Sphoorthi Theatre

Twilight set on the horizon, Filled with happiness for a reason, Dressed in ethnic Elizabethan, Looked through the opening of the window, Far-stretched sight crossing meadows, For all that I longed for To catch the glimpse of the Prince whom I dream of a day in and out. Gentle breeze passing by gently, Filling the air fragrance of budding mango shoots, Joy news of orange spread in the West, Mustard flowers get the marigold look, Birds returning back to their nest, Blazing sun going down to rest, To catch the glimpse of the Prince whom I dream of a day in and out Women fetching water at the well, The rumbling sound of glass bangles, Dancing sound of wind chimes, The rhythmic sound of temple bells, The pounding sound of turmeric, The cracking sound of nutcrackers, The buzzing sound of bees Held my breathe high, To catch the glimpse of the Prince  whom I dream of a day in and out Threshold decorated with mango leaves, Gardens filled with marigold fields,

The prick of unbearable loss of loved ones; Is more painful than the prick of a needle, The suffering that one undergoes; Makes a strong one also feeble, The heart stops in a jiffy; The mind acts iffy, A day before the loss looks clear and bright; All of a sudden the onset of a gloomy night, Blown-out roof, worn-out kitchen; All that pitch in, Friends and relatives; Pat on the back, Mom and Dad lay in an ice pack; Left only with questions with no answers, It’s all the game of cancer; Why me?? Why only me?? All pass through the stage, In turn, it is they or we; Thank the eyes that weep on the departure of dear ones, What if I go….. Will there be any eye to weep for me???? PS:  https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/o-death-10/

When asked to name the Puppeteers or puppet practitioners from Maharashtra, you get to hear only the present-day well-known practitioners like Meena Naik - an Indian actress, director, writer, and puppeteer from Mumbai or Ramdas Padhye - an Indian ventriloquist, puppeteer, and puppet-maker who has 40 plus years of experience. Little when further interrogated then  about Shri Vishnu Das Bhave -and Ganpat Sakhram Masge (Sangeet Natak Academy Awardee 2005)-the traditional puppeteers (can also refer to my previous blog post on “Kalasutri Bahuliya and Chamdyacha Bahuliya-traditional puppet forms of Maharashtra” Shri Vishnu Das Bhave well known as the father of Marathi Theatre is a multi-facet personality-Engineer, poet, puppeteer, and scrupulous crafts man.  Got to know in one of the theatre conferences that the 150 years old puppets of Vishnu Das Bhave traveled to Mr. Ramdas Padhye through a  known source for the revival of the tr

Sri Parasuram Gangavane's Puppets Sri Parasuram Gangavane's Puppets Sri Parasuram Gangavane holding  Rakshashi Puppets Sri Parsuram Gangavane holding his two string puppets Sri Parsuram Gangavane's string puppets Folk plays or Lok Kala is a way of representing and interpretation of the various aspects of human life and community life through dance, music, and drama. No doubt that in India, folk plays have had an incredible influence on the lives of masses in rural areas mainly, due to the underlined principles of entertainment and education. The folk performance familiarizes the rural masses to the magical and mysterious world of the universe. In rural and tribal cultures, ritualistic practices are like ritualistic commandments and there are ineradicable marks on the minds of the masses. Music, dance, drama, folk theatre, or puppetry our country India, had all of it in abundance. So, is the with Puppetry- folk art form of India. In India, th

The hidden Sun yet to rise, To spread his rays all through the sky The rays that sine, On the sea waves that line Like a white crochet lace, Bordering the sand base Ornamenting the sand bed with colourful dye, Of seashells and corals Gentle waves whispering to me, Roll on the sand bed to feel and see Like a lonely honey bee, Buzzing around the fragrance of a flower  Sea water gentle touch, Made me feel you so much Every raising wave under the blazing sun, The wild wind made me run Run on the blue sea shore,  Enthralling fishery folklore Amidst the wild blue sea, All that they foresee Life as life be, A true learning for me Under the evil scorching sun, A sprout of a new start begun On sand sea shore and Sunshine, To forget all the stupid that I had done Days go slowly one by one, Calm waves pave way to sun Let you rest, let you rest, In the west A chance to quest and to request, Let me rebuild by nest On the sand bed,

The path that I choose to travel Was tough, hard yet marvel Pit pots with less of pebbles and more gravel, In the journey of life, Me bold and young, Once bitten twice stung. The myth that I well is all well, Faded away in the journey that foretells, With people’s connections, More self-suppression, Rocks on, roll on, and roller-coaster on, Pushing on from pillar to post, Got lost in the journey almost, Me bold and young, Once bitten twice stung. All the fairy faces Appears with no voices With a jiggle and mingle  Try to hold ‘self’ but struggle All lost in the journey of ‘Saints’ Very less to recall but, sure to faint With promises high and up, Open a wealthy hub, Me the poor and meek, With a voice that creaks, Unheard to many Listened by none,           Me bold and young, Once bitten twice stung. Lost in the midway At the crossroads, With no hopes, no help, no aid, no companion. Tall mountains bow down Streams