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	Archive through January 19, 2005

Hitguj » Language and Literature » साहित्यिक » गौरी देशपांडे » Archive through January 19, 2005 « Previous Next » Triptianil Thursday, April 03, 2003 - 11:08 am:      admirers of gauri deshpande ...if you havent tried saniya/meghana pethe ...pls do... its parallel to GD's style ...meghana pethe is more pessimistic though Bee Thursday, April 03, 2003 - 2:02 pm:      Keya-dhanyawad! Triptianil- Meghana Pethe dekheel chhaan lihitaat. wicharpurwak. Triptianil Thursday, April 03, 2003 - 9:04 pm:      Bee: mi ase nahi mhanat ki tya chhaan nahi lihit pan khoop vela tyanchya kathetoon niraashaa jaanavte ... kivva kadaachit happy ending chi savay aslelya indian mentalityla te tase vaatat asaave maahit nahi Dr_ashutosh Thursday, August 14, 2003 - 5:01 pm:      Try to read GAURI DESHPANDE VISHESHANK by MILUN SARYAJANI Sikandar Thursday, August 14, 2003 - 5:31 pm:      Dr sarvani milun vachanya ayvaji ekatyane vachala tar nahi chalnar ka? Bee Friday, August 15, 2003 - 1:14 am:      Dr. Ashutosh: kuThe miLel ha wiShesh ank aaNi tyache naw kay....is it in newspaper? Sikandar : Dr_ashutosh Monday, August 18, 2003 - 6:00 pm:      Available in poona atleast everywhere or can ask copy by writing to MILUN SARYAJANI , OFF KARVE ROAD , ERANDAWANA < PUNE 4 sikandar , gauricha sahitya far wachalela disat nahiyes nahitar itka udas jok takala nasatas Iravati Monday, August 18, 2003 - 6:25 pm:      Mumbai madhye Dadar madhye Ideal pustakalayat madhye Milun Sarya Jani cha Gauri visheshank aahe.... Aani khalil link madhye Pune va Mumbai yethil karyalayache durdhvani kramank dile aahet...... http://www.loksatta.com/daily/20030818/lokdakal.htm Iravati Monday, November 03, 2003 - 3:32 pm:      yaa vaYaI-cyaa maÝja cyaa idvaaLI AMkamaQyao GD cao kahI Ap`kaXaIt saaih%ya samaaivaYT kolao Aaho %yaatIlaca dÜna kivata..... Mvdeshmukh Saturday, November 15, 2003 - 4:54 pm:      maouj madhale tiche te tin aprakashit kelh pan khup changale aahet... aatach vachun samapale... prakash puran tar aagadhi khasach. Bee Sunday, November 16, 2003 - 4:06 am:      Iravati: thanks ga! mee ithe lihiNarach hoto kee kuNee nidan tyanchya kawita taree post kara. aataa uralelya don kawita dew madhye nasel weL tar minglish madhe taree lihoon kaDha kuNee.. mala Mauj miLala nahi. gawaparyant pohachala nahi. punha ekada thanks. Tabla_dagga Thursday, January 15, 2004 - 9:39 am:      IRAVATI... Thanks for GD poem... please tell about RAHEE...PANGALATI Bee Wednesday, January 28, 2004 - 3:09 pm:      haa ek lekh hyaa link war waachaa ... http://www.sparrowonline.org/homage1.htm GDnche jawaL ekahee pustak naahee aaNi neT war shodh ghetalaa tar kaahee link saapaDalee tar gaganaat maawenaasaa aanand hoto. Zilmil Thursday, January 29, 2004 - 9:18 am:      mi kalach hitguj chi member jhale aani gauri baddal chi hi charcha vachun prachand aanand jhala.Ekek paan galaavaya aani Teruo, aani dustar ha ghat...marathi sahityatale classics majhya mate.Gauri...aani sania ani meghana pethe. hyana jya ne kiwa jine vachale nahi tyani kay vachale mag?? meghana chi Astha aani gawarichi bhaji pan prachand sunder.. sania matra faar eksuri vayala lagali halli asa nahi ka kunala vatat??espe. sthalantar Zilmil Thursday, January 29, 2004 - 9:50 am:      archive vachat asatana kaukhan ne gauri la ti khup swakendrit lihite asa criticize kelel vacha,actually gauri che swatahache vyaktimatwa ch itake rangatdar,buddhiman aani paradarshi hote ki tichya lekhatun vachak tilach parat parat shodhayacha prayatna karatat. aani tichya katha nayikan madhun tichi zalak disane agadi natural vatate,. Far kami janana vachakan var ashi swatahachi mohini ghalane jamte.GA na suddha te jamale hotech, BTW sunita bain che GA na patre kuni vachal ka?? Iravati Friday, January 30, 2004 - 12:23 pm:      Bee.... Shatashaha Dhanyavad.....Khupach chhan Shrini Friday, January 30, 2004 - 4:17 pm:      kaya sauroK kivata Aaho... thanks Bee! Bee Friday, January 30, 2004 - 5:03 pm:      hee aaNakhi ek link ithe deto aahe. http://www.indiainternational.com/pulabahurupi80/sunita.html ...And Pine for what is not mee hyaa khepelaa itake shodhale paN Bharatat kuThe miLate kaahee maahitee naahee. kuNaalaa maahitee asel tar saangaa. tasech tyaanchyaa junyaa English kawita malaa aawarjun waachaayachyaa aahet tar tyaanchaa to sangrah paN hawaa hotaa. Bee Wednesday, March 03, 2004 - 12:18 pm:      http://www.hindu.com/thehindu/lr/2003/02/02/stories/2003020200010100.htm above url is not about writer Gauri Deshpande, but its about Gauri's one of the best friend, Sujit Mukharjee. Supriyaj Monday, April 05, 2004 - 7:25 pm:      Aamacyaa AiBavyai> yaa group tÔo- kala Los angeles maQyao gaÝrI doXapaMDo yaaMcyaa saaih%yaavar AaQairt ‘Aaho ho AsaM Aaho’ ha kaya-Ëma saadr kolaa. yaat GD ncyaa 'INdian summer' Ê ‘kilaMgaD’Ê ‘Aaho ho AsaM Aaho’ AaiNa ‘Aata kuzo jaaXaI TÜLMBa+a’ yaa kqaaMcao kqaakqana tsaMca ‘karavaasaatuna p~o’ AaiNa ‘toÉAܒ yaa kadMbarImaQaIla kahI inavaDk p~aMcaohI vaacana Jaalao. Kupca sauroK Asaa ha kaya-Ëma hÜta. Asami Tuesday, April 06, 2004 - 1:38 pm:      are wah . .saheech ki ... Bee Wednesday, April 07, 2004 - 5:17 am:      Supriya, khupach chhan. maage ithe Singapore madhe GA Kulkarni'nche waachan jhaale hote.. Bee Tuesday, April 27, 2004 - 5:39 am:      XaovaTI ekdacaa maÝjacaa idvaaLI AMk hatI Aalaa. baašMcyaa caar kivataÊ tIna laoK AaiNa ek kqaa vaacaUna Kup baro vaaTlao AaiNa vaacaUna sarta sarta vaašT vaaTlao kI ho %yaaMcyaakDUna imaLalaolao XaovaTcao ilaKaNa kI EaI pu. %yaaMcao AQa-vaT raihlaolao ilaKaNa kQaItrI CaptIla. The Wall caa Anauvaad mhNao AQyaa-hUna AiQak Jaalaa hÜta AaiNa kahI kqaahI. maÝjacaa 2004 caa AMk Krca Ap`tIma Aaho. baašMcaI vaakNao hI kqaa [tkI )dyaspXaI- vaaTlaI kI AjaunahI naUr kahI ]trlaa naahI. Tulip Friday, April 30, 2004 - 9:23 am:      iXaiXartu- cyaa punaragamao Ê ekok pana gaLavayaa kaM laagataM maja yaotsao na kLo ]gaaca rDavayaa Ê panaaMt jaI inajalaI [qaoMÊ [valaI saukÜmala paMKroÊ jaatIla saaMga AataM kuzoMÊÆ inaYpNa- JaaiDMt kaMpro ² ÔulalaI Asaola tuJyaa prIÊ baagaoMtlaI bakulaavalaI. vaaLUMt inaJa-r­baasarI ikit gaÜD ]ba mahItlaI ² yaotIla hIM ]DunaI itqaoÊ [valaI saukÜmala paMKroÊ panaaMt jaI inajalaI [qaoMÊ inaYpNa- JaaDIMt kapro² pusatÜ sauhasaÊ smaÉinayaaMÊ tuja AasavaoMÊ jair laagalaoM ekok pana gaLavayaa iXaiXartu-cyaa punaragamao. -- Gauri chi farach aathavan jhalI varache post vachun...mhanun tichyacha sathi .. Shwetu Sunday, November 28, 2004 - 12:54 pm:      Mi dustar ha ghat javal javal 100 vela vachale aahe.and i'm crazy about GD.The way she unfolds the mind and thoughts of each character u feel they r alive.its Simply AMAZING. Bee Friday, January 07, 2005 - 7:11 am:      Umi Deshpande, daughter of Late Gauri Deshpande, has sent me following article which I'm posting here. I think same article is going to be available in 'miLoon saaryaajaNee'. I hope u all will like it. ====================================== Aai Umi Deshpande It has been over a year since my Aai died. I sit here in the early morning light, the house all quiet, no sound but the drip of the coffee machine. I think how her Khandu is so grown up, almost as tall as she was, with his long curly hair, his beautiful brown eyes, his kindness and calm, I think of how he will play his saxophone, fall in love, come home with a girl who might have her great-grandchildren. I miss her. I miss turning to her as we sip our coffee (mine sweet and white, hers black and bitter) and saying, “So! What do you think?” I miss showing her the pages of my book that come flying out after midnight when everyone is in bed, fed and fussed over. She would have said, “Go sleep now, stupid girl!” (“Moorkha mulgi, zopee ja, kiti usheer zhalay!”) And, the cat drags in a cardinal, beautiful red feathers, black bandit eyes, and I am disgusted, its still twitching, bloody, and she will stroke the cat’s head and say, “what a clever cat, what a good fellow!” Aai. I think sometimes how quickly I have recovered from her death. But I know that what I have recovered from is the shock. From the actual going of her, the way she fell ill, the hospital in that frozen foreign place, the weakness, the helplessness of her, so alien to how her life had been. The first months after I came back home, that’s all I thought about. Images of her as I had last seen her, dying, had taken up all my head space. And then, human healing, one day to the next, those images were replaced by memories of our life together, our good times and bad. Of when we got along and didn’t, when we talked about everything and dogs, when we played card games and word games (she beat us all every time), and we rowed and we got hysterical. Memories of walking with her. Those thousands of steps we took together. Down the cobblestone lanes of Dubrovnik with my brand new Saheli, looking up at ancient walls covered in rambling roses smelling so sweet we got high. Through tiny winding back alleys in Kyoto searching for some temple that she just had to show us, but wouldn’t ask for directions, striding ahead, tall and impatient, Saheli now old enough to whine, dragging her feet, me between the two of them trying not to lose either, both of them trying to lose each other. Korea, winter still hanging on, garlic smelling people, small dogs in cages (“don’t look now, and stop crying, silly girl ” but I saw the dismay in her eyes). Hong Kong: clothes markets, bird markets, vegetable markets, antiques markets, me pregnant with Khandu, hoping, no, convinced it was a girl, the one I would walk with when my Aai wasn’t there to walk with me, Aai preventing me from buying all the pink frilly things I tried to (“idiot girl! What if it’s a boy? It is possible, you know!”). Spain: Cordoba, Sevilla, Cadiz, Tarifa. Saheli now old enough to have a boyfriend, not walking with us, Khandu who turned out not to be a girl, whining age, me pregnant again, full of hope that our line would continue this time. She loved Spain best of all. We walked on the beaches of the impossible blue Spanish Atlantic, in the old towns, she evoked other times for me, Moors walked with us. And then California. Oh she loved California. We didn’t walk so much, I had my driver licence, I drove her everywhere. And she was so thrilled with me that I had learned to drive. (She delighted me by calling me a “clever girl!” which she had never done when I was actually a girl). We drove out to Santa Barbara and took a cruise to look at California grey whales. That was one time she was speechless with awe. She just held my hand, and we watched that perfect tail fluke as the sun set palely in the Pacific, the absolute end of that day anywhere in the world. Vinchurni: walk to Babulal’s to bring the milk. Try to get home before the sunset. But we never did, because she would stop to listen to larksong, look at lapwings, the sky, some microscopic flower (“all right, we won’t call it a flower, we’ll call it a spray!”), the five-o’clock snake (really, there was a snake that we saw every day that summer, she said he was going home after a hard day’s work.) And everywhere, she showed me things I would have missed. An old woman in the shadows, cats on rooftops (the pink cat in Hong Kong- pink from mange. Which made us laugh hysterically and sad at the same time), gorgeous men in Spain. Smells – she had such a sensitive nose – it was a blessing sometimes and a curse sometimes. “Can’t you smell that?” and when we all said no, she would translate the smell into words, and we could smell it. She could translate everything into words. And then finally, we walked together in the hospital corridors, and she would stop when she was tired and we would discuss the intricacies of the collages on the walls. And when she was too weak and tired to take even those walks with me, she just sat up on the bed and pointed out the parakeets on the electric lines outside, and the jacarandas blooming, whisper quiet purple, I would have missed them entirely if she hadn’t shown them to me. She gave us adventures, stories to tell. Our imaginations grew, she fertilised them. She didn’t always know or care if we had had dinner, or if our homework was done. But she knew our hearts were in the right place, because she had put them in the right place. She made us all. Not just me, and Saheli, and Mithoo. Everyone. Surindar, Ashish – she called him ‘god’s fool’, Khandu, who I overheard proudly telling a friend, “my grandmother calls me a shitty bastard!” – he heard the love and admiration rather than the words, Vithoo, who at seven, had a bond with her that excluded all of us, who has more of her in him than any of us other children or grandchildren and who was heartbroken when she was gone – he had started walking with her in California, he says she told him the homeless lady on the corner was not someone to be afraid of, and they would walk to the grocery store and buy Margarita mix or tonic for her gin. He still drinks tonic water in her memory. He didn’t judge her, I suppose, he loved her unconditionally. Now I have a new kind of pain. Not of death, not from old memories. This is different. This is of what could have been. Of what should have been. Not in a large general way, like “we could have changed things” or “she should be here”. This is more specific, more painful. I have begun to see precisely where she should have been. I see her absence in exact places, tiny perforations in the fabric of my life letting in the light of reason, of inevitability. More and more holes, until, I suppose, the fabric is all gone, and my life joins hers. She had a light touch on our lives, if I look at in terms of the actual time she spent with each of us sisters. She made a huge fuss about my move to California, she blamed Ashish for taking me away. She would let me have it every time we spoke, which was at least twice a week. She wanted me to come back “home”. I listened patiently for a couple of years, even internalising some of the guilt. Finally I pointed out to her that she herself was in Korea, and even when I had moved from Bombay to Pune to be near her, she was hardly ever there. To which she said, “that’s not the point.” But to me, that was the point. She was my “home”. Not the country, the city, or even Vinchurni. It was she. I live in a Christian town. Friends point out that one must be thankful for what one has. I am, for the most part. Not, perhaps to the God they want me to be thankful to, but I am thankful for the small everyday things, thankful that I see them, appreciate them. The things I may have missed had Aai not taught me, by the way she lived, to look at. The things I wish she was here to see. Cardinals, red as strawberries, in the Spanish-moss laden oak trees. Canada geese, down south for our warm winters. Alligators, drifting, log quiet and mind still in the opaque green rivers of Wakulla county. Manatees, those cement coloured balloons, floating just beneath the water’s surface, brushing our oars. Great blue herons (Aai had a special love for these), with their imperious arrogance. I see all this through her eyes. I think I know how she might have responded to these little things. But Aai never made it here, she never saw North Florida. So I don’t really know. And then, with her, one never knew. She always had a new view, a surprise in store for you that might delight or horrify you. That’s gone. I feel like water that has lost its vessel, scattering in drops and in disarray. I feel like I have a giant hole in me that I must grow to fill in. I guess that’s what she meant when she said to me, “You are never really, truly an adult until your mother is dead.” And I said to her, “then I’ll just stay a child.” And she, “idiot child!” Its time to grow up then. And to grow my own conscience from the seeds she planted in me. To trust my own instincts and my own mind. Just because I can’t call her doesn’t mean she isn’t there right? Existence isn’t tied to life, Aai, because I see you in us all. Bee Monday, January 17, 2005 - 1:00 am:      Arunima, GD'ncha BB activate karato aahe. Arunima Monday, January 17, 2005 - 8:43 pm:      Thanks re Bee. I will read it. Ninavi Wednesday, January 19, 2005 - 3:30 pm:      ima~aMnaÜÊ gaÝrI doXapanDoncyaa ‘pM#yaa’Mnaa ‘BaoTUna’ AgadI jaunaa zovaNaItlaa ima~ BaoTlyaasaarKa AanaMd Jaalaa. baIÊ ]maIcyaa laoKaba_la Qanyavaad ²

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