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...
Summer is when I travel . This year, our #Summertrip was shorter than usual, and now, back in sweltering Mumbai, my thoughts are still in the gorgeous wilderness of Kanha National Park, where the sun’s heat didn’t bother us. Indeed, on our early morning jaunts into the forest, we found ourselves shivering. While Samhith huddled into the sole jacket he carried, I wrapped myself tighter into my dupatta which doubled up as a shawl… till the sun came up, of course. And then we basked in its welcome warmth, till it grew too hot, and it was time to leave. A few hours break, and then we were back in the jungle, enjoying the play of sunlight and shadows among the trees and the tall grasses, till it grew too dark to see anything more. Wandering almost all day amidst the towering Sal trees, spotting the elusive tiger hidden in the grass, barely a few feet away; as peacocks danced, enticing their mates, and jackals roamed, searching for prey; as vultures perched on trees, within sight of decay...