Forward!

At seventy-one, it is time to look forward, not backward, and one should not dwell too much on the past but prepare oneself to make the most of whatever time is left to us on this fascinating planet. That is why I called my Foreword a Backward, and this epilogue a Forward-for forward we must march, whatever our age or declining physical prowess. Life has always got something new to offer.

As I write, a small white butterfly flutters in at the open window, reminding me of all that Nature offers to anyone who is receptive enough to appreciate its delights. One of my earliest stories, written over fifty years ago, was about a small yellow butterfly settling on my grandmother's knitting-needles and setting a train of reminiscence. Now i have done with reminiscing, and this particular butterfly is here to invite me outside, to walk in the sunshine and revel in the glories of a Himalyan spring.

The children are watching Jackie Chan on television. Their mother is cutting up beans prior to preparing lunch. Their grandmother is giving the dog a bath. These cheerful folk are a member of my extended family. It's normal day for them, and I hope it stays that way. I don't want too much excitement just now- not while I'm trying to finish a book.

The butterfly has gone, and the sunshine beckons. It's been a long hard winter in the hills. But the chestnut trees are coming into new leaf, and that's good enough for me. I have never been a fast walker, or a conqueror of mountain peaks, but I can plod along for miles. And that's what I've been doing all my life - plodding along, singing my song, telling my tales in my own unhurried way. I have lived life at my own gentle pace, and if as a result I have failed to get to the top of the mountain (or of anything else) it doesn't matter, the long walk has brought its own sweet rewards; buttercups and butterflies along the way.

Ruskin Bond
Landour, March 2005

Ruskin Bond, from the book 'Roads to Mussourie'

दूर्वचल / verdant hill

दूर्वाचल

पार्शव गिरी का नम्र, चीडों में
डगर चढ़ती उमंगो सी.
बिछी पैरों में नदी ज्यों दर्द की रेखा.
विहग शिशु मौन नीड़ों में
मैंने आँख भर देखा.
दिया मन को दिलासा - पुनः आऊँगा
(भले ही बरस दिन - अनगिन युगों बाद!)
क्षितिज ने पलक से खोली,
तमक कर दामिनी बोली-
'अरे यायावर, रहेगा याद?'


Verdant Hill

Mountainside, bowed; among the pines
a path climbing, like rapture.
At my feet a river laid like the contour of pain.
Little birds, silent, in their nests.
I looked my fill
and consoled my heart - I will return
(even if after days, years - countless aeons!)
The horizon opened its eyelids,
a lightning flushed with anger;
'O wanderer, will you remember?'

-अग्येय, Agyeya
from the book, 'New Poetry In Hindi' An Anthology
edited, translated, and introduced by Lucy Rosenstein
published by permanent black

have started reading this anthology on the new poetry on Monday. dee brought it from sahitya library as she might be doing her m. phil. in a related stream. i took interest because there were a lot of gaps in my understanding of Hindi literature, especially the one my father has not introduced me to. this book, after a long weekend full of English literature and leisure will surely enrich my little knowledge about Hindi poetry and who knows, i might be motivated enough to write more of poetry myself, from which i'd taken an unusually longish break this month.