Hindi Poems On Life
- the most widely spoken of modern Indic vernaculars; spoken mostly in the north of India; along with English it is the official language of India; usually written in Devanagari script
- Hindu: of or relating to or supporting Hinduism; “the Hindu faith”
- A form of Hindustani written in Devanagari and with many loanwords from Sanskrit, an official language of India, and the most widely spoken language of northern India
- Hindi (Devanāgarī: or , IAST: ””) is the name given to various Indo-Aryan languages, dialects, and language registers spoken in northern and central India, Pakistan, Fiji, Mauritius, and Suriname.
- A piece of writing that partakes of the nature of both speech and song that is nearly always rhythmical, usually metaphorical, and often exhibits such formal elements as meter, rhyme, and stanzaic structure
- (poetic) of or relating to poetry; “poetic works”; “a poetic romance”
- (poem) a composition written in metrical feet forming rhythmical lines
- Something that arouses strong emotions because of its beauty
- (poet) a writer of poems (the term is usually reserved for writers of good poetry)
- The state of being alive as a human being
- a characteristic state or mode of living; “social life”; “city life”; “real life”
- The condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death
- Living things and their activity
- the experience of being alive; the course of human events and activities; “he could no longer cope with the complexities of life”
- the course of existence of an individual; the actions and events that occur in living; “he hoped for a new life in Australia”; “he wanted to live his own life without interference from others”
hindi poems on life – Mahadevi Varma:
One heart, many languages Poet and Author Mr. D.M. Mulay (Indian Foreign Service)
Becoming a multilingual writer has been a process “partly deliberate and partly spontaneous,” says the affable writer. “In my house we don’t speak anything but rural Marathi. I joined the Service in 1983, and all my friends kept asking me, you write in Marathi — what use is it for us,” he explains, and adds — modestly for one fluent in English, Hindi and Japanese and with basic Arabic and Russian — “I do seem to have a flair for languages. Wherever I’ve gone I’ve picked up a smattering of the local language.”
With his writings translated into Japanese, Russian and Kannada and two taken in school textbooks, he notes, “I do think this helps me to be more Indian and helps me to shed my regional identity. I am not seeing the world as a Marathi boy — I am seeing it in its entire complexity. That is the reason I thing I’ve been shifting between languages.” It gives him, he says, a wider perspective as well as a wider reach.
Insight on West Asia
Learning a language means learning about an entire culture. “The moment you master the language you become an insider,” agrees Mulay. “It’s like a key to the heart of the people. You feel the pulse from inside. It allows you to cross all the borders.”
As for this latest collection of poetry, it too stems from his ability to get into his assignments in more ways than the official. “It is my own insight into the Middle East,” he explains, saying he knows the region well — “though I can’t claim to know it in its entire complexity”.
The poems on a variety of topics dealing with terrorism, war, politics that breaks hearts, borders that negate life, form “a kaleidoscope using the Middle East as a microcosm.” Gandhi Jayanti was deliberately chosen for the day of the launch, he says. The collection “makes a strong pitch for peace, for freedom and for humanity,” says the poet, adding, “The objective is to bring these ideas before my people. That’s also true ambassadorship. Just as you take your country’s wisdom to other countries, you also bring it back. That is also my job as a diplomat.”
The Hindu (02/10/2008)
Meharbaani is the Hindi word for Kindness.
Kindness and hospitality are key Hindu values.
I was reading this poem from the great Tagore and I thought of her hospitality while I was visiting Allahabad to give lectures.
"I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was
hiding its last gold like a miser.
The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the
widowed land, whose harvest had been reaped, lay silent.
Suddenly a boy’s shrill voice rose into the sky. He traversed
the dark unseen, leaving the track of his song across the hush of
His village home lay there at the end of the waste land,
beyond the sugar-cane field, hidden among the shadows of the banana
and the slender areca palm, the coconut and the dark green jack-
I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight,
and saw spread before me the darkened earth surrounding with her
arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mother’s
hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that
knows nothing of its value for the world".