Thursday, August 23, 2007

The Drummer of Lord Vithoba

He is a minstrel on the move, sings bhajans in praise of Lord Vithoba and dances with the musical trinkets tied to his feet.Actually it is not a animated dance but the sound of the ghungroos, and the drum beats add to the recital of his praise to a Divinity , that most Maharashtrians believe in.
He visits my shop transporting me on the wings of sound into an ethereal abode...
I had misplaced his picture just found it tucked away..he lives now within you..

Vithoba is a colloquial form of Vitthala, one of the manifestations of Vishnu (Krishna) . Vithoba of Pandharpur is traditionally one of the most important deities in the Indian states of Maharashtra, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh drawing millions of devotees across several cultures and languages of these states. Vithoba is a major focus of the Bhakti and Varkari movements in these states. A very substantial segment of spiritual literature in the Marathi and Kannada languages is dedicated to Vithoba.

The word "Vitthala" is said to be derived from the Marathi word "Vit", meaning "brick". The prescribed iconogaphy of the lord of Pandharapur stipulates that he be shown as standing upon a brick; this is connected to an important folk-legend connected with the deity, which is elaborated upon below. The suffix "ba" is used to denote "father" in Marathi, and is cognate with the south Indian suffix "appa", which has the same meaning and usage.[1]

The main temple of Vithoba (Vitthala) and his consort Rakhumai (Rukmini) is located at Pandharpur in Maharashtra, on the border of that state with Karnataka.

While Padma Purana, Ekadashi prayers and offerings, legend associated with goddess Rukmini and popular beliefs and traditions accept Vithoba being manifestation of God Vishnu; Certain scholars contest claim saying it may be Buddha or Jain manifestation.

The name Vithoba means Father Vitthala. Vitthala is said to have been derived from the word Vishnu in Kannada Kannada . Pandurang is a sanskritized form of Pandarga, the old name of Pandharpur. Another explanation for the origin of "Pandurang", it means " the white god " ( Pandu means white, rang means colour in Sanskrit), a name for Rudra-Shiva. Thus it theorized that Vithoba may initially be regarded a Shaiva god and later identified with Vishnu.[1] Vithoba (father) is also known as Vitthal, Vithal, Vitthal, Pandurang. He is also worshipped in Kerala, Karnataka.

The saga of Pundalik is one of the most important Mahima legends associated with Vithoba. How Vithoba came to Pandharpur is a story in which a man called Pundalik plays an important part. Pundalik was a devoted son to his parents Janudev and Satyavati. They lived in a forest called Dandirvan. But after his wedding, Pundalik began ill-treating his parents. Tired with their son’s misbehaviour and ill treatment, the elderly couple decided to leave for Kashi. Legend holds that people who die in the city of Kashi attain salvation and emancipation from the cycle of birth and death, and so, many pious Hindus in bygone era would relocate to Kashi as their end drew near.

However, the elderly couple were not destined to escape their sufferings so easily. Upon hearing of their plans, Pundalik's wife decided to join them and make a pilgrimage. Pundalik and she then joined the same group of pilgrims on horseback. The ill treatment of the old couple continued at the hands of Pundalik. While the youthful son and his wife rode on horseback, the frail old couple walked in bad weather. Pundalik even made his old parents work towards making his own journey comfortable. Every evening when the party camped for the night, the son forced his parents to groom the horses and do other jobs.

On the way to Kashi, the group reached the ashram (hermitage) of a pious and venerable sage named Kukkutswami. Being tired from the journey, they decided to spend a few days there. That night, when all were asleep, Pundalik by chance lay awake. He witnessed a remarkable vision. Just before dawn, he saw a group of beautiful, young women, dressed in dirty clothes, enter the ashram, clean the floor, fetch water and wash the venerable sage’s clothes. After they finished their chores, they went to the prayer-room of the hermitage. When they reappeared after prayer, their clothes were spotlessly clean. Then, they vanished as inexplicably as they had appeared.

Pundalik did not feel moved to raise an alarm; on the other hand, he felt a deep sense of peace as he witnesses this scene. It remained on his mind the whole day, and he resolved upon remaining awake the next night, to be sure that what he had witnessed was not merely a dream. This time however, Pundalik was very curious. He approached the beautiful women and asked him them on who they were.

They said, they were the Ganga, Yamuna and other holy rivers of India in which were revered for their holiness and pilgrims thronged to have a dip in their holy waters to wash away their sins. The holy rivers explained that their clothes were dirty and unclean due to the sins of the bathing pilgrims. "But O Pundalik, you, with your ill-treatment of your parents, are the greatest sinner of them all! "

This incident completely shocked Pundalik and got a transformation in him. He realized his mis- deeds and became devoted to his parents. He made all efforts to make his parents comfortable. And left no stone unturned to make his parents happy, even at the cost of his own comfort.

They say, devotion in any form reaches God immediately. Seeing this outmost devotion of Pundalik to his parents , Lord Vishnu was very pleased. God was so happy with him that He wanted to bless Pundalik immediately, so he left from Vaikuntha (Lord Vishnu’s abode) for bhoolok (Earth)and Pundalik’s ashram.

Lord knocked Pundalik’s door. At that time Pundalik was serving his parents food and was busy. Pundalik heard the door knock and realized it was God who had come to see him. But such was his devotion to his parents, he wanted to complete his duties and only then attend to the visitor, irrespective of whether it was even God at his doorstep. Pundalik threw a brick outside for God to stand on and wait for him until he finishes attending to his parents.

Seeing this devotion & commitment to his parents he was extremely impressed. And the ever-loving God waited for his devotee. When Pundalik came out and begged God's pardon, Lord Vishnu replied that far from being displeased, he was pleased with his love for his parents and granted a boon to him. Pundalik requested God to stay back on Earth and bless all his numerous devotees. Lord agreed to stay back as Vithoba, or God who stood upon a brick. Along with Vithoba, Rakhumai (Mother Rukmini) is also worshipped.

A temple was built at the place where Lord Vishnu stood on the brick. The idol too is “svyambhu” which means it was not built, or carved, it came into existence by its own.


[edit] Namdev chi payari
A number of Marathi saints like Namdev, Dnyaneshwar, Tukaram, associated themselves with the Warkari Movement and through their abhangas (poetry) and teachings they tried to educate the people about reality.

One interesting tale is also of the first step in the temple called “Namdev chi payari” (step of Namdev). The child Namdev was always an ardent devotee of Vithoba. One day his mother asked him to complete the ritual of “naivedya” (any food made in the house is first offered to God, the ritual comprises placing the offering plate before the idol and sprinkling water around the plate and with a prayer to God). Namdev was pleased to do “naivedya” . After the ritual he waited for God to appear and take the offering. But God did not appear. He was disheartened. He kept praying and requested God to come in person and accept the offering. The child was so unhappy with the non-appearance of God, he started banging his head at the feet of God and begging him to come and take the offering. Seeing the utmost devotion and innocence of a child, God was pleased. He appeared and ate the offering and blessed Namdev. The adult Namdev when blessed by God asked for being present in the "first step" in God’s temple, so that he could be blessed with the touch of infinite number of devotees who would be able to have “darshan” (view) of God. Thus, the first step in the temple at Pandharpur is called “namdev chi payari”.


[edit] Movement against Untouchability
Pandharpur remains the most visited temple in Maharastra. The warkaris start marching from their homes to the temple of Pandharpur in groups called Dindi to reach on Ashadi ekadashi and Kartiki ekadashi. A dip in the holy river Chandrabhaga on whose banks Pandharpur resides, is believed to have power to wash all sins.

In the pre-1947 period untouchables were not allowed to enter the temples, against this communal attitude Gandhian freedom fighter Sane Guruji went on to fast-unto-death, supported by others of the Gandhian movement. He succeeded in getting temple doors opened for all worshipping communities.

Initially all the devotes were allowed to touch the feet of the idol of Vithoba, but due to many years of numerous devotes the stone at the Lord’s feet chiseled. So as a precautionary measure, none of the devotees are allowed to touch the idol. Only priests are allowed to conduct rituals and touch the idol.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vitthala

At the Feet of Haji Ali

Photo courtesy
© Glenn M. Losack
glennlosackmd.com

godly waves kissing the feet
of a shrine close to the
shiva temple of mahalaxmi
the sufi saint of haji ali
a long narrow path
leading to the tomb
with beggars on both sides
begging asking
invoking the Saint
for godly charity
distorted forms
contorted forms
the dregs of humanity
this picture
shot by an American
Glenn Losack
mocks the man in me
he felt the same way like me
yes beggars mock photographers
as poets mock poets
who write
multi colored poetry
man hates man
from here to eternity
racism you can
blindfold your eyes
block your senses
is a virtual hate
Inducing Reality

Subhash Solanki and Me

Subhash Solanki is a very dear friend and has his camer selling and repairing set up at Fort under the name of Subhash Electroniks .
His son and daughter in law work for Microsoft in USA.
Subhash and I have been friends for a very long time since the first camera I bought from him Nikon F50, than Nikon 80, Nikon F90X , Nikon F100, and the last but the most fucked Nikon camera my first digital disaster Nikon D70..
I had given it to him for bringing it back to life from a comotose state and also requested him to sell the camera and deduct the repair charges from what he gets from it..
Its been several months Subhash has not got back to me..
Without Subhash who has helped sell some of my lenses I would be in the wilderness.Subhash is very articulate and well read and keeps pace with changing technology.
Ever photographer mut have a life saving friend like Subhash Solanki.

Indira


Indira
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
picture of the inside of my multi colored brain..
Indira Babellapati is one of the most widely read poets at Poem Hunter..

Coming from the Sanskrit word indira meaning beauty and splendor, this is the name of a Hindu goddess. Indira is another name for Lakshmi who is the wife of the god Vishnu



I am
you are

yet

we do
we can
we will

and

let us...

#firoze, this is the most I could think of at the moment. I believe no one can survive in isolation. Either u or I or anyone else for that matter is an island unto one's self. Let’s sing individually to join a chorus subsequently.
Keep smiling and chill
Indira

I am
I was
I will
I still
I can
A will
I will
Yes Fulfill
Thank you
Friend Indira

Rights of Admission Reserved

Photo courtesy
© Glenn M. Losack
glennlosackmd.com


Indians Multicolored and Dogs
Rights of Admission reserved
A disturbing thought of Human Bias
Undeserved
A pockmarked scarred road
A slant, oblique incurved
Untouchables by the master race
Won’t be served.
A hate over the centuries
Well preserved
Racism in poetry
That I have observed
Children of a lesser god
A Racist God White
Had created but never Loved

Black and White


Black and White
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
photo courtesy google images

My intention was to give form to my thoughts
Through words as poems as my heart dictates
My intention was never to character assassinate
But I was fed up being used as bait
For those who wanted to proselytize
Racism and Multicolored Hate
I give them back their offerings
On an emulsion plate
Lithium batteries I don’t Trade
And easily my words etched on the dark souls
Of demonical analogous dudes won’t fade
Here I am happy to call a spade a spade
A thought Billabong Boomerangs cant evade
Defrosted Brains stay well away from me
Arsewell also demystified dehumanised degrade
Gems of hate Coat of Arms in a grave laid
Weeping tears on his tombstone a Milking Maid
Fakme he says Bambaiya Babu who
Ass licks down under his own people raids
Poetic Tirades..as one wades ..
Jack of all Trades
Darkness at Dawn circle of confusion
Shadowboxing your demons
In Hades
Black eyes like Balbao hidden behind
Multi colored shades
As I pen these few lines
Me an Ace of Spades
Gaming table of poetic charades
Dr Haneef and Peter Russo
Black and White
A fresh air of mutual coexistence
Liberty Justice Equality
Pervades

Dick Gregory:
I never believed in Santa Claus because I knew no white man would be coming into my neighborhood after dark

Harry A. Blackmun:
In order to get beyond racism, we must first take account of race. There is no other way. And in order to treat some persons equally, we must treat them differently


Leontyne Price:
Accomplishments have no color

Martin Luther King, Jr.:
I look forward confidently to the day when all who work for a living will be one with no thought to their separateness as Negroes, Jews, Italians or any other distinctions. This will be the day when we bring into full realization the American dream -- a dream yet unfulfilled. A dream of equality of opportunity, of privilege and property widely distributed; a dream of a land where men will not take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few; a dream of a land where men will not argue that the color of a man's skin determines the content of his character; a dream of a nation where all our gifts and resources are held not for ourselves alone, but as instruments of service for the rest of humanity; the dream of a country where every man will respect the dignity and worth of the human personality.

Robert F. Kennedy:
But suppose God is black? What if we go to Heaven and we, all our lives, have treated the Negro as an inferior, and God is there, and we look up and He is not white? What then is our response?

www.wisdomquotes.com/cat_racism.html

“Racism is man's gravest threat to man - the maximum of hatred for a minimum of reason.”

Abraham J. Heschel quotes

At the heart of racism is the religious assertion that God made a creative mistake when He brought some people into being”

Friedrich Otto Hertz quotes

“I hate racial discrimination most intensely and all its manifestations. I have fought all my life; I fight now, and will do so until the end of my days. Even although I now happen to be tried by one, whose opinion I hold in high esteem, I detest most violently the set-up that surrounds me here. It makes me feel that I am a Black man in a White man's court. This should not be I should feel perfectly at ease and at home with the assurance that I am being tried by a fellow South African, who does not regard me as an inferior, entitled to a special type of justice.”

Nelson Mandela quotes


“As you grow older, you'll see white men cheat black men every day of your life, but let me tell you something and don't you forget it - whenever a white man does that to a black man, no matter who he is, how rich he is, or how fine a family he comes from, he is trash.”

Harper Lee quotes


On an altar of prejudice we crucify our own, yet the blood of all children is the color of God.”

the_write_one
Don Williams, Jr. quotes

“Isn’t it obvious that a person would leave from where he is hated so much? The heroism of staying in such a place is that of a roach which won’t be exterminated from the bathroom.”

eathian
Franz Kafka quotes

thinkexist.com/quotations/racism/3.html

God give us good neighbors

I was sent this picture by my fourth floor neighbor Mr Prem Chandra, he is a brilliant man, he plays with my pictures adding something good to to what does nor exist..digitally enhancing my nascent qualities and deselecting my bad points, feathering in small quantities my rough edges.
We get along very well, we seldom meet , we have never been to each others house yet we are good neigbors.
The watchman of our building is crazy about both of us .He says we both are the only human beings in our building, he exaggerates.But we both wish him talk to him, feel the life he lives away from Allahabad his home town.
Mr Prem Chandra works for BARC science based government facility.
I work for my employees.
The little kid in the picture is my nephew Shayan Shakir.
The future of our Moghul Pathan race..His father is a Shia like me and his beautiful well educated mother is a Maharashtrian..
Yes our parents gave us one gift Tolerance.
Mr Prem Chandra embarasses me when he says I am a 50%Hindu, in my way of living and loving, my Naga Guru embarasses me further when he took me aside and said that I was a Naga Sadhu in my previous birth.
I dont know all this reincarnation bit .. but I can assure you having a good neigbour sure makes life easier on a poets multicolored burdened soul..
Thank you Mr Prem Chandra.
His words sent to me with the picture..
PLEASE TREAT THIS AS AN ARTWORK ONLY
AND PARDON ME IF MY SELECTION IS NOT RIGHT...

PPC...Library, BARC

Billabong Blues


Billabong Blues
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
photo courtesy google images


Like a criminal

Hung upside down

Disparaging remarks

Called Pig Red Indian

Some more Billabong Slur

Crucified

At Poem hunter

Thank you Sir

Poetry bleeding

A thought that did not occur

Virtual reality

Surrealistic silence in a blur

Poetic Rights of admission reserved for

An Indian and a cur

Domestic hate wife beatings

At home will not deter

That on fellow poets they transfer

Cut the internet wires of Hate

Anonymous to each other

Live and let live

Not poets but humans

That we once were

Yes I am a Red Indian ..on Ashura Day

One important lesson as
A poet since two years
At poem hunter I learnt
A spade is not a spade
From this ongoing tirade
I am more human
Than poets customized
Or ready made
When I was down
Being beaten black and blue
Save a Collins
no one came to my aid
I am shocked and dismayed
Its an internal matter
Let them fight free trade
With such words clich├ęd
Blow after blow
As surveyed
Hooliganism is not Poetry
3000 poems no humanity
No upgrade
A single poem
David Hazell emulate
A bunch of goons
A raggled fraggled old Maid
I single handedly
With words at my disposable
Will continue my crusade
Comments on my poems
Comments I have made
A poets creativity his intrinsic
Style of poetry writing
I don’t downgrade
Poets are sublime cowards
Scared shitless
Of a forum led by a fulsomely
Notorious brigade
shows that intense hate man made
poem poetry and poet betrayed
beneath all those lofty words
in the titles of your poetic thought
what a humanless masquerade
give up poetry .. really
take up some other
salesmans job an ushers job
an airconditioned mechanic
or someother time consuming trade
or some horse trade
a forum of hate a poetic palisade
at poem hunter on parade
cutting multi colored heads
with a rotary blade
fuck you all
I am not afraid
More than this outburst
Page cannot be displayed
Travesty of poetic Justice
Justice delayed
A photographer I am
At Flickr portrayed
My mind and my body
You can never invade
Yes Cowboy I am a Red Indian
Who gets red when he cuts his forehead
Doing Tandav the Dance of Death
Ashura Moharam time
With a sword blade
And not a kitchen knife that you use
On me homemade

Malang in Chains -A Tragedy Remembered

Glenn Losack to me

Please
explain this man to me
and a poem for sure

NizamUDIN in delhi

Photo courtesy
© Glenn M. Losack
glennlosackmd.com

This explanation is to a picture shot by Glenn Losack at the Dargah NizamuddinAulia of a Malang or Sufi ascetic in chains..He wanted me to say it poetically too.
After the battle of Karbala hen Imam Hussain and all his braves were Martyred , the bodies were stripped of their belongings, heads decapitated placed atop spears , horses were made to run over what remained of the headless corpses.
72 heads on spears.
Yazids bloodthirsty Muslim army then moved towards the ladies tents, burnt all that remained, looted and pillaged.
Among the male survivors was the sickly son of Imam Hussain, whom they had spared as the sickly are not supposed to be killed , the only saving grace in an early Arab Geneva convention..
All the women and children including g the sickly son Zainul Abedin or the Fourth Shia Imam was thus made captives and made to walk from Karbala to Sham or Damascus in heavy chains.
At Damascus the vandals unveiled the ladies of the Imams house; incidentally they were all aware that Imam Hussain was the grandson of the Holy Prophet.
They were thus presented worse than common criminals at the Court of Yazid..the only one who stood up against Yazid the Caliph of the Ummayad Caliphate was Bibi Zainab the Indomitable sister of Imam Hussain.In Islam one thing that Allah does not condone is the abusive treatment of women. So when all this got over after imprisonment Yazid released the prisoners to go back to Karbala bury the dead and proceed to Madina their hometown..
The pioneer of the Shia mourning , the wailing was Bibi Zainab, she narrated the Tragedy of Karbala.The tragic month revisted Moharam,
When the Fourth Imam was asked in Life where he suffered most..
He burst out crying Sham Sham Sham.
This Glenn Losack, was the heaviest chains on a mans soul, the Imam could bear everything but not the snatching of the Veils the Ridas of the noble ladies.
This is the real meaning of the Hijab, when to hide their shame the ladies covered their faces with their hair.
This Shiasm, Shiite Shias the core belief bound to a 1400 year pain of a martyred Imam Hussain..
This is what a present somnolent conscience of Islam does not want be reminded of , this is the forbearer to modern Jehadi Terrorism a brain child of Yazid.. this is what we call Yazidiyat.
Following the footsteps of Imam Hussain is called Hussainiyat.
And the couplet at the Shrine of Khwaja Moinddin Chishty..


THE fourteenth century Sufi saint , Khwaja Moinuddin chisti remarks in one of his famous 'rebayees ' :
"Shah ast Hussain , Baadshah ast Hussain
Deen ast Hussain, Deen panah ast Hussain
Sar dad no daad dast dar dast-e-Yezid
Haq ke bena la -ila ast Hussain ."
Loosely translated , the couplet would mean:
' A rular is Hussain , an emperor is Hussain.
Faith is Husain , guardian of faith is Hussain .
He offered his head and not the hand to Yezid.
Truly, Allal's true mirror of faith is Hussain '.
Moinuddin Chisti was referring of course to Hazrat Imam Hussain, the grandson of the Prophet Muhammed..

So now my poem
The Malang of Ajmer at the Shrine of Nizamuddin Aulia
Bound in chains reminds the world of a pain
The agony the shame faced by the women
At Damascus the court of Yazid after Imam Hussain was slain
Snatched Ridas from their head as they covered their faces
With their hair this was Yazidi Islam traditons values
A black page of Islamic shame eunuched bystanders
A greater pain and a refrain
Sham Sham Sham cried the Fourth Imam
Greater than any blood stain..
Live like Ali Die like Hussain
The Shia Resurgence
that explains
A malang in chains ..
cries invoking
Ya Hussain
Ya Hussain

Love Poetry Hate Racism

We know, through travelling, that ours is not the only city where the scourge of racism has risen sharply over the years; whether against Aboriginal people and ethnic minorities (particularly Muslims) in Australia, or the abuse suffered by people from Africa, Asia or Eastern Europe in Ireland

We are appealing for international recognition, and from all writers and poets to show their support for the idea that racism must be combated and that diversity should be celebrated. We are suggesting that poetry events be held to mark this recognition and the title of such an event be called Love Poetry Hate Racism.

poetry.meetup.com/413/boards/view/viewthread?thread=2774593


Love poetry hate racism
Feuding fascism
No caste color creed
Classicism
Just poems poetry
No racial profiling
No cultural policing
No multi color head bashing
Mutual co-existentialism
Get rid of poet radicalism
Coterie forum fault finding
Fundamentalism

Date & Time: 8/22/2007 7:52:00 AM Remove this comment


Poem: 8003197 - Little Indian Boy
Member: allan james Saywell

Comment: man you are one ugly dude in my country we would take you out the back and put you out of your misery, are you a red indian

AJS

Living on the Edge Namak Harami

On 15th August our 60th Independence Day there was an article in the local newspaper Midday about a handful of Indians born in India living in India , working in India with American based companies, who instead of celebrating our Independence Day celebrate 4th July as they feel it is America that employs and feeds them..this as it was reported and their loyalty lies with the American employers...

I have penned the lines not only for this category of Indians but also those who lick foreigners ass and forget their true identity..this should only hurt those who desecrate their nationality and nationalism and live under an utopia of surrogate slavery of the Mind.
This is not at all about people of Indian birth settled American citizens , America is the country of their adoption and their priority should lie with the nation they live in...
My poem is in Hindi.. I think in English but the words bubbled out as the language of my land..to these handful of pseudo Americanized Indians in India..

Jis desh ki azadi ke liye
purkhon ne
Apni jan ki bazi lagaee
Us azadi pa kalank lagate hain
Hindustan me rahte hain
Hindustan ka khate hain
Yeh 4th July ko Amriki Diwas manate hain
15 August ko bhool jate hain
Yeh Goron se marwate hain
Goron ki Bhad khate hain
Namak Haram ban jate hain
Aise Nikkame deshwasi
Desh ke Naam par Dhabba lagate hain
Vande Matram to door ki baat
Buzdil se battar ban jate hain
Yeh goron ke neeche bich jate hain
Apne desh se jyada yeh paraye
Desh ko chathe hain

Jai Maharashtra Jai Hind..Mee Mumbaikar

Posted at YouTube Community Tab House of Trolls

I dont share my number at all . I dont wish to socialize with people I dont know Thank you for your comments ,, Blessings I am 68 yea...