Deepak Raag Hai Chahat Apni

"Story" by Neha

Deepak Raag Hai Chahat Apni Kahe Sunayen Tumhein

Hum To Sulagte Hee Rehte Hain Kyun Sulgaien Tumhein

Tark-e-Muhabbat Tark-e-Tammana Kar Chukne K Baad
Hum Pay Yeh Mushkil Aan ParRI Hai Kaisey Bhulaien Tumhein

Deepak Raag Hai Chahat Apni..

Sannata Jab Tanhai Key Zehar Mein Bhujhta Hai,
Woh Ghariyaan Kyoon Kar Kat' ti Hain Kaise Bataien Tumhein

Deepak Raag Hai Chahat Apni Kahe Sunayen Tumhein

Jin Baaton Ne Pyaar Tumhara Nafrat Mein Badla
Darr Lagta Hai Woh Baatien Bhee Bhool Naa Jayen Tumhien

Deepak Raag Hai Chahat Apni Kahe Sunayen Tumhein

Hum To Sulagte Hee Rehte Hain Kion Sulagaien Tumhien...

- Zahoor Nazar

Here's the Hindi version !

दीपक राग है चाहत अपनी काहे सुनाएँ तुम्हें

हम तो सुलगते ही रहते हैं क्यूँ सुलगाएं तुम्हें

तर्क -ए -मुहब्बत तर्क -ए -तम्मना कर चुकने के बाद

हम पे यह मुश्किल आन पडी है कैसे भुलाएँ तुम्हें

दीपक राग है चाहत अपनी ..

सन्नाटा जब तन्हाई के ज़हर में भुझता है ,

वोह गहराइयाँ क्यूं कर कट ' टी हैं कैसे बतैएँ तुम्हें

दीपक राग है चाहत अपनी काहे सुनाएँ तुम्हें

जिन बातों ने प्यार तुम्हारा नफरत में बदला

डर लगता है वोह बातें भी  भूल ना जाएँ तुम्हे

दीपक राग है चाहत अपनी काहे सुनाएँ तुम्हें

हम तो सुलगते ही रहते हैं क्यूँ सुलगाएं तुम्हे ...

- ज़हूर नजर

Resources:

1) Listen to this beautiful ghazal sung by Pakistani singer Shahida Parveen

2) I love the version sung by this YouTube singer as well

Phir mujhe deeda-e-tar yaad aaya

"Splash" by Neha

Phir Mujhe Deeda-e-Tar Yaad Aaya
Dil Jigar Tishna-e-Fariyaad Aaya

[ Deeda-e-Tar =Tearful eyes , Tishna-e-Fariyaad - Desperate to appeal/Thirsty ]

Dum Liya Tha Na Qayamat Ne Hanoz
Phir Tera Waqt-e-Safar Yaad Aaya

[Hanoz= yet/still ]

Saadagii Haaye Tamannaa Yaanii

Phir Wo Nai_Rang-e-Nazar Yaad Ayaa

[Nai_rang=fascinating ]

Zindagi Yu Bhee Guzar hee Jatee

Kyoon Tera Raah Guzar Yaad Aaya

Koi Veerani Si Veerani Hai
Dasht Ko Dekh Ke Ghar Yaad Aaya

[Dasht - Wilderness/Desert ]

Phir terey kuchey ko jaata hai khayal

Dil-e gum gush tha magar yaad aaya

[ Kuchey = narrow street, khayal = thoughts, gush= filled with]

Main Ne Majnu Pe Ladakpan Mein 'Asad'
Sang Uthaya Tha Ke Sar Yaad Aaya

[Asad - Mirza Ghalib's earlier 'Takhallus' i.e. Pen Name, Sang - Stone]

- Mirza Ghalib

Resources:

1) Listen to this ghazal by Lata Mangeshkar at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQCCokHDeVo&feature=related

2) I also love these recitals by Rajni Pallavi : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qFGCRm2t2c&feature=related and the one by Shahida Parveen : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFCF6PAen_I&feature=related

Image in the Mirror

"The Window" by Neha

The image in the mirror seems different

But sublime days arrive when you know

Viewer, image, and mirror are one: the same

Silent calm eternal shimmering.

-Rumi ( Translation by Andrew Harvey)

Again and Again

"You and I" by Neha

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love

and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,

and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others

fall: again and again the two of us walk out together

under the ancient trees, lie down again and again

among the flowers, face to face with the sky.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Through love

" The Streak" by Neha

Through love bitter things seem sweet.
Through love scraps of copper are turned to gold.
Through love dregs taste like clear wine.
Through love agonies are healing balms.
Through love thorns become roses.
Through love vinegar becomes rich wine.
Through love the scaffold becomes a throne.
Through love disaster becomes good fortune.
Through love a prison becomes a rose garden.
Through love burning fire is a fragrant light.
Through love the devil becomes an angel.
Through love stones become soft as butter.
Through love grief is like delight.
Through love demons become servants of God.
Through love stings are like honey.
Through love lions are harmless as mice.
Through love sickness is health.
Through love the dead are resurrected.
Through love the emperor becomes a slave.

- Rumi ( Translation by Andrew Harvey)

The Heart

" At my heart" by Neha

What is there in the jar that isn't also in the river?
What can you find in the house that is not in the city?
This world is the jar, the Heart the river;
This world is the house, the Heart the city of miracles.

- Rumi ( Translation by Andew Harvey)

Serenade

THE western wind is blowing fair
Across the dark Ægean sea,
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.
Come down! the purple sail is spread,
The watchman sleeps within the town,
O leave thy lily-flowered bed,
O Lady mine come down, come down!

She will not come, I know her well,
Of lover’s vows she hath no care,
And little good a man can tell
Of one so cruel and so fair.
True love is but a woman’s toy,
They never know the lover’s pain,
And I who loved as loves a boy
Must love in vain, must love in vain.

O noble pilot tell me true
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
Or is it but the tangled dew
That binds the passion-flowers there?
Good sailor come and tell me now
Is that my Lady’s lily hand?
Or is it but the gleaming prow,
Or is it but the silver sand?

No! no! ’tis not the tangled dew,
’Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
It is my own dear Lady true
With golden hair and lily hand!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
This is the Queen of life and joy
Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!

The waning sky grows faint and blue,
It wants an hour still of day,
Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,
O Lady mine away! away!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
O loved as only loves a boy!
O loved for ever evermore!

-Oscar Wilde (1854–1900). Poems. 1881

Listen to this beautiful serenade from the movie "Importance of being Earnest" at:

- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQW_bovs40s

- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRNgmM0KARI&feature=related

A Poem

" Blue song" by Neha

A poem is writing, Coloring pictures of Bratz.

A poem is a baby, A carriage, a bassinet, a nie nie, A soother, a blanket, a name.

A poem is a big sister helping a Little sister. She changes their diapers, She can feed her baby food, she can Put on her clothes.

A poem is like a Mom who helps Out. A Mom turns off the TV when We do our homework. A Mom calls You to have a milk bath.

A poem is like a Dad. A Dad yells At us, if we’re not cleaning up. When we’re doing something, he tells Us to eat.

A poem is like an Aunt. Our Aunt comes Over when our Mom tells her to come over. An Aunt helps us clean up. An Aunt plays with us. An Aunt gives us piggy backs.

A poem is like my grandmother, A grandmother gives us money For Christmas and New Years. A Grandmother teaches us Chinese. ”Gung hey fa choy,” that Means hand over the money.

A poem is like my grandfather, He gives us food to eat when we Go over our grandfather’s house. A grandfather gives us presents.

A poem is like a family and I love my family.

by Sadie McCann, Age 5

Source: New York writer's coalition , http://www.nywriterscoalition.org/2009/03/a-poem/

Last thoughts on Woody Guthrie

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache´
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown
- Bob Dylan
About : This is a poem that Bob Dylan wrote as an ode to Woody Guthrie, a great American singer and folk, protest songwriter, who was a huge influence on Dylan. Woody Guthrie said:

"There's several ways of saying what's on your mind. And in states and counties where it ain't any too healthy to talk too loud, speak your mind, or even to vote like you want to, folks have found other ways of getting the word around.One of the mainest ways is by singing. Drop the word 'folk' and just call it real old honest to god American singing. No matter who makes it up, no matter who sings it and who don't, if it talks the lingo of the people, it's a cinch to catch on, and will be sung here and yonder for a long time after you've cashed in your chips.If the fight gets hot, the songs get hotter. If the going gets tough, the songs get tougher."

This was Woody Guthrie.

Before reciting the poem, Dylan said: "There's this book coming out and they asked me to write something about Woody. Sorta like "What does Woody Guthrie Mean to You" in 25 words. And I couldn't do it, I wrote out five pages and... I have it here... I have it here by accident, actually. But I'd like to say this out loud. So, if you could sorta roll along with this thing here, this is called Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie."

मेरो मन अनत कहाँ सुख पावे।

"The flight" by Neha

मेरो मन अनत कहाँ सुख पावे।
जैसे उड़ि जहाज की पंछि, फिरि जहाज पर आवै॥

- सूरदास

"मैं तुम्हारी, तुम हमारे !"

"That season" by Neha

नयन में निज नयन भर कर,

अधर पर सुमधुर अधर धर,

साध कर स्वर, साध कर उर,

एक दिन तुमने कहा था प्रेम-गंगा के किनारे !

"मैं तुम्हारी, तुम हमारे !"

था थकित उर-प्यार हारा

मौन था संसार सारा,

सुन रहा था सरित-जल चल, मुस्कराते चाँद-तारे !

"मैं तुम्हारी, तुम हमारे !"

अब कहीं तुम मैं कहीं हूँ,

अर्थ इसका मैं नहीं हूँ,

शेष हैं वे शब्द, क्षत उर-स्वप्न, दो नयानाश्रु खारे !

"मैं तुम्हारी, तुम हमारे !"

- गोपाल दास नीरज

I love this poem by Neeraj. It reminds me of "Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines" by Pablo Neruda which is also one of my favorite poems

अब तो मज़हब कोई ऐसा भी चलाया जाए

अब तो मज़हब कोई ऐसा भी चलाया जाए

जिसमे इंसान को इंसान बनाया जाए

आग बहती है यहाँ गंगा में भी ज़मज़म में भी

कोई बतलाये कहाँ जा के नहाया जाए

अब तो मज़हब कोई ऐसा भी चलाया जाए...

मेरा मकसद है ये महफिल रहे रौशन यूँ ही

खून चाहे मेरा दीपो में जलाया जाए

अब तो मज़हब कोई ऐसा भी चलाया जाए...

मेरे दुःख-दर्द का तुझ पर हो असर कुछ ऐसा

मैं रहूँ भूखा तो तुझसे भी ना खाया जाए

अब तो मज़हब कोई ऐसा चलाया जाए...

जिस्म दो हो के भी दिल एक हों अपने ऐसा

मेरा आंसू तेरी पलकों से उठाया जाए

अब तो मज़हब कोई ऐसा चलाया जाए...

गीत गुमसुम है, ग़ज़ल चुप है, रुबाई भी दुखी

ऐसा माहौल में 'नीरज' को बुलाया जाए

अब तो मज़हब कोई ऐसा भी चलाया जाए...

अब तो मज़हब कोई ऐसा भी चलाया जाए

जिसमे इंसान को इंसान बनाया जाए

-- गोपाल दास नीरज

Delicious Ambiguity

" Anatomy of a Moment" by Neha

I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.

- Gilda Radner, Actress and Comedian (1946-1989)

Garden of Love

"Many flowers in this garden" by Neha

The garden of
Love
is green without
limit
and yields many
fruits
other than sorrow
and joy.
Love is beyond either
condition:
without spring,
without autumn,
it is always fresh.

- Rumi

Garden of Miracles

" My Garden by Neha"

Garden of miracles,
what kind of garden are you?

- Rumi ( Translation by Andrew Harvey, A Year of Rumi, Daily Om)

Towards the Splendid City

" I did not learn from books any recipe for writing a poem, and I, in my turn, will avoid giving any advice on mode or style which might give the new poets even a drop of supposed insight. When I am recounting in this speech something about past events, when reliving on this occasion a never-forgotten occurrence, in this place which is so different from what that was, it is because in the course of my life I have always found somewhere the necessary support, the formula which had been waiting for me not in order to be petrified in my words but in order to explain me to myself.

During this long journey I found the necessary components for the making of the poem. There I received contributions from the earth and from the soul. And I believe that poetry is an action, ephemeral or solemn, in which there enter as equal partners solitude and solidarity, emotion and action, the nearness to oneself, the nearness to mankind and to the secret manifestations of nature. And no less strongly I think that all this is sustained - man and his shadow, man and his conduct, man and his poetry - by an ever-wider sense of community, by an effort which will for ever bring together the reality and the dreams in us because it is precisely in this way that poetry unites and mingles them. And therefore I say that I do not know, after so many years, whether the lessons I learned when I crossed a daunting river, when I danced around the skull of an ox, when I bathed my body in the cleansing water from the topmost heights - I do not know whether these lessons welled forth from me in order to be imparted to many others or whether it was all a message which was sent to me by others as a demand or an accusation. I do not know whether I experienced this or created it, I do not know whether it was truth or poetry, something passing or permanent, the poems I experienced in this hour, the experiences which I later put into verse.

From all this, my friends, there arises an insight which the poet must learn through other people. There is no insurmountable solitude. All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song - but in this dance or in this song there are fulfilled the most ancient rites of our conscience in the awareness of being human and of believing in a common destiny..."

- Pablo Neruda, Nobel Prize Lecture , 1971

Note: Read the full lecture at http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1971/neruda-lecture-e.html

Me Imperturbe

" Peace by Neha"

Me imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature,

Master of all or mistress of all, aplomb in the midst of irrational things,

Imbued as they, passive, receptive, silent as they,

Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less important than I thought,

Me toward the Mexican sea, or in the Mannahatta or the Tennessee, or far north or inland,

A river man, or a man of the woods or of any farm-life of these States or of the coast, or the lakes or Kanada,

Me wherever my life is lived, O to be self-balanced for contingencies,

To confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.

- Walt Whitman ( from Leaves of Grass. Walt Whitman. Brooklyn: Fowler & Wells, 1856)

Cannery Row

Canned by Neha

" CANNERY ROW in Monterey, California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and the scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses..."

"How can the poem and the stink and the grating noise - the quality of light, the one, the habit and the dream- be set down alive? ", asks author John Steinbeck after a brief introduction to the beautiful poetic prose that is Cannery Row. The story takes the reader through the streets of Cannery row, its people : Doc - the marine biologist , the fountain of philosophy, art and science who has done something nice for everyone at Cannery Row and for whom everyone at Cannery Row want's to do something nice , Lee Chong and his grocery store - the lifeline of Cannery Row's paraphernalia, Mack - the leader of a small group of men ( call them bums or call them free spirits) who have in common no family, no money and no ambitions beyond food, drink and contentment, Dora - the owner of the bear flag restaurant ( which is not a restaurant as you'd find!) , the male Gopher waiting to welcome his dream lady Gopher at his perfect residence on the vacant lot on Cannery Row and myriad of other incredibly interesting and quirky characters.

I love Cannery Row. For beginners, I am enchanted by my copy of the book which I picked from an old used book store I discovered. The store has three floors filled with books of all sizes, colors, shapes and languages. As I entered on a Sunday afternoon , the sleepy fan was making its usual rounds while its slow moving sound brought home a familiar comfort of tropical kind. And there it was - Cannery Row waiting for me to pick it up. The copy I found ( or rather which found me) was published in 1963 , 18 years after the book's first publication in 1945. The pages are yellow and it smells musty ...a bit like Cannery Row itself I like to think. The story of Cannery Row is a dream. Yet, it is so real. It is comical. Yet, it is deeply philosophical ( from beer milkshakes to moral, physical and aesthetic effect of Model T Ford on the American generations to beards to fortune to misfortune to surprise to frogs and rattlesnakes). The words sing and paint at the same time - a treat for an art lover .

The story has parallel themes with Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men ( which was written in 1937 and which I confess I also deeply love!). The misadventures of men of Of Mice and Men are of a different kind yet they evoke similar emotions as the men of Cannery Row. They have no family and share a deep camaraderie. They want a li'l place of their own where they can belong. While for Lennie and Milton ( in Of Mice and Men), it remains a distant dream which lives in their heart, Mack and the boys of Cannery Row are lucky in having made their home at the Palace Flophouse. Such must have also been the camaraderie between Steinbeck and his friend Ed Ricketts, the marine biologist on whom the Doc's character is based and to whom Steinbeck Dedicated the Cannery Row saying " For Ed Ricketts, who knows why or should". I love the Doc. Who doesn't. He's kind, eccentric and mysterious. I love when he reads the Black Marigold's , a 11th century love poem called Caurapañcāśikā written by an Indian poet, translated from Sanskrit by E Powy's Matherrs. A poem which only makes him more mysterious.

In a journal entry in 1938, Steinbeck wrote " In every bit of honest writing in the world there is a base theme. Try to understand men, if you understand each other you will be kind to each other. Knowing a man well never leads to hate and nearly always leads to love. There are shorter means, many of them. There is writing promoting social change, writing punishing injustice, writing in celebration of heroism, but always that base theme. Try to understand each other. " And so it is with Cannery Row. It is honest and compassionate. Read it !

Notes: Read the Black Marigold translation here http://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/bilhana/index.htm