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...
This Sunday, we had been to Karjat, or rather , to a small village near Karjat , where my husband and father-in-law have been involved in Social Service activities. They go there every weekend without fail for some service activity or the other, but this was a family outing for the inauguration of a bridge that they have built. It was a small event which was to be attended by our family, a few invitees, and the local villagers. Students from the local school were the first to arrive, dressed in their best, and full of excitement. They also put up a good show, singing bhajans to the best of their ability. The villagers of course, turned out in full strength, which was expected, but the surprise was the arrival of the local politicians, most of them uninvited. It is amazing to see how well the local grapevine works, for all the politicos were there to see how someone had managed to, single handedly, and without their co-operation, built a bridge in that remote location. All of them, of c...