Optics

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Turtles Can Fly

A friend recommended I watch this movie. I did. 

A sad and poignant film is set against the backdrop of savagery and aftermath of war; a camp situated somewhere near Iraq-Turkey border populated only by very young children and old codgers. One wonders where have all the adult men and women gone. One then deduces, they are either fighting the war or dead fighting the war. Most likely, dead; thus making the boys orphans.

When all else has already failed one must be inventive in order to survive. That young genius is the hero, Satellite. He is so known for he buys and installs satellites to this remote camp site where old men want to watch news and  know when Americans are coming to rescue them. Satellite has learnt few workable English words and behaves like a lord of the camp. 

He has an army of boys. He pays them few Dinars to collect unexploded land-mines to sell them to arms dealers for the purchase of guns and shells to defend themselves.

Satellite is attracted to Agrin. She, her brother and perhaps her young son seem not to be the part of this camp, meaning they seem to be ostracized. They do not participate in mine gathering activities. Nor do they get paid. They are poor; they are hungry. Her brother has lost both of his arms, assumably in bombardment or by un-exploded land-mines. The young child whom Agrin calls 'bastard' is an enormous burden for her especially, when she has lost all faith in life and living. 

A  2004 Iran-Iraq collaborative movie directed by well established director Bahman Ghobadi is sad and moving. The girl has done a marvelous job of projecting disinterest in life only through facial expressions. She hardly speaks. The armless boy has done fine job of showing helplessness in helping the sister or the situation. 

There are few unanswered questions in my head. Except for Agrin I did not see a female character. Why? Whose child is that little boy? Why does she call him a bastard? Since none of the actors are professionals, because I believe they were picked at random,  I expected a seasoned director to handle child acting better, specifically Satellite's. He was very loud and screaming out the orders all the time. What was the need for that? 

But if one is in mood for a serious cry, I recommend this film.

  

Flamenco...

...lean in,

ask,

dance anyone?

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My Poet

Tagore....

ও রবি, 

তুমি আমার অন্তরের কবি I 

                   -চারু 

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Texturing

I am experimenting with new textures and strokes in my work....

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Vases

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Furrowed

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Mother+6

On the anniversary eve of my Mother's passing, a small tribute......

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Tulip

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Pashmina Scarf

Perhaps, I can hide my Pashmina in Wicker Basket!

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Wicker Basket

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Digital Flower

This blossom

exudes scent of no jasmine 

It pollinates neither

Nor does it wither

Bees will not wiggle 

Birds will not hover

This will not rest on headstones

nor will it serve high romance

The whorls of this flower within flower will only

emit light to draw attention to its delicate heart

charu

10042017

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Peacock-કલાપી

Sursinhji Gohel was a renowned poet of nineteenth century Gujarat, India. He was the prince of the State of Lathi, Saurashtra.  He published an acclaimed poetry book called "Kalapino Kekarav" translated 'Sweet Call of  Peacock'.

He used "Kalapi" as Nome de Plume. Below I quote him what he thought of artists in which group Poets are included.

"કલા છે ભોજ્ય મીઠી, તે ભોક્તાવિણ કલા નહીં"

"કલાવાન કલા સાથે ભોક્તાવિણ મળે નહીં"
                                -કવિ  સુરસિંહજી ગોહેલ 

                                                     - "વીણાનો મૃગ" માની અંતિમ પંક્તીઓ  

                                   -"કલાપીનો  કેકારવ"માંથી

                                                       

Rough translation by Charu Gandhi:

"Vittles sweet can not be of art without an aesthete"

"An artist, and his artistry, can not be without an aesthete"

                                                   -Last couplet from poem  "Vinano Mrug"
                                         -from the book "Kalapino Kekarav"
                        -by poet Sursinhji Gohel

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"

Marrama

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Diamonique

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Calyces

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Come, Child Come-Ay Khuku Ay

Here is a lovely Nostalgia song.  Now an adult daughter is having, call it a virtual or an imaginary conversation with her father. She either imagines or wants how her father will entertain her in her time of boredom....

Sung by Hemant Mukherjee and Sravanti Mazumder

The word translation is simplistic. The depth of sentiment is difficult to translate. I have refrained from translating every refrain after each stanza.

Transliteration Kate na shomoy jokhon ar kichute  Bondhur telifone-e mon boshe na  Janlar gril-tate thekai matha Mone hoy babar moto keu bole na Aay.. khuku aay..                             Aye.. khuku aye.. Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye Aayre amar sathe gaan geye ja  Notun notun shur ne sikhe ne Kichui jokhon valo lagbe na tor Piyanoy boshe tui bajabi-re Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye.. Cinema jokhon choke jwala dhoray  Gorom Coffee-r moja juriye jaay Kobitar boi gulo chure feli Mone Hoy baba jodi bolto amay  Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye.. Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye.. Aay re amar sathe aay ekhuni Kothao ghure ashi sohor chere Chelebelar moto baayna kore Kaaj theke nena tui amay kere Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye.. Dokane jokhon ashi saajbo bole Khopa-ta bendhe nei thanda haway Aar-shite jokhon ei chokh pore jay Mone hoy baba jeno bolche amay Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye.. Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye.. Aayre amar kache aay mamoni Shobar agey ami dekhi toke Dekhito kemon khopa bedhechis tui Kemon kajol dili kalo chokhe Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye.. Chelebelar din fele eshe Shobai amar moto boro hoye jaay Janina kojone amar moton Mishti se pichu daak shunte je paay Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye.. Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye.. Aay re amar pashe aay mamoni E haath ta valo kore dhor ekhoni Harano sedini chol chole jai Chotto bela tor firiye aani Aay.. khuku aay.. Aye.. khuku aye..

In Original Bengali কাটে না সোময় যখোন আর কিছুতে বন্ধুর টেলিফেন মোন বশেনা জানলার গ্রিলতাতে ঠেকাই মাথা মোনে হয় বাবার মতো কেউ বলেনা আয় খুকু আয় ,আয় খুকু আয়  আয় খুকু আয় ,আয় খুকু আয়  আয়রে আমার সাথে গান গেয়ে যা নোতুন নোতুন সুরে নেয় শিখে নেয় কিছুই যখন ভালো লাগবেনা তোর পিয়ানোয় বসে তুই বাজাবিরে সিনেমা যখন চোখে জ্বালা ধোরে গরম কফির মোজা জুরিয়ে যায় কবিতার বোই গুলো ছুড়ে ফেলি নে হয় বাবা যোদি বলতো আমায় আয়রে আমার সাথে যায় এখুনি কোথাও ঘুরে আসি শহর ছেড়ে ছেলেবেলার মতো বায়না করে কাজ থেকে নেনা তুই আমায় কেড়ে দোকানে জখন আশি সাজবো বোলে খোঁপাটা বেঁধে নেই থান্ডা হাওয়ায় আর শীতে যখন এই চোখ পরে যায় মোনে হয় বাবা যেনো বলছে আমায় যায় আমার কাছে যায় মামোনি শোবার আগে আমি দেখি তোকে দেখিতো কেমন খোপা বেঁধেছি তুই কেমন কাজল দিলে কালো চোখে ছেলেবেলার দিন ফেলে এসে সবাই আমার মতো বোরো হয়ে যায় জানিনা কজনে আমার মতন মিষ্টি সে পিছু ডাক শুনতে যে পায় যায় রে আমার পাশে যায় মামোনি এ হাত তা ভালো করে ধর এখনি হারানো সেদিনি চল চলে যাই ছোট্ট বেলা তোর ফিরিয়ে আনি

Translation When time hangs heavy When friend’s call does not hold interest I rest my head on window grill (and I think) Nobody says ‘come child come’ like Dad used to Come sing songs with me Learn new tunes (from me) When nothing will interest you, You will play piano (like I taught) When movie smarts my eyes When hot coffee has no taste   When I fling  poetry book  away (being bored) I wish Dad will say, come child come Free me from my work  Let us leave this city.  Let us travel the distance  To an outing as we used to Let me go to beauty shop  Let me put my chignon up Let me put on the scarf  (To get ready for the outing) When eyes get closed in this winter breeze I feel Dad tells me Come my gem child come Let me see you before anyone else, How nicely  you have made your bun up, Let me see how nicely you have kohl-ed your eyes  I know everybody leaves the childhood and grows up but I wonder if anyone else hears a Dad’s sweet call as I do Come, come  to me my child Hold my hand Let me take you back to those lost childhood days