Mhaisal - a village, on the banks of the river Krishna, is in Sangli district of the western state of Maharashtra. Being on the boundary between Karnataka and Maharashtra, it is a confluence of cultures, languages and religions. Though the official language is Marathi, almost seventy percent of the population is bi-lingual. The highway to Bijapur and Belgaum, passes through the village. Agriculture is the main occupation, with sugar-cane, and grapes being the most important crops. Mhaisalkars are lovers of festivals, which are celebrated all year round with fervor and gaiety. (Map)
It is fortuitous that not only do I hail from Mhaisal, but chose, to spend my life here.


Saturday, September 28, 2013

Day In The Sun

Last evening, I thought I would watch a Guru Datta movie. As I flipped through my collection, I first picked 'Pyasa', but felt it would put me into a sad brooding mood, for which I wasn't ready. Next I looked at 'Sahib Bibi Aur Gulam', but felt the pathos created by Meenakumari, would be contagious. Finally I settled for 'Mr. & Mrs. 55', with Madhubala at her vivacious best.

As the movie progressed, and Johny Walker in his inimitable style, started wooing 'Julie' the typist. His dialogue comparing her dimples with those of an apple, suddenly struck me. This 'Julie' was indeed exceptionally beautiful, I scratched my brains as to who the actress was, but I just couldn't remember her name. This in spite of the hugely popular song "Jane Kahan Mera Jigar Gaya Ji, Abhi Abhi Yahin Tha ...", being picturised on her.

I did a search, and found that the information available on her was extremely sketchy. The film credits gave her name as Yasmin, searching for Yasmin led to some other actresses by the same name. At last I got her real name as  Vinita Butt, the last any one had heard of her, was that she was supposed to have married James Vining, a British make-up man, who had come to India, for an Indo-European film venture "The Three Headed Cobra". That's all.

For eons philosophers, have mulled over the purpose of our being, sadly, no convincing answers have ever been found. For the theist, this poses no problem, as he believes he is but a part, of some Divine Scheme. But if you happen to be an atheist, there are certainly no answers. There simply does not exist a purpose. In fact why should we - in all our puniness - even suppose, there could be some purpose for our existence?

Yet we all yearn for fame and recognition, we want others to like us and praise us, and feel enchanted while basking in some or other form of glory - be it short lived. Our greatest fear is to depart unsung.

Even John Keats initially could not come to terms with this reality when he says in this sonnet,
"When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charactry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance" 
Yet finally he realises
"Then on the shore of the wide world,
I stand alone and think, 
Till Love and Fame do nothingness do sink"

We can also think of the millions, who have come and gone - maybe more talented, more beautiful, yet withered unknown and unsung.
And for solace, shouldn't we be grateful, for we certainly had our Day in the Sun?