#Everyday Inspiration, Day Twelve: Critique a Piece of Work

Day Twelve: Critique a Piece of Work

Today I will write about a movie I watched yesterday. It’s a Bollywood movie. The title of the movie is Arth, it’s a Hindi movie; it means purpose.

The story begins with the wife telling her husband how much she wishes she had a house of her own.

Within a few days the husband gives her a key to a new house, with a thick pack of paper money. It’s not unusual for the wife to wonder, where did this money come from? He makes up some stories. The foolish wife believes him.

Days and months go by, his absence bothers the wife, she questions her hubby, who had no choice but to admit he was spending time with the woman who gave him the money to buy the house and also the bundle of paper money. And that the wife should be thankful to this other woman.

This brought about a lot of fights between the two. The wife returned the keys and part of the money.

The two characters separated, he went to the other woman. She went looking for a job. She was unable to find one, in the beginning, later found something.

Meanwhile she met a man, who declared he was a singer. He found odd jobs and spent his time singing among the people he knew. Hoping someone will find him and give him a break.

He got the break, overnight became popular and started earning a lot of money. This singer met the woman before and tried helping her. One day he told her, ‘now you’ve become self-sufficient; you can live your life alone with no worries.’

While I was sad for the wife, I had no sympathy for both men. I was pleased to see she turned down the other man, who wanted to marry her. She reminded him of the time when he told her, ‘now you’ve become independent, you do not need anyone.’

In the end her longtime maid was imprisoned for killing her husband. Pooja the main character in the story, decides to raise her maid’s young daughter.

I liked the ending of this complex story. At least, after all the hardships she had to under go, she finally found her purpose, her longtime desire to raise a child.

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“Otithi” (guest) Poem by Tagore Translation and posted by Ranu

Pooja

Pooja (Photo credit: timtom.ch)

Love came ,it opened the door and left,

It will not come any more.

There is one other guest left to come,

He was the last known.

One day he will come and extinguish the lamp,

And take me with him in a chariot__

from a home to some homeless

Starry planet.

Until then I will sit alone with my door open,

I will complete all my work.

When the guest arrives

there will be no obstacle in his path.

The Pooja preparation will be done,

I will be ready__

Quietly I will extend my arms, and receive

the homeless guest.

One who opened the door and left

while leaving he said,

“Wipe off the tears,there is another

guest to come”.

His last words were, “complete stringing

Remove the thorns of life____

In this new abode you the homeless,

Carry this perfect garland.”

Khaila Bhola (Absent-minded Play) Poem by Tagore Translation By Ranu

“Yes, there he sat, on the back of the winged ...

“Yes, there he sat, on the back of the winged horse!” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Do you think my mind is  occupied in play?

It is not true at all Mom,listen.

when I woke up early  the clouds were gone,

Sun , peeking through the trees.

Pooja music was coming from a distance,

three birds fighting on the roof.

toys scattered in front   what will I play,

I was thinking.

Spent the whole day undecided___

Sat holding the railing deep in thought.

I have  days of absent-mindedness Mom__

times when I have a queer feeling.

I see  the terrace

a little girl putting  a purple sari in the sun.

Quietly I watch, is it the wilderness__

I guess yonder is the king’s palace.

If I had  a winged-horse,

I would go immediately.

flying along the river bank

I would correct my way under a tree.

At times I see you with Dad’s letter

what do you think so quietly.

You look someone from an unknown land,

as if you are my mother from far away.

coming close I touch you__ it seems it’s my lost mother,

under the oak tree mother of flute .

I forget my play, I think

where is your home on which shore of the ocean!

I wish to go back to that strange island

you and me sailing on the sailboat!

Acquaintance by Tagore__ translated by Ranu

Goddess Lakshmi

Goddess Lakshmi (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This poem of Tagore shows him as a person,who has a side which notices other  things that are not so serious. This is about an acquaintance. I am dedicating the translation of this poem to my very good friends,who take their time to support my translations and write encouraging comments. I am truly grateful for their generosity. The friends are: Mr. Akhtar Wasim Dar, Mr. Robert and MS. Noor.

Acquaintance

There is a girl, I know, she controls the small village___

everyone gives her what she needs for Pooja, they call her Lakshmi.

But I say shall we believe  what you say,

I doubt she is so well-behaved.

In early morning, I know not where her sleep disappears___

she is rowdy in her bed.

She wakes up the whole neighborhood and giggles,

She stealthily tries to run away instead of going to her mother’s lap.

When she extends her arms and looks at me, then I am helpless,

I pick her up on my shoulders and walk around in the neighborhood.

she is delighted to find such a comfortable mode of transportation

she shows it by blows with her soft chubby fists.

I eagerly tell her wait , wait,

she tries to take my eye glasses with her fist.

She argues in her sweet voice makes a lot of noise___

it’s a terrible spectacle,you just call it a friendly behavior!

Still I think it is unbecoming for me to argue with her___

without her the melody of the flute doesn’t sound the same.

without her, can there be so many flowers sprouting?

If she is not here will the evening stars come up?

If there is no noise even for a moment,

there is no way my heart will be filled with joy.

Her mischief is like a south wind it comes as a happy sound to awaken everyone_

it sways my heart and gives me the same contentment that I get when I see the flower garden.

If you ask me her name it makes me think,

which name can I give, is something I cannot think.

Who keeps track of her name, I call her whatever I please__

I  call her mischievous,wild, ferocious.

the name given by her parents let that be only theirs_

you can look for sweet ,pretty names,but no,keep them safely in the box.

When someone chooses a name in a party, why should

the whole world , be compelled  to use    that name,it is too restrictive.

Why not we all give a name we like___

Dad calls her Chandrakumar,uncle calls her Ramcharan.

It doesn’t suit the daughter of the house to have a name in Sanskrit.

Does it make them more important or the price of the dictionary should be counted.

I, will only  call by whatever name comes to my lips___

Whatever I call, she will understand , let everyone else laugh.

One small human being she has hundreds of moods,

is it appropriate to call such a person  by one name only?

Lakshmi

Lakshmi (Photo credit: elycefeliz)