Scriitorul George Anca și-a donat fondul de indianistică Bibliotecii Județene Antim Ivireanul Vâlcea și vrea să creeze o școală de profil la Râmnicu Vâlcea, după modelul celei din București, Foto: FB BJAI
Vâlcea a primit donaţie fondul de indianistică al scriitorului George
Anca şi va mai primi cărţi şi de la Ambasada Indiei
Ambasadei Indiei în vizită la Biblioteca Județeană Vâlcea, Centrul Europe
Direct, Foto: FB BJAI
Reprezentanții Ambasadei Indiei în vizită la Biblioteca Județeană Vâlcea, Centrul Europe Direct, Foto: FB BJAI
Indianistul George Anca și prefectul de Vâlcea Florian Marin, Foto: FB BJAI
Lucrări de indianistică donate Vâlcii de scriitorul George Anca, Foto: FB BJAI
To the President of India – Ahimsa – Lotus Sutra – The International Academy “Mihai Eminescu” - Eternal purple – Poems to Indore – Anna India – Trinidad – Voces together – Trompone
TO THE PRESIDENT OF INDIA
Public Address to the President of India, H.E. Shanker Dayal Sharma, at ceremony of Receiving Honorary Doctorate, Bucharest University
Your Excellency Mr. President of India, Sharmaji,
Your gracious meeting offered to Romanian specialists in Indian studies, mainly from Bucharest, here, it's a high honor, a stimulation and also a consolation. For it's a tragic issue of Stalinist-Communist dictatorship that best thinkers, Indologists included, were jailed. But riks and slokas from Vedas and Upanishads were still communicated by Morse alphabet.
We feel getting, at last, a free way to knowledge of Indian spirit and culture. Perhaps the moksha/salvation was the most appreciated quality of Indian spirit, together with Christian, Indian and universal dharma and shanti.
Mihai Eminescu, Romanian national poet, declared himself a Buddhist as an empowered Christian. During more than 15 years I had talks and letters about Mihai Eminescu, mainly in and from India, but also other continents; they make some personal and Indo-eminescological history in an epistolar novel I had honor to dedicate to your excellency, Mr. President of India, Dr. Sharma ji.
Kind of field researcher, I taught Romanian, between 1977-1984, at University of Delhi, while Prof. dr. Prabhu Dayal Vidyasagar was teaching Hindi at Bucharest University.
My mother has just died before and so India became my mother – now it was no problem how good India was to me, but how good was I to her.
I am grateful to legions of people in India, from great writers and professors like Amrita Pritam, Ageya, Nagendra, R.C. Mehrotra, Gurbakhsh Singh – former vicechancellors of Delhi University – to my colleagues and students in the university.
Surely the exchange of teachers between universities is a must.
Suppose India and Romania would have their cultural centers in Delhi and in Bucharest respectively, smaller and in a way more cultural cities like Iaşi, Cluj, Timişoara, Râmnicu-Vâlcea, for Romania, and Bhopal, Bhubaneshwar, Chandigarh, Bangalore, Trivandrum for India may be taken in consideration.
Romanian-Indian Cultural Society, started recently, in 1993, beyond university and formal scientific research on Indology, is trying to gather interested people in different topics of Indian culture. Many young and gifted persons are eager to study Indian arts, dance and music, to be on scholarship in their dreamland.
We can only slightly open a door toward an endless realm.
Finally, I will dare to evoke a very special Indo-Romanian tradition dealing with human freedom and make a call for your judgment.
Early 1990's Romanian new press acknowledged both India's international support to political prisoners and their recognition to pundit Jawaharlal Nehru who provoked a visit of then UN Secretary General U Thant.
Dr. S. Radhakrishnan, when vice president of India, made shorter the sentence of poet Radu Gyr.
As a representative to UN International Association of Educators for World Peace, I request now, Mr. President of India, your high intervention that Mr. Ilie Ilaşcu, parliamentarian, jailed in Tiraspol, for only guilt of being Romanian, to be liberated.
Under the immortal trees on Ganga I walked with throw water and the family praying God to give Sanskrit divyagrahah to Eminescu for revision. And I will die in a day like this in India enough with love grown in the neem trees club ahimsa to not drift away.
Gandhiji deduced the principle of satyagraha from Bhagavad gita
"intention that one should go on working without attachement to the friuits of the work" Satyagraha suspends duragraha (insistace upon evil) the imagined ennemy without be neglected the ennemy within" . "Not to hurt any living thing is no doubt a part of ahimsa But it is it's least expression. The principle of ahimsa is heart by every evil thought, by undue haste, by lying, by heatred, by wishing ill to anybody".
Ahimsa magnifies own's own defects and minimize those of the opponents. It regards the mote in one's own eyeas beam and the beam in the opponent eye as a mote. We understand clearly with Mahatma the aphorism
" Enmity vanishes before ahimsa that all untruth and himsa shall hear after be tabou to us, and we are dertermined to make the law of truth and nonviolence the law of life”.
Not knowing ahimsa and soul - destroying a being by that. Hearing simultaneously of ahimsa and satyagraha. At once your life is ahimsa and you did not know it. Could you start to believe? What is your life? What is ahimsa? If I would be your life, if I'd be ahimsa, who would identitify our being?
By ahimsa we shape the caste of peace. Catharsis - Ahimsa - freedom. Catharsis - resurrection. Catharsis - caress. Catharsis- poisonin . Ahimsa - healing. Catharsis of the tragics - Ahimsa of the avatars. Catharsis - yang. Ahimsa - rememberance. Catharsis - cancer. Ahimsa - panacea. Catharsis in Syracuza. Ahimsa in Mandalay.
I want to suffer under the aura of goodness, between life and death, or with the cry of peace like victory, advaita in head, advaita in heart, nirvana in marrow, shanti in being, remember since I was Jain. Peace does not leave you in peace.
The sutras expounded before the Lotus Sutra asserted that the man of Learning and realization were eternally incapable of attaining Buddhahood. The Lotus Sutra revealed that even those of the two vehicles can become Buddhahood without any exception. We can be identified in the innermost depths of our lives as the original entities of the Mystic Law. We are born as human beings on this planet and, as followers of the Boddhisatvas of the earth, dedicate ourselves to the spread of the Mystic Law throughout the world. T'ien'-t'ai/Buddha's ultimate teaching as revealed in Lotus Sutra: to realize that all phenomena, or the three thousand possible conditions, are integrated in the life-moment, and that Buddhahood is inherent in all life. Returned are some tunes in Academy Eminescu when no chance than rebirth. Three days Japanese Lotus small simulteternal beauty little death in Parinior Parinirvana. Time found for everything and for our gathering unto Buddha also by letters received from Vinod Seth, Nilima Das, Anna Mathai, Margaret Chatterjee, Peter Hook, Mona Toscano, Mary-Ellen Chatwin, Carmen Hendershott, Norman Simms, Elaine Svenonius, Jeane Leblan, Rosa del Conte, Fernando Tola, Dorje Gyaltsen, Robert Cunninghame, Madan M. Kashyap, Suraj Bhan Singh, Marek Kejna, Jorgen Lauresen Vig, Andrei Simic, Marie-Claudette Kirpalani, Eduardo de Filippo, Marusca Francini, Daniela Palermitana, Garry Bach, M.S. Narayana, N.Y.J.S. Wadalia, Mulk Raj Anad, N.K. Pandya-Ushanas, Franco Lombardi, B.S. Latwal, Baldev Mirza, Musajjalumba, Joima B. Ramirez, Bruno Uytersprot, Frank Starr, Kanta Kamlesh, Prachoomsook Achava-Amrung, Charles Mercieca, John Zitko, Gertrude Emerson Sen, Ernest Kay, Wilson Barrett, Anthony Phillips, Rodny Daniel, Philip Isely, William L. Nucklos, Manju Arora, U.R. Trikha, Surinder Kumar Arora, Ritu Nanda, Rashmi Setia, Vimal Ray Talwar, Raj Bala Sharma, Jagannat Prasad Das, Motilal Jotwani, Raj Gill, Manohar Bandopadhyay, Divik Ramesh, Sheila Gujral, Ashok Beri, T.V. Sairam, V.C. Manav, Surjit Kishore Das, R.M. Chopra, Ksemendra Mitra, R.V. Rathak, Trilochan Shastri, Kedar Nath Singh, Kedar Nath Agrawal, Nirupana Kaur, Baldev Vanshi, Shalendra Shrivastva, Girija Kumar Mathur, Girdhar Rathi, Srikant Verma, Sukhbir Singh, Ashok Vajpeyi, Alok Sharma, Ganga Prasad Vimal, Geeta Vedera, Krishna Srinivas, Indira Devi Dhanaiajgir, Seshandra Sharma, Asavaraju Apparao, Cherbandaraju, Laxmi Narayan Mahapatra, Sachidananda, Rautrau, Shiv Batalvi, P. Lal, Rohini Gupta, Padma Sachdev, Tatiana Chaudhuri, Rita Bagachi...
The Buddha through letters over Joycian-Rushdian matter-of-factness, also Emdha, Elaine, Lalage emptied eliptical sampling.
THE INTERNATIONAL ACADEMY “MIHAI EMINESCU”
First draft – 1991 – to be completed by acknowledgments, other names of poets, thinkers, artists, translators, eminescologists, educators, desiring to be together unto poetry/shanti.
Albania, Argentina, Australia, Austria, Belgium, Brazil, Bulgaria, Canada, Czechoslovakia, Chile, China, Denmark, Egypt, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Hungarx, India, Iran, Irak, Israel, Italy, Japan, Mexico, Moldova, Netherlands, New Zealand, Nigeria, Philippines, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Senegal, South Africa, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Tanzania, Thailand, United Kingdom, USSR, USA, Yugoslavia
MEMBERS / HONORARY INVITED
Rafael Alberti, Robert Bly, Emil Cioran, Rosa del Conte, Yolanda Eminescu, Evgheni Evtushenko, John Fowles, Vaclav Havel, Daisaku Ikeda, Eugen Ionesco, Octavio Paz, Amrita Pritam (president since 1981), Salman Rushdie, Leopold Sedhar Senghor, Bogdan Suhodolsky, Grigore Vieru.
MEMBERS AT LARGE
Anna Aalten, B. Abanuka, Tawfik El Abdo, Prachoomsuk Achava-Amrung, Ioan Alexandru (organizer), Ion Andreiţă, O. M. Anujan, Lourdes Arizpe, Werner Bahner, Andrei Bantaş, Romano Baroni, Georges Barthouil, Al Bayati, Enric Becescu, Eva Behring, Amita Bhose, Danuta Bienkowska, Carlo Bernardini, Eveline Blamont, Ana Blandiana, Lucian Boz, Ion Caramitru, Margaret Chatterjee, Mary Ellen-Chatwin, Mihai Cimpoi, Silvia Chiţimia, Henri Claessen, Georges Condominas, Lean-Louis Courriol, Robert Creeley, Petru Creţia, Marco Cugno, Nicolae Dabija, Rodny Daniel, Nilima Das, Sisir Kumar Das, Mahendra Dave, Guenther Deicke, Francis Dessart, Stanislaw Dobrowolski, P. Vidyasagar Dayal, Metoda Dodic-Fikfak, Mihai Drăgan, Livia Drăghici, Jules Dufur, Zoe Dumitrescu-Buşulenga, Anton Dumitriu, Monika Egde, Christian Eggebert, Didona Eminescu, Roland Erb, Jiri Felix, Galdi Laszlo, Roy Mac Gregor-Hastie, Al Giuculescu, Allain Guillermou, Herbert Golder, Klaus Heitmann, Helena Helva, Gerard Herberichs, Carmen Hendershott, Anna Hohenwart, Peter Hook, Alexandra Hortopan, Kazimiera Illakowiczowna, Philip Iseley, Judith Isroff, Ion Iuga, Vilenka Jakac-Bizjak, Rafik Vihati Joshi, Elena M. Koenigsberg, Maria Kafkova, Iuri Kojevnikov, Henrik Konarkovski, Omar Lara, Leonida Lari, Maria Teresa Leon, Catherine Lutard, Keshav Malik, Muhamed Maghoub, Fidelis Masao, Liliana Mărgineanu, Pino Mariano, Constantin Mateescu, Anna Mathai, Dumitru Matkovski, Charles Mercieca, Ion Milos, Baldev Mirza, George Munteanu, Chie Nakane, Ion Negoiţescu, Wanda Ostap, Ayappa Panikar, Sheila Pantry, Daniel Perdigao, Augustin Petre, Irina Petrescu, Max Demeter Peyfuss, Jane Plaister, Franco Prendi, Carlos, Queiroz, Zorica Rajkovic, Lisa Raphal, Peter Raster, Ruprecht Rohr, Marcel Roşculeţ, Mario Ruffini, Angelo Sabbattini, A. M. Sadek, Zeus Salazar, Patricia Sarles, Monika Segbert, Joachim Schuster, Vinod Seth, Satyavrat Shastri, Andrei Simic, Norman Simms, William Snodgrass, Mihai Stan, Dumitru Stăniloae, Sygmunt Stobersky, Sanda Stoleru, Sorin Stratilat, Arcadie Suceveanu, Eric Sunderland, Bathelemy Taladoire, Akile Tezkan, Eugen Todoran, Fernando Tola, Mona Toscano-Pashke, Urmila Rani Trikha, Kliment Tsacev, Mihai Ursachi, Bruno Uytersprot, Nelson Vainer, Isabela Valmarin, Dimitrie Vatamaniuc, Romulus & Mihu Vulcănescu, J.L. Vig, Brenda Walker, Xu Wende, Reinhold Werner, Rudolf Windish, Mario Zamora
MEMBERS IN MEMORIAM
Anna Ahmatova, Sergiu Al-George, Gheorghe Anghel, Tudor Arghezi, George Bacovia, Ion Barbu, Lucian Blaga, Samson Bodnărescu, Alexandru Bogdan, N.N. Botez, Petre Brânzeu, Victor Buescu, Anta Raluka Buzinschi, George Călinescu, I. L. Caragiale, Iorgu Caragiale, Toma Chiricuţă, Pompiliu Constantinescu, Aron Cotruş, Ion Creangă, Dimitrie Cuclin, Mihail Dragomirescu, Mircea Eliade, Gheorghe Eminescu, Gheorghe Eminovici, Franyo Zoltan, Galgi Laszlo, Gala Galaction, Mozes Gaster, Onisifor Ghibu, Petre Grimm, Ion Goraş, N.I. Herescu, G. Ibrăileanu, Nicolae Iorga, Petru Iroaie, Josef Sandor, Ivan Krascko, Mite Kremnitz, Franco Lombardi, E. Lovinescu, Titu Maiorescu, Alfred Margul-Sperber, Veronica Micle, Matei Millo, Gheorghe Nedioglu, Constantin Noica, Ramiro Ortiz, Sylvia Pankhurst, Vasile Pârvan, Perpessicius, Ioana Em. Petrescu, Gheorghe Pituţ, Miron Pompiliu, Augustin Z. N. Pop, Cornelui M. Popescu, Aron Pumnul, Salvatore Quasimodo, Ianis Ritsos, Mihail Sadoveanu, George Bernard Shaw, Ioan Slavici, Nichita Stănescu, Carmen Sylva, Carlo Tagliavini, Fani Tardini, Vasile Văduva, Tudor Vianu
ETERNAL purple molten in the mind
should choke the embers of moon’s Carpathians
may be only the letter A liberates us
Asia Africa Antarctica
I come back in Hanuman’s skin
like nightfall for the travelers at an in
like in Hellenian humanity a Corsican
POEMS TO INDORE (XX)
WHAT in the day is tree in the night is moon
in limbo descend the palm trees
growing again with us in the world
in the morning of seasons
given the ode of the moon’s shades
with eyelashes crushed into a song
and my mother reposing
more quiet than dead
the poems present themselves in time
always I am knees of white frost
in the tilling of the night
over the religious face
of cold earth
I burn a flower of blood
and warm myself praying
Romanian ad infinitum
I ran far far away
and seemingly be ye watching me
in snow-capped peaks.
Mountains give me
with the flower
in your heaven
and myself I ye shall free
from a primordial
at the first avalanche.
Knowing about the garden
the paradise of love
within the garden
of the serpent wiggling
aggrandizing of the Bear star silence.
Alack, a lot of amor is perished
per verbum of the buffoon
traded off in Colophon –
the zero who was assassinating himself
in the sight of the laughter
like a prescience
of a fiesta.
in limpid typographics
of nights with India
meditate Thee upon him
with the vak of beginninglessness
of Ion Creanga
during an Eon in Canann.
Coming is another new resurrection
bequeathed by god to the son of man.
Under the blue roof are so many sorceries –
enjoy shall we, the walkers, early in the morning
thither by twos by threes by all
confessing the non-verissimilitudinous half
of the fumeour sluggish tenderness –
find should it a dream
in a more enlivened life
and we smilers of goodness of consubstantiality
down upon the ground would we fall
in genuflection without defection
to resound through secret hearts
under the moon
conceiving its boundless beingness.
Fervently is it wished
that our long way
be fully auspicious
up till the last chronometric syllable
Now am I in Arya
during a summer
before the gods estranged
and the holy waters
to my year
are murmuring baptismal bathing –
and who to live again in another eon
otherwise under the sun
if not the paleness of mountains
under the Orchid’s flickering?
Enjoy will Gheorghe and pariah –
not till tonight will there be an answer
and then only a past dream of the last day
at random during a summer
India, the sister of Chronos,
is dressing herself as a bride –
this strange happening is turning
us into a stone in a red-handed temple
India, the sister of Chronos,
is devouring some of her children –
while through too many childhoods
we are loving each other
India, the sister of Chronos
mayest thou dovour us too –
robost time of the past
ash-sounds of bones.
After Saint George’s day
myself find I on a horse
and I want to be
an estinguished ball
playing the role of Hanibal
in front of my beloved
and greeting the hot tall elephants
with hi ho ho he hum
passing a reclusive moghule gate
pray I still that the god
forgive my starry imprecation
the naked hashish –
pray I not that I pray
derailed trains full of wedding parties
not to despair my horse –
we take an
ever slippery valley
if we have similar shortcomings
hark and heed
how we perish
after Saint George’s day.
And there were two gardens
palms there were in garden
and all the roots were nude
and only one root was for longing
and there were flying birds on the altar
and there were blind statues on the tree branches
on the banks of the Indus
refreshed while the autumns
disappear in the labyrinth
Yearning for Orchid
Gheorghe was loving Rada
With amour and prasad
From last year’s yoga
The time of time
which I am unveiling
called the life soul-angel –
even if thou would burst into the Himalayas
this would not be over my bleeding body
This moon was rising as a virgin
over the palmy garden –
Arjuna was waging war against the
distances of the era
And younder the monsoon was rotating
Siva’s ankle – dear to us –
Kurukshetra and Illion were bearing ragas
bearing good tidings
And there were two gardens
palms in a garden
and all the roots were nude
and only one root was for longing
gurudeva ishtadeva prema bhakti
maya vyanga mrtyu biraha kama
satsanga upadesha darshana
jivatma paramatma moksha
skin not fit for the drum
you loose your head by keeping it
asatoma sad gamaya
tamasoma jyotir gamaya
mrityorma amritam gamaya
ayam atma Brahma
Bharat mata hamare nam
over thousand year nor rememberance
over thousand year nor rememberance
if planet will be not reindianized
fear of self descendants toward forefathers
and you Ion with Chinese against us
we will coax our care
more than China Chindia
well that India didn’t eat us
to our mother I saw her eyes
I am afraid of too much memory
I push the attachement I detach of
this mother like herself
of her grand-mother India
I will also see my mamma burnt at
face how she doesn’t teach us
what good laughing what you see me
I didn’t let you say my kid
from Cernica to Bucharest
The Miorita is usually sung by the people. It appears that it was written to teach the common-falk in an agreeable manner, ethics and politics. One should always listen to the voice of universal love and friendship or the little lamb, Miorita.
Two tribal chiefs of the same country get united to kill the third tribal chief who is more wealthy and who is very attached to the Voice of universal love. The three chiefs are shepherds. The Voice asks the chief to run away from that place i.e. the little lambs want to avoid bloodshed. She advises him to take help from a hound or some big power. The tribal chief would fight for the noble cause and says if he dies in the encounter his bones should be buried on the spot so that the people of the country could know of this. Old mother and the men are the old traditions. When they would come to know of this disaster they would make up their mind to listen to the voice of love in the future. The voice should tell he has gone to achieve some noble cause (i.e. bride). The poet of this ballad, which is very popular among the Romanians thought that the next generation would learn the lesson and follow the voice of universal love and friendship. In order to get peace and prosperity stress is laid on the relationship between Miorita and the tribal chief, her attachment and loyalty to him.
A glimpse of a similar theme is found in the Mahabharata where a destructive war takes place between Pandavas and Kouravas.. The epic gives ample evidence to indicate the horror of destruction even for the cause of the good. Arjuna is not willing to fight his close relations even when is genuine need to do so. The sermon of Lord Krishna urges him to fight it out. People think that Arjuna ran away from the battlefield like a coward. This has the desired effect and he goes all out to fight the evil forces and emerges a winner. (Urmila Rani Trikha).
In the Indian history that time came when armies of Pandavas and Kauravas were arraigned against each other in the battlefield of Kurukshetra. Riddled with doubt and uncertainty, Arjun sought Lord Krisha’s guidance as in the course of action that he should take. This resulted in marvels of Indian philosophy in the shape of “Bhagavad Gita” or “Song Celestial”. To great extent, in post-war years, when values were at discount in West, the conflict between individual and society in which he lived came to such pass that existentialism assumed the task of finding some fulcrum to preserve the human being. (Surinder Kumar Arora)
“The progress of the “Idea of Peace”. This was the topic of the lecture given by Nicolae Titulescu at Cambridge University on 19th November 1930. This lecture was delivered by him in English in academic style for an hour. (Manju Arora)
Vladimir Ghidionescu imagined education as a tree having three parts: pedagogy, or the studz of the child (the root); experimental pedagogy (the stem); and philosophical pedagogy (the tree top). (Ritu Nanda)
Although we have been knowing about Caragiale since last year when we joined Certificate classes, we came closer to his work in Diploma classes. The reason for that could be we were studying Mihai Eminescu’s poems, especially “Luceafarul”. Till now we have studied some plays and skits thoroughly being now very much familiar to such characters as Pampom, Iordache, Didina, Leonida, Mache, Lache, Tache, Mitica, Pristanda, Dandanache and all others. Dandanache is very famous among us because it sounds like Hindi word ‘dandanate’, a person coming rapidly in angerness. We have enjoyed “Moftul roman”. We are very much keen to act Caragiale’s on stage, but all the spectators can’t understant it in Romanian. Could Caragiale be imagined without words? Surely not as he is master of dramatic speech. We can say that synonyms are more than antonyms in Romanian and Indian Cultures. Therefore we are trying to act on Caragiale’s work with help of some Hindi words, in a manner that dialogues not to loose their spirit and meaning. (Vimal Ray Talwar).
The action of the Golden Bough (1933), one of Mihail Sadoveanu’s major novels, is set in Byzantium, ‘Prelunci’ designates a place lying on the fringes of the woods that shield the abode of Culi Ursake – the protagonist of the Bear’s Lye (1938), the gamekeeper in charge of the hunting grounds provided by the wooded Surianul heights overhanging the Frumoasei Valley and sprawling down to it. A man who reached the mid point of his life’s path has got lost in a thick wood and now he cannot find the straight way back. (Raj Bala Sharma).
“The Most Beloved of Men” comes out from last Marin Preda’s letters (before he died), from his resourceful heart which was full of literary talent, psychological vision about man and socio-political situation of his country’s eventful history. In this present novel he showed his political structure of mid fourties, when the People Councils were the supreme power in the country. The security force had a slight doubt on anybody’s behaviour putting people behind the bar for several years without even prove their guilt; this type of situation I remember in the Pre-independent India when Britons were ruling here. Marin Preda’s hero, Petrini, had suffered rigorous prisonment for three years even the council & security could not prove anything against him. When he came back, he had not been allowed to work as a professor even as a teacher of a primary school. This reminds me about the prisoners, mainly freedom fighters, in Pre-independent India, who were not allowed to work in any Govt. Dept. (Provin Dutt).
Being a student of Romanian language in M.E.L. Dept.., I came to know the uses and the abuses of Romanian language; relating the uses of Romanian one can easily say its importance, we come to know different cultures, views so necessary for world relations; regarding the abuse, the language is not so common, could be controversial for who is a very new acceptor of it. We have however now a Hindi version of the Romanian national song “Miorita”; Mihai Eminescu the national poet, created a new sensation in the world; Mihai Sadoveanu is being translated in different languages including Hindi; we’ve read Liviu Rebreanu and now we are studying “Getica” by Vasile Parvan; we did celebrate Octavian Goga and George Bacovia – “singur, singur, singur, / intr-un han departe’. Whatever current views that I am having with this particular language in with the kind and sincere help of our lecturer, Dr. G.Anca, who all his efforts and loving nature maintance the importance of the language and gives us the beauty of it, which we try to keep in our fertile imagination. (Chanchal Ganguli).
What ever we think is not the limit, / There are certain other thoughts existing / beyond our imagination. / As your mind has seven Guyanandris / but as far as our knowledge is concerned / only five are working and others are active beyond our thinking. So we should not have to leave any little thing because it may have a great importance. (Sanjai Malhotra).
As it is a European language newly established in India and very few people have studied it, it is more mysterious to learn Romanian. Some people are crazy to study French, German or Russian. But some are of the type to do something new, having in their mind that this will help them in their future advancement and encourage them to understand the new culture and literature intimately. In this way one should be in touch with studies which are real food for human mind. Romanian is an important Latin language. It is also a good secret language because of its less popularity. From literary point of view the people of their country are very much attracted by our Indian Culture. Their national poet Mihai Eminescu had written many poems and stories on our culture like "Poveste indica". The way to heaven from Himalaya discovered by the Pandavas who went there after the Mahabharata battle is a mouth of paradise, like in Miorita. By knowing this language is easy for us to understand these people, their development and behaviour. Here it is good to spend one to two hours of our daily routine to study the language as a part time education. Which also is a good mental exercise. In this way we can increase our knowledge enormously. It is found that every country has similar traditions that due to the different environment conditions there are different ways of performing them. (Manju).
A Ray of Sunshine / could be seen / in their heart / with fulfilment of / their desires. / Or could be seen their / emptiness in their / life-stone-life to / hold together / with the same purpose. (Raj Bala).
Can’t you sense this venture is right? / I’m a student of history. I always wondered what / Salome did with Saint / John’s head. Refuse. A Psychic told me to go into garbage. / Since I’ve been recycling my own / She says I’m natural for muck. / “Call it Green Waste”, she said. / When mentioning this to an elected official, / She asked if I’d seen the new slick magazine / By the name. She claims she spent two hours / At the mall reading it while waiting for her / Yuppie shopping son. When he came to pick / Her up, he exclaimed, “Mom, other women read / Cosmo or Vogue while passing time. How can I / Explain to my friends you’re reading Garbage?” / When I told this to my curt 15 year old, she said / It’s better that reading tea leaves. Considering / The environment, she recommended my investing in / Vacuums. She senses there’s a lot more than dust / Flying around outer space. “Mamon”, she offered me, / “Who knows? You might discover gold in one of those / Black holes. “She knows I’m serious about garbage. (Mona).
The Hound of Love. I sit placidly under a Christmas tree/ I ribbon packages with colorless rainbows/ sweet as a lizard’s good morning/ I lick my loneliness and smile / Overworked angry hope crabs/ down a lunging stair/disrupts out of control/my voluntary simplicity/Ducking his furious lullabyes/I see poking through his slippers/ toenails painted tangerine pink/I wonder if he is crying / Juggling Christmas balls / I run backwards through stars badly in need of weeding / a refrigerator warns abandon hope/not to enter quicksands of jello / gyrating in despair / Skimmed with bitter chocolate / and gilded with champagne / a bride’s chamber pot runneth over/ Terribly afraid of capsizing / I serve tennis balls for breakfast /--my speciality—and am / laughed at for being house proud / I stretch out / beside a drad fork and spoon/mangled by a man child / practicing accidental murder./ I’ts cold systematically cold / He screams upon his horn / he beeps me out into lipsore traffic / I flee him down nanoseconds / blurbed, beautiful and besmirched / down sunglades summerish with light / down seasons suspended with delight/where leaves gag and redden/and go boisterous into fingerless winds / smelling of dusty disobedience / chorteling the scurless milk of ages / Red light returning I give in / I give in to his huge tearful embrace / The stones are soft / as we lie back / we count syllables / I wonder / dare I smoke a cigarette / Lovlingly he turns / to me; He whispers / that I mispronounce hegemony. (Elaine Svenonius)
(To Buddha) Whenever I dream of you / a half burnt face / appears from Hiroshima /…/ No I can’t dream / I can’t dream of anything (Baldev)
(The New Draupadi) They stood hot before a mirror--/the woman having a right man as her releaser / and the man feasting on her saree / whitch his mind’s eye looked at a new Draupadi / in her many concentric sarees / one under the other / everyone under the other one / and also as Dushasana…(Motilal Jotwani).
(after you leave) it’s midnight now / there is non in the auditorium / only the clown on the stage / his head bowed in the last act / the lonely bird beats its wings / against the ceiling of the godless temple / the penitent with his severed head / lies prostrate on the old pavement / there is a queer kinship / between the end of life / and the transient but lovely flesh / we’ll therefore be sitting in a row / the penitent and the clown hand / in search of immortality at time’s last frontiers (Jagannath Prassad Das)
(Jagannath temple). We heard the story once again, the dream untimely / shortened so that the Lord and his family ended up / with shortened stumps of arms and legs. / The central eye of diamond had been stolen. / Three points where Sri Chaitanya had buried his fingers / in ecstasy. (Nilima Das).
I saw a man / walking the road / he has a shadow. (Raj Gill).
The Life-Chariot moves. / Shiva has squeezed a sponge over the sun and the last flickers of hope die with it. / Useless petals of tears on the traveller’s cheek; / shrunk skin over bones like a shroud on a corpse. (Sunil Kumar Bhattacharya).
Grief – Said I. /He didn’t listen to / And seemed to be grieved. / Grief - said he. Even I didn’t listen to / And falt myself aggrieved (Shyam Vimal).
L’affricaine connait l’astre chaleureux / qui illumine sa terre et sanctifie son peuple (Bruno Uyttesprot).
I have spent an age in waiting / and shall still wait till your past / and my present sink into a silence, / till from the fringe of that silence / you come to utter a word / I am dying to hear (Manohar Bandopadhyay)).
Come, now. / Let’s speak in silence. / The way of the sky, / The mountains, / The Night. (Divik Ramesh).
While falling They Love no Sense of direction No preference For any place No will of their own They seem To have mastered The art of resignation of parting with A tear of dying Without a sigh (R. N – Chopra).
Far and forgot to me is near; / Shadow and sunlight are the same; / The vanished gods to me appear; / And one to me are shame and fame. (Ralph Waldo Emerson).
Remember the fascinating places we have seen, / The beauty we always thrilled to, / Like the cascade of song falling from a startled Himalayan thrush / Perched in the verandah, when we suddenly switched on the light, / Going out to post a letter one winter night; / Above all, we remember the love we have shared. (Gertrude Emerson Sen).
The old man and the virgin girl are one (Surjit Kishore Das).
Your entry in my life has made me a bard (V.C. Nanav)
Et voila! Your flowers are ready! (T.V. Sairam).
I saw men and wives (Manjushree).
The girl preferred friends to be absent As they can’t bring her any present. (Ashok Beri).
How nice to live in a multi-level house (Sheila Gujral).
Where all other ways are lost One seems to find one’s own. (Premendra Mitra).
Watching you and the sea You are a creeper I am the tree (R.V. Pathak)
Your quiet breath will let me know (Trilochan Shastri).
Only the Bamboo grove’s dry rustle rasps on the ear (Kedar Seth Singh).
An immense azure bird An immense azure eye(Kedar Nath Agrawal)
There is no short cut to Nirvana (Nirupana Kaur)
I am doomed to the naked scorching desert (Prabhjot Kaur)
Come, let us fly, there is no one around here (Baldev Vanshi)
He knew only how to fly the kite (Shalendra Srivastva)
And yet amidst all this darkness There are still those left that trust thee (Girija Kumar Mathur).
You try and save yourself and a freedom as old as you (Girdhar Rathi).
Only Ashoka lays down the sword. Only Ashoka Was fighting (Srikant Verma).
In the dark The voice changes many colours (Vukhbir Singh).
The aged world of gods was dead before I was born (Ashok Vajpeyi).
The sea assumes a lake-like calme (Alok Sharma).
Now I will go To a village in distant Himalayas (Ganga Prasad Vimal)
Come, Crucify all the sentences into words (Geeta Vadhera).
Peace lies bleeding In fields of East and West (Krishna Srinivas).
Time drops seeds of new feelings (Indira Devi Dhanrajgir)
Hunger For the other divine for a newer God (Seshendra Sharma)
O Thunderbolt, do not roar (Rasavaraju Apparao).
Postponed death in the darkest prisons (Cherbandaraju)
The world is half calm, half stress, and fully schizophrenic (Vinod)
I do not want your turbulent world (Laxmi Narayan Mahapatra).
Make me a butterfly in your garden O my gardener (Sachidanada Rautray).
Mother! Here no one loves anybody (Shiv Batalvi)
I lived in a village in a Punjab corner Not far from Tarn Taran (P. Lal)
Unless he is non existent unless in shamed despair (Rohini Gupta)
I am a woman Suffering falling snow (Padma Sachdev)
That mansion built away from maddening crowd (Tatiana Chaudhari)
Kamban’s Yuddha Kanda in burnt Lanka rebuilt by mason Maya after Brahma’s blueprint lovelier than before Hanuman’s fire.
Dattakavi-Namdeo-Eknath “Kisna-thamal re thamal apulya gai” – Krishna do look after your cows.
Chandidas on midnight seeing Tara with a friend. Then, “Make love to me just for once and save me”. “I have become a yogi now”. Zinda Kaul with Vedas Nirvana Self-Recognition. “Thou are to man the truth, / To Yog its ecstasy, to Budh Nirvana / The selfless self – to Vadan Thou art Brahm”.
Prem Chand – finery – woe – orthodoxy – dowry – widow – stepmother - upsurgegilli danada – supernatural - hypocrisy characters.
Kabir you are nothing but the word logos Khalik Khalak Khalak men Khalik God is in the world and the world is in God. Kabir says this is a tale never fully told she eats children and husband the unheard drum is sounding.
Ghalib ancestors warriors for a hundred generations.
Govardhanram my Lilavati died after stainless spotless life of suffering… that sweetest, noblest, holiest, unhappiest.
Vemana – Only he who considers the sorrows of his fellow-men as his own is worthy of being called a man punyamugalavadu.
Valathol – Gandhuji in him unite Christ’s selfsacrifice, Krishna’s skill in protecting Dharma, Buddha’s non-violence, Sankara’s intellect, Ranthideva’s mercifulness, Harischandra’s constancy in Truth And Mohammed steadfastness.
Nanalal – This distructive wheel Is also the creative wheel; Look at the centre of the wheel, Is Sri Krishna, The wielder of the wheel.
Manikkavachakar – in Tirupperunthurai of Vatha voor Lord Civan Niver Voikai a Pendiyan Tiruvachakaur.
Kalhana – Rajatarangini – this narrative of past facts – to compile – Banabhatta – The Northern style is full of puns, / The Western favours only sense; / The Southern with wild fancy reeks, / While the eastern bombast seeks.
Jnanadeva – Radiant reality – The past lies dead before us and along with it our past-made ego with its conditional consciousness becomes totally empty and naked, a mere nothingness.
Sri Aurobinde – I walked into Nirvana without intending it or rather Nirvana walked casually into me.
Baba Farid – Farid, revile not dust, there is nothing like it; When we are alive, it is beneath our feet; when We are dead, it is above us.
Basaveshawara – Alas, alas, O Shiva, there is No pity in you.
Bharti – Mahashakti then auspicious Shiva Mother, Mother, You’re drawn me To see you dance.
The elephants were bathing obediently in their lake. Trompone, smaller and rather bad, starts muddying the water, on purpose, muddies it till it turns black, but his brothers and parents don’t know who is the culprit. They all go to Lord Ganesh and tell him. “Are you all here?” They count – Trompone is missing. “One of you go and look for him”. He finds the lake muddier than ever and somebody at the bottom – a crocodile, he thinks: “Waa, waa, answers Lord Ganesh, see to it that he doesn’t eat your trunk. Somebody else go”. The crocodile turns out to be Trompone. “Oh Lord, Trompone is always sticking his trunk into other’s people business”. “It’s not nice, dear Trompone”, the God says, only. All are praying him to take a bath in their lake – wherever Lord Ganesh bathes the water turns clear, as clear as a tear.
The elephants are muddying it again. Trompone, alone: “now, I’ll do it now once and for all”, but the mud settles, so he stamps his foot and slaps his trunk and wallows the slit, splashes with his trunk, overturns like an elephant-pig in the mud but still the water gets clearer and clearer and still more clear. The brothers come. “Waa, waa, Lord Ganesh took a bath here. We must thank him”. “I didn’t drop in”, the God replied, and has an audience with Trompone, who was sorry he couldn’t trouble the water – otherwise, what’s the fun? “I know what is in your mind. But listen here, would you like to be a saint?” “God forbid! I am not cut to be a saint: sometimes I play, sometimes I get ideas…” "O key”.
Some of his people were playing a friendly call to some rabbits, near a hill. The long-eared ones took fright and ran away to the top of the hill. The elephants cried “ah, we are your friends”, and, why follow them more, let’s surround the hill.
Now the Holy Elephant – no more Trompone – also had come on that visit. On the way, he hears some hungry lions: “I could eat an elephant”, one says. The Holy Elephant decides to offer himself: “Why not eat me?” The lions stand stone-still and prostrate themselves, “We?” eat you?” and they started tearing their manes.
Yes, Nana, just as you say, some ants hear that the Holy Elephant are going to his brothers’ at Rabbit Mountain and want to greet him. Being tiny they gather by hundreds of millions making themselves a giant ant which comes and worships the Holy Elephant, who now looks no bigger than a mite. Than his brothers come, also by hundreds of millions.
Right, Nana, “we want to go to Bombay,” they are saying, “but it’s far”. “With wings or without?” “With”. And they fly away. And then a child: “Look, Look! An ant with a wing like a trunk!” Immediately that one turns back into an elephant. Another child sees another ant and, Bang! another elephant. A hundred millions elephants, ten for each child and ten for his brother. And ten for us. For everyone.
There’s an elephant here and he wants to sleep. “Yes”, you say, “There is”.
Make believe you are sleeping on your elephant. I am asleep on mine.