Hope eternal.

These dainty blossoms, bring back , those moments of bliss, that we shared.They are so very like those that you have tried to interest the-mundane-work-a-day-me in, when we were young. I especially cherish the one that you held in your hand that day ages ago, that had whetted my my appetite for you . It’s still fresh in my mind, that pure pink heavenly rose. Years have gone by. Looking at you now like this makes me doleful. But my misery is still tinged with a fondness for all that we have gone through, the hills and the vales together, all the years that have gone by, a bit too swiftly, to my rue. I live in a kind of stupor, a paramnesia, wary of looking into your tired, listless eyes. Instead I look at those blossoms in profusion and I steal a glance at you, now and again.You too are looking at them , in a distracted wistful manner. The spring is here . Perhaps it is yet not too late in the day, to, together, kindle the crumbling embers to glow, if only for a few precious moments more.

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#4 चन्दन चर्चित (Chandana Charchita or Haririha Mugdha)

here is a blog that can delight jayadeva’s devotees.

Jayadeva's Gita Govinda

Alternate names

Candana Carcita, Chandhana Charchitha
Haririha Mugda, Harir iha Mugdha

Updated Apr 2013

View original post 278 more words

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It’s a carnival . It’s Holi in Ayodhya too.

Rama is sitting in the lotus posture in the assembly hall . His eyes are closed, he seems to be meditating.
Sita, newly wed, approaches him stealthily , taking care that her anklets do not jingle. She has a golden pitcher in her hand. She is in two minds. Then she nods and bends down at Rama’s feet and smears his feet with colour . Rama opens his eyes, looks at his feet and at the enticing sight of his smiling bride running away. He laughs and chases the girl. She runs swiftly into the abode of Kausalya and hugs her. Kausalya looks at the girl with affection . She says ” What is this, my child ! Why is your bosom heaving like this ?! Are your mischievous maids at you again?”
But it takes her only a li’l while to grasp the matter.
Rama meanwhile gets water and colours mixed in big cauldrons in various hues. He fills the coloured water in a number of spray guns and secures them in a sling bag and goes to his mother’s abode.
He does not find his wife, but he knows she is hiding there somewhere.
” Mamma, this lass has smeared me with colour, while I was praying and she is hiding now behind you like a thief. Deliver her to me.”
Sumithra and other lady folk , coming to know of the hustle-bustle, go into Kausalya’s chambers. Diverting the attention of the young lad, they try to spirit the girl away. Rama senses this. He rushes in front of them takes out one of his spray guns and squirts his darling with colours.
Dasaradha too had rushed to his queen’s parlour meanwhile and looks around.
There are big vessels of coloured water in readiness there.Rama had set his sling bag aside .He has handed over a golden mug to Sita and has taken another in his hand . The young couple are intently bathing each other in coloured water. Others too are drenching the couple and one another in colours.
Lakshmana is looking at his brother and Sita and at their blood-shot eyes with apprehension. Urmila is staring at Lakshmana. Bharata and Satrughna are looking at the spectacle from the balcony and at one another enquiringly whether to join the melee.
Dasaradha glances at Kausalya and looks around for a pitcher. She already has one, filled to the brim in her hand.

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To beg is demeaning. To refuse what is begged for is as demeaning.

Here is story about the generousness of Karna . Once, Lord Krishna desired to put the famed philanthropy of Karna to test.
He goes to Karna’s abode. Karna is taking bath just then. There is a precious and beautiful goblet filled with massaging oil beside him, on his left side. Krishna expresses a desire to have it. Karna immediately picks up the goblet with his left hand and presents it to Krishna.
Krishna feigning offence questions him, ” Karna ! Can’t you present it properly,- with your right hand?”
Karna replies, ” The mind wavers. Money is fickle. The God of Death is unmerciful. Can one be sure that one would be alive the next moment? So I believe,a good deed needs to be done without a moment’s delay.”
Krishna is overjoyed . He asks Karna to seek a boon of his choice.
Karna does so, ” To have to beg is as demeaning as having to deny or refuse something begged for from him. Grant me the good fortune , ever not to have to beg, or of not having to say no when someone begs me for something. “

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The east is bright now, the misty veil has lifted.

How do you like this lyric

“It’s bright now, the veil has lifted.
The east is bright now, the misty veil has lifted.
The season is past , can it drizzle still?
The rainy season is past, can it mizzle-drizzle still ?
You caress my back and the tears stop.
You caress my hunch-back and the flooding tears stop.
As you smile thus, I’m drenched .
As you smile kindly thus, I’m drenched, – in your beguiling perfume.”

Here is the Telugu version.

తెల్లవారగా ముసుగుతొలగదా ?
తూర్పు తెల్లవారగా చీకటి ముసుగుతొలగదా ?
ఋతువుగడిచితే ముసురు ఆగదా ?
వర్షర్తువు గడిచితే వాన ముసురు ఆగదా ?
వెన్ను నిమిరితే కన్నీరు ఆగదా?
గూని వెన్ను నిమిరితే, పారే కన్నీరు ఆగదా?
నవ్వు చిలికితే పన్నీరు కురవదా ?
చిరునవ్వు చిలికితే బతుకున పన్నీరు కురవదా ?

Here is the Unicode.

tellavAragA musugutolagadA ?
tUrpu tellavAragA cIkaTi musugutolagadA ?
RtuvugaDicitE musuru AgadA ?
varshartuvu gaDicitE vAna musuru AgadA ?
vennu nimiritE kannIru AgadA?
gUni vennu nimiritE, pArE kannIru AgadA?
navvu cilikitE pannIru kuravadA ?
cirunavvu cilikitE batukuna pannIru kuravadA ?

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Let these wild flowers wither out beside the trail, My Lord.

Here is my attempt at translation into English of a lyric by Devulapalli Krishna Sastri, written in 1929. The intertwining of hope and despair that we find in this lyric , I think, was characteristic of the troubled times that were in offing .

“Let these wild flowers wither out beside the trail, My Lord,
But , if you should take a fancy, make them glisten out in your garland , My Lord,
Let these tender lyrics lie mute in this nook , My Lord,
But if you so choose, let them glitter as offerings to you, My Lord.
Let these narrow creeks, dry out in this remote vale, My Lord.
But, if it is your grace, let them join the limitless ocean of your compassion, My Lord.
Let this miserable life, peter out in the dreary deserts, My Lord.
But, if it is your will, let it gallop along on your own highway, MyLord.”

Here is the Unicode version of the original Telugu verse

I gaDDi pUvulE, I dAri pontanE alasi pO nIvOyi dEva dEvA
nI isTamainacO nI pUla danDalO merasipOnIvOyi dEva dEvA
I lEta gItaala I gUTi mUlanE mUgavOnIvOyi dEva dEvA
nI isTamainacO nI pUla danDalO merasipOnIvOyi dEva dEvA
I cinni selayELLa I konDa kOnanE enDipOnIvOyi dEva dEvA
nI isTamainacO nI prEmarASilO ninDipOnIvOyi dEva dEvA
I pEda jIvikala I eDArulalOne vEgipOnIvOyi dEva dEvA
nI isTamainacO nIrAjavIdhilO sAgipOnIvOyi dEva dEvA

And here it is again in the Telugu script.

ఈ గడ్డి పూవులే ఈ దారి పొంతనే అలసి పోనీవోయి దేవ దేవా
నీ ఇస్టమైనచో నీ పూల దండలో మెరసిపోనీవోయి దేవ దేవా
ఈ లేత గీతాల ఈ గూటి మూలనే మూగవోనీవోయి దేవ దేవా
నీ ఇస్టమైనచో నీ పూల దండలో మెరసిపోనీవోయి దేవ దేవా
ఈ చిన్ని సెలయేళ్ళ ఈ కొండ కోననే ఎండిపోనీవోయి దేవ దేవా
నీ ఇస్టమైనచో నీ ప్రేమరాశిలో నిండిపోనీవోయి దేవ దేవా
ఈ పేద జీవికల ఈ ఎడారులలోనె వేగిపోనీవోయి దేవ దేవా
నీ ఇస్టమైనచో నీరాజవీధిలో సాగిపోనీవోయి దేవ దేవా

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Don’t worry, be happy.

‘The old man pointed to a baker …….”He never realised that people are capable, at any time in their lives, of doing what they dream of.” ‘
I place a book marker betwixt pages 22 and 23 of “The Alchemist “, by Paul Coelho, set it aside, stretch myself and see whether the IPad is charged yet. Yes, it is. I take it and immerse myself into the wide, deep expanse of the WWW.
“Be good, be happy, live long”, I write as my comment , summarising the story that I found on the Facebook of a 102 year old lady who still plays golf.
“The sump pump is not working”, the missus is complaining, “And the sump is overflowing.” The pump and its Fractional horse power single phase motor have been working finely since the past ten years conveying the water released into it by the water works up into the overhead tank.
I go into the yard and check. The pump that has served us faithfully for the past decade is now mute when I switch on. No hiccup even yesterday. The bearings must have jammed. Or the capacitor could be faulty. I can loosen the bearings or even replace the capacitor, I assure myself. The worst case is that, one or both of the windings is burnt, in which case it has to be got rewound by a professional . I sit down to check up.The axle of the mono-block is not accessible, for me to rotate it and loosen the bearings. I try to open the cap that has the fan within it, to turn the fan and loosen the bearings. I could remove two of the screws that held the cap. The bottom one is near the concrete pedestal, not accessible to the screw driver. I give up this approach and try to push the screw driver through the ventilating holes of the cap and turn the fan blades a bit, but to no avail. If only I can remove the cap I can loosen the bearings. For this I have to detach the pump from the piping and the pedestal, which I would and could have attempted if I were a decade or more younger. But what if the capacitor is faulty. Of course if the rotor is free and if the rotor is turned around a bit before the motor is switched on the motor should continue rotate even in capacitor is faulty. No point in poking around any further. I go out to fetch a mechanic.
“Be good, be happy, live long.” the words keep rolling in my mind. It is not long before they remind me of a similar sounding exhortation, ” Don’t worry, be happy.”
These are the famous words of Meher Baba, an Indian sage. Yes, do what you can and if you can’t do something, don’t worry, find someone who can help you do it, or who would do it for you.. You be happy, make him happy too. Don’t worry, be happy, I tell myself.
The narrow steep road connects to the U-shaped, curved main road at the bottom of the U. I am walking carefully along the edge of the street. A truck speedily rushes past me almost grazing my shoulder and slows down a bit to join the main road. I am flustered, but check myself from cursing him. I look wildly at the truck. I am astonished to find painted behind its back, caked with dirt but still visible, the words “Don’t worry. Be happy.”

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