913 ... exactly a 100 years ago!
Thanks Anuradha! What a lovely post. I love Chandigarh too, it is truly, planned and beautiful, laid back and organised, although our best friends Sardarjis seem to be the largest population.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Julia! Chandigarh is a beautiful town any day! sad there arent more cities like that!
DeleteNice tree pictures, Anu! Didn't know they can make a lovely post with their colors like this. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Nisha!! Sitting in the train looking at all those trees with colours was so wonderful! and we think we dont have fall in India! clicked so many pics couldnt resist posting!
DeleteGlad that you did. :)
DeleteGreat Clicks...and lovely poem...its one of my favorite cities in India.
ReplyDeletehttp://journeyintrance.blogspot.in/2012/12/tryst-with-destiny.html
Thanks so much, Radhika!
DeleteGreat blog Anuradha.. I had stumbled across your blog while searching for some spiritual place and since than I am hooked.... Had a quick question - what kind of camera and lens are you using for taking these beautiful panoramic photos which you have posted above?. Would appreciate if you can provide some details/tips etc.
ReplyDeleteThanks a lot... and i use a high zoom nikon camera, not a dslr... and it is not really panorama but a usual photo just cropped.
DeleteAll were Great Pictures Anu jee and beautiful log with a new variety . I am learning from you how to blog.
ReplyDeleteGorgeous green! Awesome captures.
ReplyDeletehttp://rajniranjandas.blogspot.in/2013/01/old-goa-of-cathedrals-churches-chapels.html