Pujari Newsletter || Pochishe Baisakh Issue || 7th May 2011 || VOL. #2 | ISSUE #1
Anjali th
Celebrating 150 Birth Anniversary of Rabindranath Tagore
Beauty is truth's smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror. -‐ Rabindranath Tagore
Pujari Newsletter || Pochishe Baisakh Issue || 7th May 2011 || VOL. #2 | ISSUE #1
A mind all logic is like a knife all blade. It makes the hand bleed that uses it. -‐ Rabindranath Tagore
Pujari Newsletter || Pochishe Baisakh Issue || 7th May 2011 || VOL. #2 | ISSUE #1
By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower. -‐ Rabindranath Tagore
Pujari Newsletter || Pochishe Baisakh Issue || 7th May 2011 || VOL. #2 | ISSUE #1
Expect The Unexpected By: Suporna Chaudhuri, Age: 15 Weary fingers turn shiny knobs Sweltering heat fills the enclosure Agonizing minutes of impatience pass by A wild scream echoes along the walls... My brother's bathwater is too hot. Muscles tense under the skin Pupils dilate at a rapid pace Savage animals bare their teeth at one another A maniacal shriek shatters every ear... A girl has caught the bride's bouquet.
Fast-‐moving feet dart in and out A robotic face hides its furious thoughts A thousand hands swoop back and forth Acid drips down a parched throat... A waitress takes a dish back to the chef. Hundreds of eyes beam and grin Backs arch gracefully out of shackles Roars burst out of heaving chests Thunder rolls throughout like waves... My audience applauds as my poem ends.
“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.” Rabindranath Tagore
Pujari Newsletter || Pochishe Baisakh Issue || 7th May 2011 || VOL. #2 | ISSUE #1
Don't limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time. -‐ Rabindranath Tagore
Pujari Newsletter || Pochishe Baisakh Issue || 7th May 2011 || VOL. #2 | ISSUE #1
Drawing by Hiya Ray, 5 years
Pujari Newsletter || Pochishe Baisakh Issue || 7th May 2011 || VOL. #2 | ISSUE #1
Pujari Newsletter || Pochishe Baisakh Issue || 7th May 2011 || VOL. #2 | ISSUE #1
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úđʛĘĉĉ ăĕĘąŪ ąđçĊ čɏĀđĠDžĘï ăĕąŪ ëąá ăĒɩćąđáĊđĉ ćđĂĔČ ĺąđāĎĠ ĺïąĊå çĀđčēĂ, ĺðăđ, õȵõđĞđ ĒĆǘĔ Ęïĉ ăĈŪđĠ ĺĄĊþÞ þđĘĀĉ ĉĒôþ ñđĂ ĒĂõï ăđñĊđĒć ąĘĊ ƵĒþĆđþ Ď'þÞ ˝āĔćđƯ ƵôđĘĉĉ ãĆđĘą ąđçĊ, ôđĉý ïĒąĉ ĉĒôþ ñđĂ ĺĈ ïþ çǮćđĘñŪĉ ĺĊđïñđĂ þđ ąĔ÷Ęþ čćƣ Ćđĉþąđčēĉí ãĘĂï čćĠ ĺĊĘñĒõĊÞ Ēïˍ ĈĔñĈĔñ āĘĉ ëå ĺðăđĒć í çĀđčēĂþđĉ þđĞĂđĠ ëå čɏĀđĠ ąđáĊđ- čáɾĖ Ēþĉ ĆđȨđĉĘï ĺĈ ïþðđĒĂ čćĖȝ ïĘĉ ëĘčĘõ þđ äćĉđ ëå ħĥĦĦ čđĘĊ ëĘč ĀđàĒĞĘĠ ðĔą ĆđĊ ĆđĘą çăĊĒɇ ïĘĉĒõÞ ćĔǝ ĎĘĠĒõ äćĉđ ëĘĀĉ ĉôĂđęċĊēĘþÞ éȝ ĎĘĠĘõ ąđáĊđ ñđĘĂĉ čáɾĖ ĒþÞ äāƟđĒȕï ëąá ĺĀĎþĘȐĉ íăĉ ëå ĺĊđïñđĂ õĒĞĘĠĘõ ćĔĘð ćĔĘðÞ ëå ąđçĊñđĘĂĉ ƵĒþɵđ ăđíĠđĉ ćĕĘĊ äĘõĂ ĺčå ćđĂĔČDž ĒĈĒĂ ĊđĊćđDžĉ ĺĀĘċ ąđçĘĊĉ ĻñĒĉï ąčĘĂĉ ĉó õĒĞĘĠ ĒĀĘĠĒõĘĊĂ þđàĉ ƵĒþĒɵþ ċđĒȭĒĂĘïþĘĂĉ ĉđóđ āĕĊđĠ Þ ĉąēȰĂđÿ ąĞ ïđõ ĺÿĘï ąđçĊĘï ĺĀĘðĒõĊĂ ëąá ąĔĘ÷ĒõĘĊĂ þđĘĀĉ öēąĂĀċŪĂÞ ĺïđÿđĠ ĺĈĂ ëï äĒȕï ãĂĔĆĕĒþĉ čĔĘĉ þđàĉ ëïþđĉđĠ ĺąàĘāĒõĘĊĂ ąđçĘĊĉ ĺĀđþđĉđĉ čĔĉÞ ąđçĊ čɏĀđĠ ĺĈĂ ąēĉĆĕ Ęćĉ ĉđóđćđDžĉå ĄčĊÞ ëĘï ôôŪđ ïĉĘþ ĎĘą, ąĔ÷Ęþ ĎĘą ëĉ ĺĀĎþȐ ąđĀ ëĘĀĉ ĉĒôþ ĺĊđïñđĂ ćđĂĔČĘï ĺĀĘą ĺĊđïĒċǘđÞ LJï ĺĈćĂ ĉąēȰčǩēĘþĉ ąđçĊ ãĘǩĉ ñđĘĂĉ čĔĘĉ ćđĂĔČ ĎđĒĉĘĠ ĒñĘĠ çăĊĒɇ ïĘĉ ąđçĊñđĘĂ äāƟđȕąđĀ ëąá äȕþƟđĘñĉ ćĕõŪĂđ ĺĀĘð ƵĒþĒĂĠþ äćđĘĀĉ ëå ƵđĘýĉ ïĒąDžĉ ñđĘĂĉ ĆđČđĠ ĺïđÿđĠ ĺĈĂ ĒćĊ ðĔàĘö ăđåÞ ƷđʒāćŪđąĊ˘ē ĎĘĠí ĺĈ ïĒą ƵĒþĒĂĠþ þđàĉ ñđĘĂĉ ïÿđĠ ąƟǏ ïĘĉĘõĂ ĺčå äȕþƟđñ í æ˞Ęĉĉ ƵĒþ äʛĒþÞ þđàĉ ăĕöđ ăĈŪđĘĠĉ ñđĘĂ æ˞Ęĉĉ ƵĒþ äʛĒþ çöđĞ ïĘĉ ĒĀĘĠĘõĂÞ þđå þđàĉ öȶ čđāŪ ċþąĘČŪĉ ĀĉöđĠ ĀđàĒĞĘĠ ąđçĊ ïĒą ąĘĊí ëï ëïąđĉ Ƶýđć öđĂđå ćĘĂ ćĘĂÞ ąđçĊ ĺĈćĂ þđĉ ñđĘĂĉ ïÿđĠ Ƶïđċ ïĘĉ ĺƵć, ăĕöđ í ƵïĖ Ēþĉ ïþ ĉó, ñȴ ëąá ʊċŪ äćđĘĀĉ ĉĒąúđʛĉí ĺĀĘðĒõĘĊĂ ĺčå ĉóÞ ñēþĒąþđĘĂĉ ïƟđĂĆđč ĆĘĉ ĺñĒõĊ þđàĉ þĔ ĒĊĉ ùđĘĂÞ ĺïđÿđĠ ĺĈĂ ãȭĘĉĉ ĺõđàĠđ ĺčå õĒąĘþÞ ĺĈćĂDž äćĉđ ăđå ąđçĘĊĉ čĔĘĉ äĉ ïÿđĠÞ ąđáĊđĘĀĘċĉ ĒąðƟđþ ąđçĊ ĺĈćĂ ĒĊĘðĒõĘĊĂ "äćđĉ ĒĆþĉ ąđĒĎĘĉ ãȭĘĉ ãȭĘĉ äĘõđ þĔ Ēć ˲ĀĠ öĔĘĞ " ĉąēȰĂđÿ ĺĈĂ ĺčå čĔĘĉ čĔĉ ĒćĒĊĘĠ ąĘĊĒõĘĊĂ " "āđĠ ĺĈĂ ĺćđĉ čïĊ ĆđĊąđčđ, ƵĆĔ ĺþđćđĉ ăđĘĂ, ĺþđćđĉ ăđĘĂ, ĺþđćđĉ ăđĘĂ" Ēï˘đ ĈðĂ ĺïđĂ ëï ãĂđćđ ąđçĊïĒąĉ ëïþđĉđĠ ĺąĘö çĘúĘõ "ĺþđćđĠ ˲Āćđ÷đĘĉ ĉđðą ĺõĘĞ ĺĀą Ăđ"Þ þðĂ ĉĒąïĒąĉ ĆđČđĠ ąĘĊ çúĘþ åĘDZ ĎĘĠĘõ "äĒć ˲ĀĘĠĘþ ăÿ ĺïĘùĒõ, ĺčÿđĠ ôĉý ăĘĞ, ĺþđćđĉ ĺčÿđĠ ôĉý ăĘĞ"Þ ëå ĆđĘą õȵõđĞđ ĈƯþƯ ƸđćƟćđĂ ąđçĊĘĀĉ ćđĘ÷ ĉąēȰĂđÿ ĺĈĂ ĒĂâċĘɆ ĺĉĘð ĺñĘõĂ þđàĉ ñđĘĂĉ ăĕöđĉ ĻĂĘąĀƟðđĒĂÞ ąđçĊĘï ĺïç ĺïç ąĘĊĂ þđàĉđ "The master singers of Bengal" Ĉđĉđ ĒĂĘöĘĀĉ Ļþĉē ĈȫđĂĔČǩ ĒĂĘĠ ñđĂ ĺñĘĠ ĺąĞđĠ ćĘĂĉ äĂĘȱÞ Ēïˍ ĺčå ñđĘĂĉ ƵĒþDž ïÿđĠ Ƶïđċ òĘù þđĘĀĉ ĒôȭđċēĊþđ
äĉ öēąĂ ĀċŪĂÞ ïĒąʟ˙ĉ ñđĘĂí äćĉđ ăđå LJï ëćĂ ĺĈðđĘĂ ñđĂ ˝āĔ ñđĂ ĂĠ, ĺĈĂ ïĒąþđ "ąđôĎ çąđô̡"Þ äĉ þđå ąĔĒ÷ ĉąēȰĂđÿ ĎĘĠĒõĘĊĂ ĺčå ĉđóđćđDžĉ ăĘÿĉ ăĒÿï äĉ ĒĊĘðĒõĘĊĂ- "ƣđćõđĞđ ì ĉđóđćđDžĉ ăÿ, äćđĉ ćĂ ĆĔ ĊđĠ ĺĉ..." ĺĈðđĘĂ ãĘöđ ąđçĊ ĺñĘĠ ĺąĞđĠ ïĒąĉ ñđĂ "äćđĉ ĆđóđăĘÿĉ ĉđóđāĕĊđĠ ăĘĞĘõ ïđĉ ăđĘĠĉ Ēôʐ..." ąđçĘĊĉ ïÿđ ąĊĘþ ĺñĘĊ čąŪđĘƣ ćĘĂ ăĘĞ ĈđĠ ĊđĊĘĂĉ ïÿđ ĒĈĒĂ ʆđĂ-ïđĊ-ăđƯ ĺĆĘĀ ãćĉ ąđçĊ ïĒą ˚Ęă ĒąðƟđþ Þ ĆđĉþēĠ čáɾĖ Ēþĉ ãĂƟþć čɑĀ ĎĊ ĊđĊĘĂĉ ñđĂÞ ïąēĘĉĉ ćþ ĀĒĉƲ ĊđĊĘĂĉ ĺïđĘĂđ Ƶÿđñþ Ēċǘđ ĒõĊ ĂđÞ ĒƷDžċ ċđčĂđāēĂ ĆđĉĘþĉ þÿđ ąđáĊđĉ ˰đāēĂþđ ãĘȱđĊĂ ćĔðē ąđáĊđ čđĒĎþƟ čćĖȝ ĎĘĠĒõĊ ĊđĊĘĂĉ ñđĘĂÞ ïĒÿþ äĘõ ĺĈ ĉąēȰĂđÿ ąđáĊđĉ Ēï˘Āȭē ąđçĊ ĊđĊĂ ĄĒïĘĉĉ ĺðđàö ĺăĘĠĒõĘĊĂ þđàĉ ĺĈĝąĘĂÞ ëąá äïĖ ɳ ĎĘĠĒõĘĊĂ ĊđĊĘĂĉ ñđĘĂĉ ïÿđĠÞ äˀþ ĎĘĠĒõĘĊĂ þđĉ ïĒąþđĉ ĆđąđĀĘċŪÞ ïĖ Čï ăĒĉąđĘĉĉ čȭđĂ ëå ĀĒĉƲ ąđçĊDž ĉąēȰĂđĘÿĉ "ĻąĉđñƟčđāĘĂ ćĔĒǏ ĺč äćđĉ ĂĠ" ëĉ ćþ þđàĉ ñđĘĂĉ ïÿđĠ ĺĉĘð ĒñĘĠĒõĘĊĂ čąŪöĂēĂ ĺĀĎþȐ ąđĀÞ ƵĒþɵđ ïĘĉĒõĘĊĂ äȕđĉ ćĔĒǏÞ þđå ĉąēȰĂđÿí ãïăĘù ˰ēïđĉ ïĘĉĘõĂ čćƣ ąđçĊ čɏĀđĘĠĉ ïđĘõ þđàĉ ãăĒĉĘċđĒāþ éĘýĉ ïÿđÞ äćĉđ āĂƟ ĎĘĠĒõ þđàĉ ąđçĊ ãĘǩĉ ñđĂ ˝ĘĂÞ ĉąēȰ ĂđùĘï ĺăĘĠĒõ ĺčå ąđçĊ ôĒĉƯDž ĺĈ ˝ȝ, ĒĂćŪĊ ĒôĘȑ çăĊĒɇ ïĘĉĘõ þđĉ ćđĂą čȑđĘïÞ ïĒą ĺñĘĠ çĘúĘõĂ -
ĉąēȰĂđĘÿĉ ĺčå ĒąðƟđþ åáĘĉöē ƣȮ "The Religion of
"ëå äïđĘċ äćđĉ ćĔĒǏ äĘĊđĠ äĘĊđĠ..."
Man" ë ĒþĒĂ ĒĊĘðĘõĂ : ĉąēȰĂđÿ ëïąđĉ ąĘĊĒõĘĊĂ -
"Where shall I meet him, the man of my heart?
“One day I chanced to hear a song from a
He is lost to me and I seek him wandering from land to land
beggar belonging to the baul sect of Bengal.. What struck me in this simple song was a religious expression that was neither grossly concrete nor metaphysical in its rarefied transcendentalism..." åçĘĉđĘă ąčąđčïđĘĊ ĦĮĨĥ čđĘĊ ĉąēȰĂđÿ þđàĉ ĒąðƟđþ Hibbert Lecture ë ąđçĊ čɑĘïŪ ąĘĊĒõĘĊĂ | þđàĉ ĒąʅđĒĉþ äĘĊđôĂđ ĒĊĒăąȝ ïĘĉ ą åĘĠĉ äïđĘĉ ƵïđĒċþ ĎĘĠĒõĊ ĺĈ ą åĘĠĉ Ăđć "The Religion Of Man" [NEW YORK, THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1931]. ĉąēȰĂđÿ ëąá ąđçĘĊĉ äĘĊđôĂđĠ ëĘč ĈđĠ ĻąɶąāćŪ, ĺąĝȝāćŪ ëąá þȫ čđĒĎĘþƟĉ ĒąĀǝ ĺĊðï ċċēĆĕ Čý
I am listless for that moonrise beauty which is to light my life, Which I long to see in the full vision in gladness of heart". [pg 524] ëDž ąđçĊ ññĂ Ďĉïĉđ ĉĒôþ ĒąðƟđþ ñđĂ "äĒć ĺïđÿđĠ ăđą þđĘĉ, äćđĉ ćĘĂĉ ćđĂĔČ ĺĈĘĉ.." ïĒą ĺčå ñȴ ĒĂĘĠå ąĔĒ÷ ĒĊĘðĒõĘĊĂ "äĒć þđĘĉå ðĔàĘö ĺąĞđå, ĺĈ ĉĠ ćĘĂ äćđĉ ćĘĂ.."
ĀđčʟĘȼĉ ïÿđ ĒĈĒĂ þđàĉ ĒąðƟđþ ƣȮ "An Introduction to Tantric Buddhism" ë ąĘĊĘõĂ" We, for the past few decades, have been influenced by the ideas propagated by the poet Tagore in his poems and writings, and also by the writings and speeches of his them
close
associate
baul
represents
unconventional anassumed
Pandit
love
more
approach and
Khitimohan to
piety
a
Sen, spirit
divinity than
any
for of
through precise
religious call." ĂĀēĠđĉ ąđçĊ čɏĀđĠ Ēą˞đč ïĘĉ ĺĈ ïĒąʟ˙ĉ čđĘÿ ĊđĊĂ ĄĒïĘĉĉ čđǘđþ ĎĘĠĒõĊÞ ăĉąþʗïđĘĊ ąđçĊ ññĂ Ďĉïĉđ ĉąēȰĂđĘÿĉ ĒċĊđåĀĘĎĉ ʛLJąđĒĞĘþ ĒñĘĠĒõĘĊĂÞ ëąá ąđçĘĊĉ ćĘĂ þðĂ ĺÿĘïå ĉąēȰñđĘĂĉ ƵĆđą ăĞĘþ ÿđĘïÞ ëå ąđçĊ-úđʛĉ ąȴĘĂĉ ĺĉċ Ēïˍ ĺÿĘï ĺñĘõ ċđĒȭĒĂĘïþĘĂ äĘöđ ĺăĝČĘćĊđ ƵđǩĘý çĞĘþ ĺĀĒð ąđçĘĊĉ ĻñĒĉï çȑĉēĠÞ ąđçĘĊĉ ëïþđĉđĠ ąđöĘþ ÿđĘï ąđçĊñđĘĂĉ ăđċđăđĒċ ĉąēȰñđĂÞ äĉ Ĉđĉ öĂƟå ąĔĒ÷ ĉąēȰĂđÿ, ãąĂēȰĂđÿ ëąá ĂȱĊđĊ ąčĔĉ äàïđ ĺƶčĘïđ, ĒćçĉđĊ ëąá ɾđɤôđĘĉ ʆđĂ ăđĠ ąđçĊ ãĂĔČǩÞ ċđĒȭĒĂĘïþĘĂĉ ĺăĝČĘćĊđĉ ăđċđăđĒċ ąēĉĆĕ Ęćĉ ĺïà ĀĔĒĊĘþ öĠĘĀĘąĉ öȶʆđĘĂ ĺïà ĀĔĒĊĉ ĺćĊđĘþí ąđçĊ äȁđ, ąđçĊ ñđĂ ćđĒþĘĠ ĉđĘð ĺćĊđ ƵđǩýÞ ĺïđÿđĠ ĺĈĂ ĉąēȰ čǩēþ äĉ ąđçĊñđĂ ĒćĘĊ ĒćĘċ ëï ĎĘĠ ĈđĠ þðĂÞ
ëĆđĘą ïĒąĉ ãĘĂï ñđĘĂĉ ïÿđĠ ëąá čĔĘĉ äćĉđ ĺĀðĘþ ăđå ąđçĊñđĘĂĉ ĺčå ćđDžĉ ĺõđàĠđ ëąá ĺćĘĂ ĒĂĘþ ąđāƟ Ďå ĺĈ ĉąēȰĂđÿ ïþðđĒĂ ąđçĘĊĉ ʸđĉđ ƵĆđĒąþ ĎĘĠĒõĘĊĂÞ ĉąēȰĂđĘÿĉ "ûđïòĉ" ĂđùïDž ćǹʆ Ďąđĉ LJï ăĕą Ū ćĕ˱ĘȑŪ ĒþĒĂ ćĘĂ ïĘĉĒõĘĊĂ ëïDž ñđĘĂĉ Ƶčǩ ĺĈDž ûđïòĘĉĉ "ãćĊ" ôĒĉƯDžĘï ëïDž čđÿŪï ˚ă ĒĀĘþ ăđĘĉ ąĘĊ þđàĉ ćĘĂ ĎĠ Þ äąđĉ ĺčå ĺïđĂ ëï ïđĘĊĉ ĺƿđĘþ ĺĆĘč ĈđíĠđ ĂĒÿĎēĂ ąđçĘĊĉ ñđĂ- "ĺĀĘðĒõ ˚ăčđñĘĉ ćĘĂĉ ćđĂĔč ïđàôđ ĺčđĂđ, þđĘĉ āĒĉ āĒĉ ćĘĂ ïĒĉ āĉĘþ ĒñĘĠ äĉ ĺăĘĊć Ăđ..." ëĉ ãĂĔïĉĘý ãĒþ ãĂđĠđĘčå čĖĒɳĉ čđąĊēĊþđĠ ĒþĒĂ ĉôĂđ ïĘĉĒõĘĊĂ ĺčå ñđĂ - "ĺĆĘó ĺćđĉ òĘĉĉ ôđĒą ĒĂĘĠ ĈđĒą ĺï äćđĘĉ, í ąȴĔ äćđĉ! Ăđ ĺăĘĠ ĺþđćđĉ ĺĀðđ ëïđ ëïđ, ĒĀĂ ĺĈ äćđĉ ïđĘù Ăđ ĺĉ..." äĘĉđ ëïDž ĉąēȰ čǩēĘþ äćĉđ ăđå ĊđĊĘĂĉ ĺĀĎ þȐąđĘĀĉ ʊɳ åċđĉđÞ ĺąđā ïĒĉ ĊđĊĂ ĄĒïĘĉĉ ĺĀĎ čđāĂđ ëąá ćĂ čđāĂđĠ ãĂĔƵđĒýþ ĎĘĠå ïĒą ĒĊĘðĒõĘĊĂ ëå ñđĂ ðđĒĂÞ "äćđĉ ƵđĘýĉ ćđĂĔČ äĘõ ƵđĘý, þđå ĺĎĒĉ þđĠ čïĊ ðđĘĂ äĘõ ĺč ĂĠĂþđĉđĠ,
äĘĊđï āđĉđĠ þđå Ăđ ĎđĉđĠ íĘñđ þđå ĺĀĒð þđĠ ĺĈÿđĠ ĺčÿđĠ þđïđå äĒć ĺĈ ĒĀï ăđĘĂ ..." Ĉđĉ åáĘĉöē ãĂĔąđĀDž ĎĊ : The man of my heart dwells inside me. Everywhere I look, it is he. In my every sight, in the sparkle of light Oh, I can never lose him - Here, there and everywhere, Wherever I turn, he is right there!
ãāƟđăï ĒǘĒþĘćđĎĂ ĺčĂ ëąá ïĒą ëå ƣĘȮ þđàĉ ƵĒþ ïĖ þǷþđ Ƶïđċ ïĘĉĘõĂ ëąá ì ăĒĉĘDZĀ ʟĒĊ þđàĉ ƣĘȮ ʆđĂ í ĺăĘĠĘõÞ ĒǘĒþĘćđĎĂ ĺčĘĂĉ ĺĊðđĠ äąđĉ çĘú äĘč ĺčå čĕǘ ĺĀĎ ąđĀ ëąá čĎö ćĘĂĉ þȐÞ ëï öđĠñđĠ ĒþĒĂ ąĊĘõĂ ąđçĘĊĉ ñđĘĂĉ ĆđČđĠ :
The Baul sings:
Ah where am I to find him, the man of my heart? Alas, since I lost him, I wander in search of Him.
ĺĈ ñđĘĂĉ ćĘāƟ ąđçĘĊĉ ćđĂą čȐđĠ þđĉ ćĘĂĉ ćđĂĔĘČĉ ĺôĎđĉđDž ëïĀć ĒćĘĊ ĺñĘõ ĉąēȰ ĒôȭđĠ þđĉ ƵđĘĂĉ ćđĂĔČDžĉ čđĘÿÞ ĉąēȰĂđĘÿĉ "The Religion of Man" ą åDžĉ ëĘăĒȨĘǙĉ ëïDž ãāƟđĠ ĉĘĠĘõ Ĉđĉ Ăđć "The Baul Singers of Bengal"Þ ïĒąĉ ĒĎąđùŪ ĺĊïôđĘĉ ąđçĊ č˘Ęȴ ëå ĒąʅĖ þ äĘĊđôĂđ ïĘĉĒõĘĊĂ Ēą˞Ćđĉþēĉ
Thro' lands near and far. äĘĊđôĂđĉ čą ĺċĘČ ãāƟđăï ĒǘĒþĘćđĎĂ ĺčĂ ąĘĊĘõĂ ôȨēĀđĘčĉ ĺčå ĒąðƟđþ çĒǏ "čąđĉ çăĘĉ ćđĂĔČ čþƟ þđĎđĉ çăĉ Ăđå"| ïĒą ĉąēȰĂđÿ úđʛĉ ĎđþĘĞ ĺąĒĞĘĠĘõĂ ëå ãĘćđò čþƟĘï äĉ þđå ĒċïđĘñđ Ēą˞ĒąĀƟđĊĘĠĉ ĆđČđþĘȐĉ ãāƟđăï ëûíĠđûŪ. Ēč. Ēûćï ĉąēȰĂđÿĘï ąĘĊĘõĂ "The Greatest Of The Bauls Of Bengal"!
h¡p¢¿¹L Evph Seec MDb MTPbHKdQ
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%c6 TÔD QDKR IÔO-‐ Ô/ DfcM IcV5 KcS-‐ %MbO /cKDb0bcH-‐ Ô/pDiTP LÔO %c6 TÔD QDKR IÔO
%ÔMcO/bX KD MbÔH KSÔ|vO SMb1M] 1bÔ5 1bÔ5 JfÔPO SMbÔObÔT HXH 6fcVÔX %ÔS] +McH See{FO cFÔH QdPb ÏT ÔMÔXO KbcV +ÔSÔ5H] ÔMÔX SdMb - 6bMb& SeeHdP %6 5X K5O TX %ÔMcO/bKbSd] 4bO K5O %Ô1 IP %ÔMcO/bO Hb1cO/D cHÔX -ÔFO Ô/bÔP +ÔSÔ5] ,Q oN SZSbO IcOIh= ] -HbO SKÔ4ÔX ÔKQd %H{F TÔÃ5 +& ÔFÔ0 ÔN +Ob SKb& KbSc|v/ (YSKÔ/ SbJP /ObO 6H cFH ObD SMbÔH Ô0Ô9 4ÔPÔ5] QdPb ÏTO MÔH KbZPb LbRb - SZ /lcD cHÔX SKSMX 0eK 6 IHb / IHb 4ÔP] KbZPb LbRbO MkD f c/ -HbO 6dK QbX-‐& 29ÔK" Ô/bP/bDbX ÔFb/bÔH c1ÔX c/5f c/HÔD Ô1ÔP cT{FdÔD /Eb KPÔD TX] %KbO KV ÔFb/bÔH Ô1ÔP &ZcPÔQ /Eb KPÔD TX] SMbÔ6 LbÔPb /ÔO ÔK\Ô4 Eb/bO 6H ÔFÔQ Mb KbKbOb cHÔ6ÔFO Ô5ÔP ÔMÔXÔFO &ZÔOc6 ´fÔP Ib:bH] SdMb- DbO K cD»qM c5P Hb] Ic 4M KbZPbO Ô5ÔP ÔMÔXOb %6 /bP &ZÔOc6 - cT{Fd cMcQÔX KbZPb KÔP] KbZPbÔFÔQ %KbO %OKd QÔ¥O %cG/ ÔKÔV& 4ÔPÔ5] MkD LbRb SZ /lÔDO ÔFÔT 5b& vfIb/lD TÔÃ5] QdPb ÔNÔTDf cKQ LbODd ÔEÔ/ KbZPbX +M + IbQ /ÔOc5ÔPH ÔS&6H & ÔKbGTX -HbO KbZPb LbRb - /cKÏOgO I cD FhK PDb - Q b OÔX Ô1Ô5] %ÔMcO/bX KbÐbPdÔFO KbÔObMbÔS ÔDÔOb IbK H ÔPÔ1 %Ô5 ÔFÔ0 cDcH cKc MD] ÔMÔX 6bMb&ÔFO Ibc9 °»qKbO ÔEÔ/ ÔObKKbO IN |v ÔPÔ1 %Ô5] MÔH MÔH LbKÔ5H +& SK Ô5ÔPÔMÔXOb ÔFÔQO Kb&ÔO KbZPb LbRb - SZ /lcDÔ/ K\bc4ÔX Ob0ÔK] %O LbKÔ5H +& SMÔX& ÔDb OcK:b/fO 6ÔH c5ÔPH D\bO ÔP0b /D 1bH - /cKDb 4bOcFÔ/ 5cVÔX %Ô5] ÔMÔXÔFO $He³bÔH cH 4X /cKÏOgO +/ cKOb9 bH
KbZPb LbRbO MbHF Ô/ (Ã4bSÔH KSbÔD ÔMÔX 6bMb&Ô/ (cH pbTbN /OÔKH ÔLÔK -ÔFO KÔ¯H -‐ +KbÔO (cH IPÔ/ ÔMbÔFO 1OK ÔMbÔFO %Qb %MbcO KbZPb LbRb +& /cKDbc9 cQc0ÔX ÔFÔKH] IPÔ/ ÔOb6& (cH Ô5b9ÔFO 5Vb 1 I IÔV ÔQbHbH] ObMbX= MTbLOÔDO 1 IÏcP cQ° MHÔ/ %/l² /ObO MD /ÔO KÔPH] 6bMb& SeeHdP +KbO SbZ /lcD/ /M /D b] $He³bÔHO cFHc9 ND 2cHÔX %SÔ5 LbKÔ5H +& SMÔX ¶bMd SZÔ1 Eb/ÔP 0eK LbÔPb TD] SdMbÔ/ KPÔPH (cH / bÔMOb cHÔX +ÔSÔ5H -HbO 5cK DfPÔD $SeecKÔG ÔH& -Ob ÔNH cL c; - /ÔO (cH ÔS9b ÔFÔQ cHÔX NbÔKH Db TÔP -0bH/bO SKb& ÔF0ÔD IbOÔK] SdMb - SeeHdP +/SÔÐ KÔP (:P , 6H c4|vb /OÔD TÔKHb +0bÔH 5cK - cL c; - /ObO ÔPb/ EbÔ/] $KÔQÔR K· %/bcsUD cFHc9 +ÔS Tbc6O TÔPb] KSÔ|vO cQTO= -HbO %IbFM vÔ/ +/ cTÔ¯bP 6b1bP] ÔFÔQO ÔEÔ/ %Hb HDfH 6bMb /bIV ÔKO /ÔO SKb&Ô/ IOÔD cFÔPH +KZ cH6 TbÔD IPÔ/ Sbc6ÔX cFÔX KÔ¯H FbFeLb&Ô/ ÔF0ÔD c:/ Ob6Ie½fÔOO MD ÔF0bÔÃ5] cHÔ6- +/9b HDfH QbVd IÔO c1ÔX SbMÔHO SbcOÔD KSÔPH] (ÔF b½qbÔFO +/6H (IcK² SKbO TbÔD +/9b Sh4dI» ST Ô5b9 K& cFÔX Ô1P] HbcDO HbMc9 5bIbO $UÔO ÔFÔ0 %HÔ{F Ke/9b LÔO Ô1P] K&c9 0eÔP MÔHbÔNb1 ST/bÔO IbDb ( 9bÔD Pb1ÔPH SK& &ZObc6ÔD ÔP0b] +0bÔH NbOb KV TÔÃ5 DbÔFO /bÔ5 KbZPb ÔP0b IVb %Qb /Ob NbXHb] DKe- -Ob +0bÔH ÔEÔ/ /D c/ cQ0Ô5 +& SK LbKÔD LbKÔD c4|vbO ¶1 ObÔ6 TbcOÔX Ô1ÔPH] Mb&Ô/O %-Xb6 ÔIÔX Me0 DfÔP Dbc/ÔX ÔFÔ0H SeeHdP MÔÇ +ÔS F\bcVÔXÔ5 QdPb ÏÔTO MeÔ0 0eQdO ÔO0b ÔF0b Ô1P] MÔH MÔH LbKÔPH OcK:b/fÔOO 6H MbÔS -HbÔ/ Q bÊcP 6bcHÔX $He³H °Og /OÔK SeeHdP] c/|vf ÔF0b Ô1P SeeHdP MÔÇ (Ô: cSÐfÔOO /bcTHd cHÔX +/9f I bHO I bHO /ÔO +& $He³bÔH Ô/bEbX Ô/bH GOÔHO 9 b/ÔHbPc6 K KTbO /Ob TÔXÔ5 ÔS& %ÔPb4HbO IO $He³bH Sh4dO /Eb KÔP ÔQR /OP] IP (HbO ÔQ0bÔHb /cKDb KÔP I4fO TbD DbcP ÔIP] SdMb - DbO K f Kb KOb +ÔS -HbÔ/ 0eK I QZSb /ÔO Ô1P] $ÔH/ Hb4 1bH TP c/|vf Ô/bEb- OKd{F HbÔEO HbM 1 IN |v c5PHb] ÔSpL1 »qÔM H6OgP &SPbM cDH 4bOc9 1bÔH bH ÔIÔXÔ5H] IOcFH S/bÔP
4bÔXO Ô9cKÔP KÔS ÔMÔX-‐6bMb&Ô/ cDH 2{9bO ÔI b1 bÔM OKd{F HbE Ô/H KbF Ô1ÔPH c6Ô1 S /OÔP SeeHdP 49 /ÔO KÔP (:P OKd{F HbEÔ/ cHÔX $D oT o4 /ObO MÔDb %MOb c/5f ÔFc0Hb] QdPb $Kb/ TÔX Dbc/ÔX %Ô5H ÔFÔ0 SdMb K¯-‐ T\ b Mb (cH ÔDb SK SMX KVÔPb/ÔFO 6H SK c/5f cPÔ0 Ô1Ô5H 1OdK Fe[c0O /Eb c/ %O $ÔDb ÔLÔKÔ5H" Db 5bVb , SK 1bH °HÔP %MbÔFO 2eM IbX %HÔ{FO %SO9b& Mbc9 TÔX NbX] /D %Qb cHÔX KÔSc5ÔPH OKd{F SÐdD ÔQbHbO 6H QdPb] OKd{F HbEÔ/ 0eK S|vI ÔH KbF ÔF-Xb TÔPb cNcH KbZPb LbRbÔ/ IkcEKdO KeÔ/ bH /ÔO cFÔXc5ÔPH cDcH +0H KbÐbPdO /bÔ5 $KÔTcPD TÔX 4ÔPÔ5H] /b bX QdPbO KeÔ/O ÔLDO9b ÔJÔ9 NbÔÃ5] MÔH MÔH LbKÔPH ÔMÔXÔ/ c/ (cH ScD /bÔOO Ô/bH cQUb cFÔD ÔIÔOÔ5H" ÔS /D9f/f OKd{F HbE IÔVÔ5" Db 5bVb -Ob ÔN 1OdK Fe[0dO /Eb KÔP /b b/bc9 /ÔO DbOb Ô/( c/|vf +/ IXSb- /b(Ô/ ÔFX Hb] ÔFÔQO Kb cKÔFÔQO Ô/bH SZ bÔ/ SbTbN /ÔO Hb] Fe[0 ÔIÔP- MÔH MÔH 6bÔHH +& MkD f IE1bMd KbZPb LbRbO 6H cHÔ6ÔFO SMb6 - cQUb K K b FbXd] cDcH cHÔ6- ÔMÔXÔ/ &ZObc6 ´fÔP IcVÔXÔ5H] +& SK c4|vb -HbO SM v S½bÔ/ FZQH /ÔO 4ÔPÔ5] %Ô v %Ô v -HbO Ô4b0 Fec9 K TÔX %SP TbD Fec9 /IbÔP DfÔP KÔ¯H :b/fO ÔDbMbO /bÔ5 I bE Hb -‐ I cD QDb¥dÔD ÔNH KbZPbX +/9b /ÔO OKd{F HbE 6ÔH IkcEKdO KeÔ/ KbZPb LbRbÔ/ (Ã4bSÔH KSbÔD IbÔO] %O %MOb ÔNH +& O/M KSÔ|vO cFÔH c/5f OKd{F SÐdD °HÔD Ib&]
A WISH UNFULFILLED Amrita Bera
It was scintillating early April morning, sunny and breezy. I, in a buoyant mood was paying for my favorite yogurt at the counter of the mother dairy booth of my local market. My cell phone rang displaying an unknown number. My hello was replied by calm, determined & direct voice “Is that Amrita Bera?” Before my “yes” could slip out completely from my mouth, I heard “This is Prof. P. Lal from Writers Workshop, Kolkata. I have gone through your manuscript and I am ready to publish it on the terms………….” Awestruck, I could mumble just a few words and before my “Thank you sir” reached the other end, the line snapped. Vaguely seeing the attractive, handloom cloth bound cover page of a slim poetry book of some unknown poet at one of my friend’s place, I was given a suggestion to try along with other publishers, Writers Workshop, Kolkata to get my first ever work of translations of poems and Ghazals from Hindi to English, published. My translations of poems and Ghazals were not of any legendary, past era poets, but of my own friend who is steadily making mark in the Hindi literary arena and is relatively well known poet and writer of U.P and the Northern belt of India, especially Delhi, where he lives.
Interactions began through e-‐mails and by the time I sent my manuscript to Prof. Lal, realizing the stature and the kind of respect he owns in India and world-‐ wide as a scholar, professor, publisher, poet, writer and transcreator, I was certain that my work would not see the day of light, atleast from Writers Workshop. Born on 28th August, 1929, Professor Purushottam Lal, called “Profsky” by his friends was known as ‘The Bhishm Pitamah of publishing Indian writing in English’ and also mentioned as ‘The cornerstone of Indian writing in English’. Writers Workshop was founded in 1958 and over the years Prof. Lal published innumerable poets and writers, who became big names and celebrities be it Vikram Seth, Agha Shahid Ali, Keki N.Daruwala, A.K.Ramanujan, Chitra Bannerjee Devakurni, Ruskin Bond, Jayant Mahapatra, Nissim Ezekiel or Kamala Das to name a few. P. Lal was professor of English in the prestigious St. Xavier’s College, Kolkata for over 35 years. He was also special Professor of Indian Studies at Hofstra University, New York and as distinguished visiting Professor and Consultant he visited Great Britain, USA & Australia at various colleges, like the
Albion College, Ohio University, Hartwick College, Berea College and Western Maryland College. He completed the mammoth work of transcreating, (Prof Lal chose to use the word ‘transcreation’ and not ‘translation) 18 volumes or
‘parvas’ of the epic Mahabharata by Vyasa in English, which is longer than collected works of Shakespeare or both Iliad & Odyssey, consisting 100,000 slokas. Prof. Lal used to say that, “perhaps the most famous sloka of the epic, the most quoted is the one that says, “What is in this epic on Dharma, Artha, Kama, Moksha may be elsewhere. What is not in this epic is nowhere else” (1.62.67).” He also transcribed the Brihadarankya and Mahanarayana Upnishads. It was in October 1999, near the turn of the millennium, that Prof. P.Lal, D.Litt, Padma Shri and Nehru Fellow, began to read his transcreation to a live audience. The Sunday one hour morning session was devoted to a sloka-‐by-‐sloka reading by him at the Sanskriti Sagar Library in Kolkata, of his complete English transcreation of the Mahabharata. Writers Workshop is a non-‐profit and non-‐political publishing house which survived only due to tremendous efforts and personal fund of one man with the vision to give platform to serious creative writing and writers who are sympathetic to the ideals and principles commonly accepted as embodied in creative writing and not impressed by desire for quick fame and money. Over 51 years (1958-‐2009), Writers Workshop has published close to 3500 works and that too without any office, modern publishing infrastructure and even
a secretary. It operated from his residence 162/92, Lake Gardens, Kolkata-‐700 045, from the living-‐ room and a multi-‐purpose bedroom. Prof. Lal used to do the herculean task of proof reading, correcting, editing and publishing, all by himself. At the initial stage of setting up of printing press, his neighbor P.K.Aditya moved out his car from his garage and installed a hand-‐operated printing machine that cost him all of Rs.6000/-‐. Then there was Tulamiah Mohiuddin, who meticulously for years (now done by his sons) did the binding of each book with handloom cloth with borders taken from Orissa saris. Each book is gold-‐ embossed, hand stitched, hand pasted and hand bound. Tulamiah Mohiuddin has even received the President’s award for binding. The hallmark of WW and Prof. Lal is the calligraphy. The layout & lettering of each book was done with a sheaffer calligraphy pen by him. There is a particular incident as narrated by Pritish Nandy (a poet, painter, journalist, politician, television personality, animal activist and film producer) “Prof Lal was inconsolable when the nib of his pen broke after decades of use. That particular model was no longer available in stores. He wrote a letter to Sheaffer, wondering whether they could help him locate a nib. They sent him a new pen, with a similar nib specially made for his use. I will never forget the childlike delight with which he told me the story, showing off the pen as a priceless trophy.” His different colored bird logo for different genres of writing is also exclusive. So the end product of Prof. Lal is always distinctive, ethnic and unique. There is no distribution network except for a kiosk “Book Nook”, a retail outlet at his residence, where all his products are available. The book “LIGHT THROUGH A LABYRINTH”, poetry of Vivek Mishra, transcreated from hindi to English by me, saw the light of the day in November, 2009. After the first very short telephonic conversation with Prof. Lal, I did not happen to talk to him anymore and all communications were through e-‐
mails only. Prof. Lal’s sweet granddaughter Ms. Shuktara always reciprocated by sending informations, instructions promptly. I expressed my desire to her to meet Prof Lal, as I planned to go to Kolkata, in the beginning of the year, 2010. I never had inkling that the Prof. was unwell and was on regular transfusion. After my manuscript got accepted and already knowing the greatness of the man I was now associated with, I had an intense longing to personally meet him, hear him, thank him and pay my regards in person. I am myself born in Kolkata, though shifted to Delhi at an early age; I visited the city almost every year. My wish to meet him was gaining in strength, each day, but my schedule to go to Kolkata kept getting delayed. Do all wishes get fulfilled in a lifetime? Certainly, NOT. When I heard the dreadful news of his demise on 3rd Nov, 2010, I could not react for a few minutes. A sense of loss of not having met him numbed my heart, so much so, that I could not bring myself to send my condolences to the bereaved family, in time. I ponder; do people like Prof. Lal ever fade away from hearts, minds, society, country or history? No they cannot. Such people become immortal
through their exemplary life and work, their greatness, their dedication and the indelible mark they leave in the history of time. He will always be there through his writings, books, works and the difference he brought in the lives of those who wrote from their hearts and aspired to make a little space for themselves in the world of literature. After many sulky days and rumination, I observed what I had overlooked -‐ that I had been so fortunate that my book was published from WW which in itself is an endorsement that I need not to be apprehensive about the quality and standard of the work (the original substance of the poetry, as well as the translations) and that -‐ my very first work with just the name of WW placed me in the best of literary circle and amongst the distinguished writers. My heartfelt thanks to Vivek Mishra, whose meaningful, sensitive poetry and Ghazals gave me an opportunity to bring out my best in the translations. I feel the best way to pay tributes to this great man is by knowing him more through his works and treasuring them as many one can. Prof. Lal’s own writings and works of other writers published through WW are available on his website www.writersworkshopindia.com.
The Haunted House Richik Ray, 10 years
“Sssssslurp,” I went, drinking a
seen in my life!!!
juice
enormous,
box
and
driving
to
the
old,
It
black,
was an house.
I
grocery store. I turned my head to
stopped the car in front of the
the right to find where Indian
house, walked up the stairs and
Plaza was. I saw Walmart, Home
rang the broken doorbell that was
Depot, Dollar Tree, and other
hanging. I heard a loud diiiiiiiiing
stores. Then I saw the scariest
dooooooooong. There were bats
thing I had ever seen in my life. I
coming out of the windows and
saw it in books and on tv, but I
the windows were opening and
never saw it in real life. I freaked
closing really fast. A bat flew
out and almost fell of f my chair.
right over my head. Now I knew
It was the scariest thing I had ever
that it was a haunted house. Then
everything went
and the
lights on. It was vacant but huge.
I
slowly
She told me to stand against the
walking in. “Slam!” went the doors
wall and BAM!!! Went the lights.
right behind me. They shut closed. I
It was pitch black.”Clang.clang,
tiptoed a lit tle more. The wooden
clang,” went the witch. She was
floor
really
doing something with a chain. The
frightened because the house was
witch ran away and the lights
prodigious. Then I heard something.
went
Is it a tiger, or a lion? Then a
screamed. I was chained to the wall.
spooky
I’m
She was a malevolent witch. I tried
was
many dif ferent ideas but none of
thinking in my head who was that.
them worked. Finally I thought of
Then before I could look at the
one more plan and hoped that it
long dark stairs, a witch flew down
would work. My hands were free
with a long broom stick. She had a
but my body was chained. If I
grotesque countenance. The witch
could call Randy and tell him to
swirled around my head a couple of
come help. It’s going to be a hard
times and then stopped in front
mission but he is brave enough to
of me .She said,” what brings you
handle it. He answered the phone
here my dear friend .”I didn’t
and I asked if he could come help
know what to say so I told her
me.
that I just came here for a visit.
questions
The witch said in a mean voice,”You
couldn’t go through the front
can stay here for now.” I had no
door because it was locked. He had
other choice of what to say, so I
to break
replied “ok”, in a fearful voice. The
because there was no other way.
witch took me to a room with the
Randy busted the window and it
doors
creaked
open.
squeaked.
voice
comiiiiiiiiiiiiing
quiet
I
was
yelled,” down.”
I
on.
Randy
“Heeeellllppp!!!”
asked .Randy
through
a
bunch
arrived
I
of but
the window
shat tered into pieces. He jumped in
thought no one would notice him
and hid behind a chair. He had to
if
get to the top but there were
footsteps were get ting closer and
guards everywhere. He would be
closer. Randy stood frozen beside
dead if he got seen. Randy ran
the statues acting like one with
quickly to the first stair and got
those clothes on. Then he saw a
in the dark area. The guard heard
shadow. It was the witch. She saw
him moving and they raced to the
each statue but didn’t notice my
chair Randy was under. Good thing
friend. Then witch went away. This
Randy
was my only chance to escape. I
moved
from
there
or
dressed
up
as
one.
The
otherwise it would be the end of his
quickly ran without
life. Randy sprinted up the stairs
seeing me. Randy got into the
but then the most horrible thing
room I was trapped in. “He let me
happened. He was face to face
free .”How are we going to get
with a lot of nasty creatures. My
out ?’ I asked.” just
friend has an acute brain and got
Randy said. He led me out without
past
tricking
the witch spot ting us. We were out
them. When he got to the top,
of the witch’s dungeon and we
Randy was exhausted. Suddenly he
thanked each other. Randy and I
heard footsteps coming towards
went home. We never forgot this
him. “What can I do?”He said.
story.
the creatures by
Then Randy saw some statues and
he
the witch
follow me,”
Pollution Solution
Together We Can
Archisa Ghosh, 9 years
Akash Chakravartty, 13 years
Together we can save the Earth,
Brick by brick,
Let's go and plant some seedlings in the dirt.
We built the world.
Let the lions get back to their den,
From every home to every skyscraper,
Get best eggs from the hen.
From every car to every boat,
Don't let the sound break your ears,
From every phone to every satellite.
Don't let acid be in God's merry old tears.
We put our heads together,
Never spoil oil on a good old beach,
In such a way,
Don't pollute the state of peach.
We accomplish,
Just let nature have her way,
Something one man,
Don't let there be a hot and humid day.
Could never achieve by himself.
So please don't destroy the air,
Together we find cures,
The birds have not been unfair.
For diseases that kill.
Don't pollute the bluish bay,
Together we make,
She doesn't want to be blackish-grey.
The world a better place.
Let also the cars be on mute,
Separated we only fail.
Please don't pollute!
Together we are invictus, And only together we can.
What He Means to Me
His smarts and knowledge are like aged wine,
By: Kriti Lodh, 12 years
He helps me become a better person, so I may shine,
He helps me through the times that are tough, No matter what the situation is, not even how rough,
The way he sings lifts up my soul, It is so heavenly, like the church bell toll! The way he jokes keeps me on the edge,
Who is this person that is like a dream, He is my father, together we make a wonderful team! He is the light that shines brighter than any star, When I am in need he comes to help me, no matter how far,
When he promises, it’s worth more than a pledge, He teaches me things that inspire me, He also provides me the shade under his tree! I love him, no doubt,
No one can compare to a man like him,
With him, I will never pout,
His best ideas come to him as a whim!
I will love him until the end and more, as you can see,
He keeps me going,
This and much more is what he means to me!
Through this stream of life, he keeps me rowing,
I love him dearest from the core of my heart, And I know that we can never be apart!
Manisha Gupta, 11 years
PUJARI Next Event Announcements
at a glance Pujari Picnic 2010
PUJARI ANNUAL PICNIC
Fort Yargo State Park SATURDAY, 4TH JUNE 2011 FACILTY: BEACH WITH SHELTER Address: 210 S Broad Street Winder GA 30680
Pujari celebrates 25th year!
Pujari has been successfully and enthusiastically quenching the cultural thirst of the Atlanta Bengali community for more the last 25 years. Started by a group of highly energetic and passionate volunteers living in and around Atlanta, Pujari began as a convention to celebrate the culture and rich heritage of India to fulfill the nostalgic affinity.
A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out.
Pujari celebrates Baisakhi 2011 Marking the 150th birth anniversary of
Kabiguru Rabindranath Tagore
Pujari welcomes new writers/artists for Next Issue: Sharadiya ANJALI 2011 Please send your articles before 30th July 2011
Email: editor@pujari.org
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Editor: Sutapa Datta Co-‐editor: Jaba Chaudhuri Layout & Design: Sutapa Datta Photography: Samaresh Mukhopadhyay Publisher: PUJARI INC. Please feel free to email us with feedback and new articles for Sharadiya ANJALI