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TRI Continental Film Festival - Dona Paula, Goa, Sep 28 - Oct 2, 2007
http://www.moviesgoa.org/tricontinental/tricon.htm
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RECOGNITION FOR A PROMINENT WRITER: A HONOUR FOR RAVINDRA KELEKAR
The Sahitya Akademi conferred its most prestigious award, the
Fellowship, on Konkani writer Ravindra Kelekar earlier this
year. In a country of 1.1 billion, there can be only 21
Fellows of the Sahitya Akademi at any given time -- hence Goa
and Konkani literature are honoured by the unique place
accorded to Ravindrabab in the pantheon of Indian literature.
The formal conferment of the Fellowship is to take place on
October 6, 2007 at the Kala Akademi at 5pm. The function is
being organized by the Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi and is open
to all. More than sixty writers from various States will be
present. The award is a recognition of Ravindrabab's pioneering
service in the resurgence of the Konkani language, and his
eminence as a writer. It is not possible to list his
prodigious contribution to Konkani literature, with a voice
of sanity in the increasingly intolerant atmosphere and
warped vision that clouds our landscape, not least as editor
of the prestigious monthly magazine JAAG which he has edited
for more two decades. A scholar, freedom fighter, activist,
politician and creative thinker, he is a secular Hindu who
has been called a modern acharya. Writing has been, for him,
a form of action, an intervention of profound significance in
our giddy world where few have time to think, let alone read.
He is a communicator and his favourite forms are the diary,
the travelogue and the essay.
Like the poets Bakibab Borkar and ManoharRai SarDessai,
Ravindrabab straddles cultures and languages, both Indian and
European and these influences had a catalytic effect on their
uniquely humane sensibility. Ravindrabab is also indisputably
the most erudite Goan of his generation with a wide range of
interests and reading . Apart from literary works in Indian
languages (he translates and writes in Hindi, Marathi and
Gujarati and has won awards in these languages) he has delved
into French, Portuguese and German literature, philosophy,
economics, astronomy and much else. All this wealth of
knowledge sits lightly on his shoulders and is distilled even
more delicately in his prose. A selection of his essays has
been translated by Vidya Pai and is due to be published soon.
Moira-based translator Augusto Pinto (with help from Suresh
Amonkar) has translated the essay below. It has been selected
for readers of Goanet by Ravindrabab himself. -- Maria Aurora
Couto [EMAIL PROTECTED]
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We Are Mightier Than Death
By Ravindra Kelekar
I need a siesta of at least half an hour every day, for when
I get up I'm so completely refreshed, that I can attack the
evening with as much enthusiasm as I did the morning. Yes, I
feel it's a new day altogether.
Yesterday was Sunday. There were quite a number of guests,
and so I missed my afternoon nap. By evening I was dog-tired
and so I went to bed at nine -- pretty early for me. As a
result I woke up at 4.30 in the morning. I had a wash, and
then I thought I'd read, but then I realized that I'd have to
put on the lights and wake everyone up, so I went out and sat
in our razangovn, which is what we call the quadrangle of our
house in Konkani.
I said to myself -- let me watch the sun rise.
There was dead silence everywhere, a silence which the
occasional screechy chirp of an insect or two made more
eerie. Slowly the eeriness began to assume a character of its
own. I glanced upwards and recognized quite a few
constellations and stars. As I gazed at them, I don't know
when, but I dozed off to sleep.
When I woke up again it was a little later in the morning but
still dark. The clock in the sitting room went tick tick tick
tick. I've no idea why this sound gripped my attention but I
began to feel that this tick tick tick tick was being
deliberately directed at me. I shuddered. Somehow a feeling
began to creep over me that this sound was the sound of
Death, striding purposefully towards me, and every-time I
heard it go tick tick tick tick, I felt it had moved that
many steps closer to me.
I got a start and said, is He coming so soon? Damn it, I've
so many tasks left incomplete, I must get them done and owe
(over) with or else they'll be left unfinished.
I got up and went inside to work.
I am quite like anybody else. I know I've got to die some day
and I also know that no one but no one can escape death. That
even the very greatest have had to suffer this fate -- that
too I know but somehow I've always lived my life without ever
feeling that I was going to die. Death was what happened to
other people. I would accompany them to the crematorium as
part of the funeral processions. But I'd never really
believed deep down in there that one day I would be the
corpse. Even at my advanced age.
So many of my companions have gone: some in the prime of
their lives. In that sense death has been my constant
companion. Still, I can't quite fathom that death will get me
one day. The knowledge that everybody dies is one thing, to
actually have death knocking at your door -- that's the kind
of intimate experience that's quite something else
altogether.
At one point of time, a sadhvi named Rehana Tyabjee figured
in my life. One day she told me, "My brother, there's
absolutely no doubt He'll come. Don't waste your time waiting
for him. Just think He's already here, right in front of your
face and He's going to take you away today itself. Fix this
notion in your head, and then go about settling your
accounts. Whatever you'd planned for today, do now itself.
And, if you can, finish what you'd intended to do tomorrow.
Only then shall you learn to live life as it should be lived,
not simply pass through it. Unless one lives with the
consciousness that Death is going to take you away any
moment, life will never have any depth. Life has some value
if it has depth; not length in years."
The words of Sister Rehana reverberated in my ears.
I'd sat down to work, but these musings over Death seemed
doggedly determined not let go of me. All of a sudden it
struck me, "Do I not have to die too one day? Of course I
have to. Then why not die today itself? Today, this very
moment let me die and be done with it. If Death came what
could he take away from me? Nothing. Nothing but my worries,
right? Well, why shouldn't I, of my own free will, give them
away on my own? Look, they won't be coming along with me when
I go, and after I'm gone, they're not going to stay behind to
trouble anyone. The second I'm gone they'll vanish too. So
why not get rid of them right now itself?"
For a moment or two this thought gripped my mind my
mind and I felt a whole load of worries vanish in a
flash. I suddenly felt weightless! And I began to
swim in an ecstasy of blissful liberation.
Over the last quite a few years, there've been quite a few
things I've voluntarily given up. I've stopped taking quite a
few responsibilities. And there've been quite a few positions
I've resigned from. I've stopped paying much attention to
anything much nowadays. I could say I've freed myself from
all sorts of bondages.
I've no ambitions left. When I was young I did have some
goals in life; now I feel I've achieved whatever I set out to
achieve. Of course others too were involved in some of the
same movements as I, but I can confidently say that I've done
my bit in achieving some of those successes.... And now if I
don't do a thing more, nobody's going to complain. Nobody has
anything to lose if I go. If Death comes at this very moment,
there's absolutely nothing of any value that He'll be able to
grab except this mortal coil. And a pretty worn out one it is
too. If he wants it, He can be my guest.
For a moment I felt that I'd triumphed over Death.
Some say, a man should take up such tasks which he knows
he'll never complete by himself; and others say he should
choose those that cannot be accomplished in one lifetime. And
he should put all his heart into doing it. When Death comes
to take such a one away, he'll not be able to touch his
creativity. Death can take away a man's body, not his works.
So what if a man goes as long as his works remain? Let him go!
A man's creativity manifests itself sometimes in the form of
memories, sometimes in the form of inspiration. Great
painters and sculptors have passed through this world; great
singers, great litterateurs too. Death took them all away.
But not their paintings, their sculptures, their songs and
their books. Buddha, Socrates, Jesus, Marx, Gandhi have been
taken away by Death. But where their inspiration is
concerned, He could not do a thing. Each one of these great
souls triumphed over death. He was helpless before them.
Suddenly a verse of Rabindranath Tagore comes to my lips:
Howsoever mighty you may be, can you claim to be
more powerful than Death?
But we writers can say thus: We are greater than Death. And
that's all I need to say, before I leave.
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[First published in Zaag in November 1995 and reprinted in
Aaghal Paaghal. Translated by Augusto Pinto
[EMAIL PROTECTED], with help from Suresh Amonkar.]
