A (Wo)man of many (p)arts

                                          A (Wo)man of Many (P)arts

Yesterday counted seventy five strong entries in this blog! Not a mean feat indeed. Neither is the quality of the content cheap. Have tried to use many a forms as well, except though the overtly visual. Actually blogs are mostly vlogs, video blogs or at least visual rich blogs. Well, I am celebrating a couple who, like their daughter, believed in the worth/wealth of words.

Words made worlds for them both, Aai and Papa. Words mattered for them, they abided by their words, they neevr used a loose word against anyone. Both were man (and woman) of many words. Both loved to write. Detailed diaries, poems, traditional forms on such occasions as marriage, for instance, Aai attempted all. Papa loved to write letters and model essays (he had cleared his UPSC- Mains). He wanted to write the story of his rather rough life. Both had diametrically opposite styles. Hers was bare to the bone, his more ornate. No wonder, he revered his Prof. Gokak a lot!

Indeed in their own honest and modest ways, both attempted many an art. Hence the title of the blog today. If Papa loved music, Aai was good at drawing. More of a `kansen', he loved to hum to himself, especially the `natya sangeet', and beyond the bathroom walls, too. He loved to attend classical music concerts. I remember him taking us to the Sawai Gandharva music fest often. 

He loved to visit the great ones at their homes. He thus `met' (for a few minutes, of course) P.L.Deshpande, Ga. Di. Madgulkar, and Sachin Tendulkar. As he himself had that whacky Kolhapuri sense of humour and as he loved cricket to distraction, he must have enjoyed the visits. 

Aai was good at painting. I have already talked of all the household arts she was adept at. Her drawing and sketching were indeed rather good. Her self portrait, as I almost used to force her be active in every creative way, is both authentic, honest and artistic. So are some of her other sketches.

In their own small but sincere ways, they lovingly practiced such arts. Most important of all, their simple lives had not an ounce of artifice nor artificiality. Living itself they made in to a signification, a simple art with its own gravitas.

pratima@ "Amha ghari thor shbadanchich ratne" (words are the precious jewels at our home). Praise be to Sant Tukaram.