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...
An old man sat by the side of the path, as I entered the office. He smiled at me, and I smiled back. He was forgotten at once, immersed as I was in the work I had come for. A few minutes later, I was interrupted by my excited son, Samhith, who wanted my camera. Eager to be rid of him so I could talk, I gave him my camera, not even bothered about what he wanted to click. When I came out at last, my work done, I found him busy clicking while the old man smiled at him! “Amma, look!” cried Samhith. “I took a photo of this thatha (grandfather) MYSELF!!”. His pride at his achievement was infectious, and I looked at the photo, ready with my words of praise. Here is the photo he clicked that day.....