" Tell Your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dream " ~Paulo Coelho
Year 7-Issue-77
( Quest )
In the English Section:. Favourites Forever:William Ernest Henly . Poetry Here & Now: Pushpita Awasthi. Book Review: Devi Nagrani. Story: O'Henry. Kids'Corner: Compilation of few facts on butterflies.
+
Your monthly news & views in Vividha.
Details about the subject of the next issue : on the ' About us' page. Created , Edited & published By : Shail Agrawal
This July issue is on the ' Quest' of body and soul in the journey of life...how we fill the void and reach our goals, what are the wins and failures, joy and sorrows of this 'quest' ? It is a difficult choice of the subject, specially now when we are living in such an intense and painful time and literature is neither a sermon, nor a revolt. Words like humanity, justice and honesty are loosing their face and search for these values day by day becoming more futile and depressing!
But we human have an in-conquerable soul, which defies all injustice and dark manipulations and sustain the life on this earth, shining bright with our own sun. It gives us the strength to make a sense out of all the chaos and stand tall under all darkest shadows.
Often failures are the only way to kick start anew. How so ever crumbling our thoughts may be under day-to-day-pressures, we must remember that they are only our true guardian-angels, our creator or destroyer. If we want to preserve the mankind we have to preserve the sanity of our thoughts- thoughts which provoke all our actions and words.
Thinkers and philosophers are doing it for centuries, nothing new in it. Ignoring all the dark predictions of impending total destruction; not only of human goodness but mankind itself, they have continued to believe in the victory of goodness against all its odds…in each storm and famine.
A writer is no exception ! But, to succeed he has to carry his words with all its value and motivation. In my mind this search and how to use this very powerful and precise tool, is the biggest responsibility as well problem of any human-being dedicated to the cause. Yet search goes on…
In this issue we have collected some beautiful poems by William Earnest Henly and Pushpita Awasthi. Story is by O’ Henry and book review is by Devi Nagrani on the book titled : Beyond Images, of Elizabeth Kurian ‘Mona’, Kids’ Corner is full of facts and figures about insects; specially butterflies. Your feedback is important to us and always eagerly awaited.
A child, Curious and innocent, Slips from his Nurse, and rejoicing Loses himself in the Fair.
Thro' the jostle and din Wandering, he revels, Dreaming, desiring, possessing; Till, of a sudden Tired and afraid, he beholds The sordid assemblage Just as it is; and he runs With a sob to his Nurse (Lighting at last on him), And in her motherly bosom Cries him to sleep.
Thus thro' the World, Seeing and feeling and knowing, Goes Man: till at last, Tired of experience, he turns To the friendly and comforting breast Of the old nurse, Death.
A Love By The Sea
Out of the starless night that covers me, (O tribulation of the wind that rolls!) Black as the cloud of some tremendous spell, The susurration of the sighing sea Sounds like the sobbing whisper of two souls That tremble in a passion of farewell.
To the desires that trebled life in me, (O melancholy of the wind that rolls!) The dreams that seemed the future to foretell, The hopes that mounted herward like the sea, To all the sweet things sent on happy souls, I cannot choose but bid a mute farewell.
And to the girl who was so much to me (O lamentation of this wind that rolls!) Since I may not the life of her compel, Out of the night, beside the sounding sea, Full of the love that might have blent our souls, A sad, a last, a long, supreme farewell.
Invictus
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.
like shamed seasons dreams lie in a corner of the eye.
In the sun’s heat dreams smoulder and still life makes new dreams like foreign friends.
Alone in alien land tiptoe timid memories darkness rains even on full-moons nights like the intense meaning of-sad.
Desire looks for new leaves so desires may breathe and new desires spring.
The necessity of needs
When hungry one craves for bread when thirsty one needs clear pure water when the need occurs to roll up one’s sleeves one then needs strong hands inner strength but not the brute strength of an animal for loving one needs a home not marble-erected walls to get a life one needs love not just a relationship one needs somebody in the shape of a man or in the shape of a woman but not just a male or female for endearment one needs trustful words sincere words of love for anger one needs the correct words for a revolution one needs powerful words to be drenched one needs seasonal cloud burst and not a shower in the bathroom for breathing one needs clean fresh air for a good song one needs the passion of singers and not merely their humming along if only a full grown sapling would appear whenever the pot falls apart and not just noise.
Night had fallen on that great and beautiful city known as Bagdad- on-the-Subway. And with the night came the enchanted glamour that belongs not to Arabia alone. In different masquerade the streets, bazaars and walled houses of the occidental city of romance were filled with the same kind of folk that so much interested our interesting old friend, the late Mr. H. A. Rashid. They wore clothes eleven hundred years nearer to the latest styles than H. A. saw in old Bagdad; but they were about the same people underneath. With the eye of faith, you could have seen the Little Hunchback, Sinbad the Sailor, Fitbad the Tailor, the Beautiful Persian, the one-eyed Calenders, Ali Baba and Forty Robbers on every block, and the Barber and his Six Brothers, and all the old Arabian gang easily.
But let us revenue to our lamb chops.
Old Tom Crowley was a caliph. He had $42,000,000 in preferred stocks and bonds with solid gold edges. In these times, to be called a caliph you must have money. The old-style caliph business as conducted by Mr. Rashid is not safe. If you hold up a person nowadays in a bazaar or a Turkish bath or a side street, and inquire into his private and personal affairs, the police court'll get you.
Old Tom was tired of clubs, theatres, dinners, friends, music, money and everything. That's what makes a caliph--you must get to despise everything that money can buy, and then go out and try to want something that you can't pay for.
"I'll take a little trot around town all by myself," thought old Tom, "and try if I can stir up anything new. Let's see--it seems I've read about a king or a Cardiff giant or something in old times who used to go about with false whiskers on, making Persian dates with folks he hadn't been introduced to. That don't listen like a bad idea. I certainly have got a case of humdrumness and fatigue on for the ones I do know. That old Cardiff used to pick up cases of trouble as he ran upon 'em and give 'em gold--sequins, I think it was--and make 'em marry or got 'em good Government jobs. Now, I'd like something of that sort. My money is as good as his was even if the magazines do ask me every month where I got it. Yes, I guess I'll do a little Cardiff business to-night, and see how it goes."
Plainly dressed, old Tom Crowley left his Madison Avenue palace, and walked westward and then south. As he stepped to the sidewalk, Fate, who holds the ends of the strings in the central offices of all the enchanted cities pulled a thread, and a young man twenty blocks away looked at a wall clock, and then put on his coat.
James Turner worked in one of those little hat-cleaning establishments on Sixth Avenue in which a fire alarms rings when you push the door open, and where they clean your hat while you wait--two days. James stood all day at an electric machine that turned hats around faster than the best brands of champagne ever could have done. Overlooking your mild impertinence in feeling a curiosity about the personal appearance of a stranger, I will give you a modified description of him. Weight, 118; complexion, hair and brain, light; height, five feet six; age, about twenty-three; dressed in a $10 suit of greenish-blue serge; pockets containing two keys and sixty-three cents in change.
But do not misconjecture because this description sounds like a General Alarm that James was either lost or a dead one.
_Allons!_
James stood all day at his work. His feet were tender and extremely susceptible to impositions being put upon or below them. All day long they burned and smarted, causing him much suffering and inconvenience. But he was earning twelve dollars per week, which he needed to support his feet whether his feet would support him or not.
James Turner had his own conception of what happiness was, just as you and I have ours. Your delight is to gad about the world in yachts and motor-cars and to hurl ducats at wild fowl. Mine is to smoke a pipe at evenfall and watch a badger, a rattlesnake, and an owl go into their common prairie home one by one.
James Turner's idea of bliss was different; but it was his. He would go directly to his boarding-house when his day's work was done. After his supper of small steak, Bessemer potatoes, stooed (not stewed) apples and infusion of chicory, he would ascend to his fifth-floor-back hall room. Then he would take off his shoes and socks, place the soles of his burning feet against the cold bars of his iron bed, and read Clark Russell's sea yarns. The delicious relief of the cool metal applied to his smarting soles was his nightly joy. His favorite novels never palled upon him; the sea and the adventures of its navigators were his sole intellectual passion. No millionaire was ever happier than James Turner taking his ease.
When James left the hat-cleaning shop he walked three blocks out of his way home to look over the goods of a second-hand bookstall. On the sidewalk stands he had more than once picked up a paper-covered volume of Clark Russell at half price.
While he was bending with a scholarly stoop over the marked-down miscellany of cast-off literature, old Tom the caliph sauntered by. His discerning eye, made keen by twenty years' experience in the manufacture of laundry soap (save the wrappers!) recognized instantly the poor and discerning scholar, a worthy object of his caliphanous mood. He descended the two shallow stone steps that led from the sidewalk, and addressed without hesitation the object of his designed munificence. His first words were no worse than salutatory and tentative.
James Turner looked up coldly, with "Sartor Resartus" in one hand and "A Mad Marriage" in the other.
"Beat it," said he. "I don't want to buy any coat hangers or town lots in Hankipoo, New Jersey. Run along, now, and play with your Teddy bear."
"Young man," said the caliph, ignoring the flippancy of the hat cleaner, "I observe that you are of a studious disposition. Learning is one of the finest things in the world. I never had any of it worth mentioning, but I admire to see it in others. I come from the West, where we imagine nothing but facts. Maybe I couldn't understand the poetry and allusions in them books you are picking over, but I like to see somebody else seem to know what they mean. I'm worth about $40,000,000, and I'm getting richer every day. I made the height of it manufacturing Aunt Patty's Silver Soap. I invented the art of making it. I experimented for three years before I got just the right quantity of chloride of sodium solution and caustic potash mixture to curdle properly. And after I had taken some $9,000,000 out of the soap business I made the rest in corn and wheat futures. Now, you seem to have the literary and scholarly turn of character; and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll pay for your education at the finest college in the world. I'll pay the expense of your rummaging over Europe and the art galleries, and finally set you up in a good business. You needn't make it soap if you have any objections. I see by your clothes and frazzled necktie that you are mighty poor; and you can't afford to turn down the offer. Well, when do you want to begin?"
The hat cleaner turned upon old Tom the eye of the Big City, which is an eye expressive of cold and justifiable suspicion, of judgment suspended as high as Haman was hung, of self-preservation, of challenge, curiosity, defiance, cynicism, and, strange as you may think it, of a childlike yearning for friendliness and fellowship that must be hidden when one walks among the "stranger bands." For in New Bagdad one, in order to survive, must suspect whosoever sits, dwells, drinks, rides, walks or sleeps in the adjacent chair, house, booth, seat, path or room.
"Say, Mike," said James Turner, "what's your line, anyway--shoe laces? I'm not buying anything. You better put an egg in your shoe and beat it before incidents occur to you. You can't work off any fountain pens, gold spectacles you found on the street, or trust company certificate house clearings on me. Say, do I look like I'd climbed down one of them missing fire-escapes at Helicon Hall? What's vitiating you, anyhow?"
"Son," said the caliph, in his most Harunish tones, "as I said, I'm worth $40,000,000. I don't want to have it all put in my coffin when I die. I want to do some good with it. I seen you handling over these here volumes of literature, and I thought I'd keep you. I've give the missionary societies $2,000,000, but what did I get out of it? Nothing but a receipt from the secretary. Now, you are just the kind of young man I'd like to take up and see what money could make of him."
Volumes of Clark Russell were hard to find that evening at the Old Book Shop. And James Turner's smarting and aching feet did not tend to improve his temper. Humble hat cleaner though he was, he had a spirit equal to any caliph's.
"Say, you old faker," he said, angrily, "be on your way. I don't know what your game is, unless you want change for a bogus $40,000,000 bill. Well, I don't carry that much around with me. But I do carry a pretty fair left-handed punch that you'll get if you don't move on."
"You are a blamed impudent little gutter pup," said the caliph.
Then James delivered his self-praised punch; old Tom seized him by the collar and kicked him thrice; the hat cleaner rallied and clinched; two bookstands were overturned, and the books sent flying. A copy came up, took an arm of each, and marched them to the nearest station house. "Fighting and disorderly conduct," said the cop to the sergeant.
"Three hundred dollars bail," said the sergeant at once, asseveratingly and inquiringly.
"Sixty-three cents," said James Turner with a harsh laugh.
The Caliph searched his pockets and collected small bills and change amounting to four dollars.
"I am worth," he said, "forty million dollars, but--"
"Lock 'em up," ordered the sergeant.
In his cell, James Turner laid himself on his cot, ruminating. "Maybe he's got the money, and maybe he ain't. But if he has or he ain't, what does he want to go 'round butting into other folks's business for? When a man knows what he wants, and can get it, it's the same as $40,000,000 to him."
Then an idea came to him that brought a pleased look to his face.
He removed his socks, drew his cot close to the door, stretched himself out luxuriously, and placed his tortured feet against the cold bars of the cell door. Something hard and bulky under the blankets of his cot gave one shoulder discomfort. He reached under, and drew out a paper-covered volume by Clark Russell called "A Sailor's Sweetheart." He gave a great sigh of contentment.
Presently, to his cell came the doorman and said:
"Say, kid, that old gazabo that was pinched with you for scrapping seems to have been the goods after all. He 'phoned to his friends, and he's out at the desk now with a roll of yellowbacks as big as a Pullman car pillow. He wants to bail you, and for you to come out and see him."
Title : Beyond Images, Author: Elizabeth Kurian ‘Mona’, Pages: 112, Price: Rs. 200, Availability: Publisher: Cyberwit.net
Images in still waters- --‘Beyond Images’
“On the wings of Poetry I flutter and fly like a butterfly To see the beauty that surrounds me In its utmost softness of silk To feel the tenderness of ecstasy”
Poetry is nothing but language of the heart. Every person who can think logically and listen to the heart beat can emotionally express feelings of love, hate, compassion, anger, feel and hurt balance system.
Writing poetry is like nourishing a garden where we sow seeds of thoughts, which sprout with the input of efforts when nourished with attentive seasoning. It is only then that the colorful ideas blossom with fragrance. The sown speechless thoughts take the support of words to find expression, they grow and mature as saplings, start whispering and walking. Still the fact remains unchanged that ‘Life is poetry’ but ‘Poetry is not life.’ Words and poet have a co-relative bond. Words may exist without a writer, but a writer cannot exist without words. Poetry in the form of words on paper is nothing but the fruit of thoughts that can find expression in the flow and flaw of the language of the heart.
“Pleasure is a flower that fades But remembrance is the lasting perfume!”
The drifting of memories of bygone days takes one back to the valley of the trodden path of childhood and the related entity that fills the heart, the mind with solace and tranquility is “Mother”.
Mamma, Mutter, Amma, Maa Mother in any language The first word of the baby The name that comes naturally To the lips in times of sorrow, Next to the name of God. (Bereavement)
In the anthology of poems ‘Beyond Images’ Elizabeth Kurian, we call her Mona, a versatile poetess has beautifully expressed her thoughts in words- expressing all the possible shades of life, including the above said verse. The poems compiled in her first book along with artistic images by Sushil Thapa are really replicating each other so well that it becomes all the more easy to understand the language of poetry in unspoken words.
Walking through the one way narrow lane of life, we encounter pain, pleasure, joy, and love which in reality is a package deal. The richness of life is painted in colors of love that let you live in emotional harmony. The best thing that the heart can retain to survive in this world of uneven happenings is love and faith. Mona has delicately penned the feelings in her multiple poems related to life and its various shades –In ‘Shadows of love’ she opens her mind aloud to the readers in a majestic tone:
Think, think and think again Before you open the gateway Of your heart to love, Whether you are willing To let in the shadows too.
A poet says- The father of success is work, the mother is ambition, Common sense is the son and opportunity is the daughter. Mona has well taken and grabbed the opportunity with her elated common sense and has tied strings to her bow and anchored the stage of life with the taste of delicate emotions that reveal the feelings of love, longing, innocence, pain, separation, solace, serenity in the lifetime of existence.
A peaceful message through the fading flowers in life is wonderful incentive for fragrance that is never fading. No gift is greater than the gift of knowledge, which reproduces and reflects the mind. The transparency of the thoughts is at times redirected in silence or in art of the marvelous depiction of Sushil Thapa. In her poem “Words and Silence” she goes a step ahead to define silence in her words:
Better still, to read your thoughts Which are mirrored on your face From your eyes and speak in silence With frankness, unhampered by words.
Writing poetry is in fact a gift from God, especially for lovers of silence, for it is all time companion, especially in sorrow. Sorrow is really an ailment which makes one love solitude and in the stillness of sorrow, one finds God. Having very few choices to make, the awareness of insight of the lifespan - Mona puts her thoughts together so well saying-
‘There is no escape from this eternal captivity’
Elsewhere she says:
‘Sometimes he surrenders to the shackles of love’
The love she refers is where the lover surrenders unconditionally to the will of the beloved. Love is the key that unlocks the locked doors of the heart, it adorns life with tears, washing all that is impure to make one beautifully pure.
In her expressions one finds her belief in the significance of the self, which is rooted in the heart. She forges a bridge between life, nature, self and God through her introspective vision. The attainment of this state of mind takes place after settling the struggle between sense and sensitivity, for she earnestly feels:
Within invincible walls Of an invisible prison Man serves a life sentence. (Captivity)
I extend my special wishes to Sushil Thapa who has really, as I Mona’s own words –“I was overwhelmed by the sensitivity and skill with which he has trans-created the poems into pictures’. It is a unique effort of the two to bring to the readers the reflection of the image in a unique way moving in all dimensions beyond the circumference of faculty. Amen!!
There are over a million described species of insects. Some people estimate there are actually between 15 and 30 million species.
Most insects are beneficial to people because they eat other insects, pollinate crops, are food for other animals, make products we use (like honey and silk) or have medical uses.
In some countries people eat insects as they are good source of protein and vitamins.
Many insects can carry 50 times their own body weight. This would be like an adult person lifting two heavy cars full of people. Among all insects Butterflies are most colourful and beautiful.
Butterflies range in size from a tiny 1/8 inch to a huge almost 12 inches.
Butterflies can see red, green, and yellow.
Some people say that when the black bands on the Woolybear caterpillar are wide, a cold winter is coming.
The top butterfly flight speed is 12 miles per hour. Some moths can fly 25 miles per hour!
Monarch butterflies journey from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico, a distance of about 2,000 miles, and return to the north again in the spring.
Butterflies cannot fly if their body temperature is less than 86 degrees.
Representations of butterflies are seen in Egyptian frescoes at Thebes, which are 3,500 years old.
Antarctica is the only continent on which no Lepidoptera have been found.
There are about 24,000 species of butterflies. The moths are even more numerous: about 140,000 species of them were counted all over the world.
The Brimstone butterfly (Gonepterix rhamni) has the longest lifetime of the adult butterflies: 9-10 months.
Some Case Moth caterpillars (Psychidae) build a case around themselves that they always carry with them. It is made of silk and pieces of plants or soil.
The caterpillars of some Snout Moths (Pyralididae) live in or on water-plants.
The females of some moth species lack wings, all they can do to move is crawl.
The Morgan's Sphinx Moth from Madagascar has a proboscis (tube mouth) that is 12 to 14 inches long to get the nectar from the bottom of a 12 inch deep orchid discovered by Charles Darwin.
Some moths never eat anything as adults because they don't have mouths. They must live on the energy they stored as caterpillars.
Many butterflies can taste with their feet to find out whether the leaf they sit on is good to lay eggs on to be their caterpillars' food or not.
Butterflies and insects have their skeletons on the outside of their bodies, called the exoskeleton. This protects the insect and keeps water inside their bodies so they don’t dry out.
30 June. In collaboration with the prestigious Keats House- Hempstead (once occupied by the Romantic poet, John keats) and the UK Hindi Samiti, the Vatayan : Poetry on South Bank celebrated its tenth anniversary as well as 100 Years ofTagore’s Gitanjali, in the Nightingale Room. The day began with a picnic on the beautiful lawns in front and back of Keats House, where Indian and British poets and poetry connoisseurs shared a variety of food, drinks and poems on this glorious afternoon.
The second session began with a warm welcome to the participants and guests by Mira Kaushik, Director of Akademi-South Asian Dance followed by a brief powerpoint presentation on Vatyan’s activities by Dr Padmesh Gupta, President of the UK Hindi Samiti, who conveyed Dr Satyendra Srivastava’s blessings and message – he fondly remembered that over 35 years ago, he and the famous Hindi litterateur, the late Dharamvir Bharti were invited to recite their poems at Keats House. To commemorate that memorable event, this programme commenced with Dharamvir Bharati’s famous poem, Kanupriya, presented by the established choreographer and Kuchipudi dancer, Arunima Kumar and wonderfully performed by her disciples, Sebilla from Italy and Zofi from Poland.
The special poet this afternoon was the visiting award-winning poetess, Madhu Chaturvedi,and the special guest was Rama Pandey, author and broadcaster, who is currently producing films for Doordarshan. Dr Achala Sharma, read her poems from Vatayan’s publication of poems, Tanaav, followed by the well-known English poetess, India Russell reciting her three poems, The Secret High Jumper, My Uncle’s Ghost and the Secret Dancer. Rama Pandey recited a moving poem, Tab ye ghar kehlata hai.
The established Bharatanatyam dancer-choreographer, Chitra Sundaram presented the Britain’s poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy’s famous poem, Penelope, in a bhava version. It tells a moving story of a lass who weaves all day and unweaves all night because once the shroud she is knitting is complete, she has to marry one of her suitors. Each and every poem received rounds of applauds from the discerning audience.
In the next session, India Russell and Rama Pandey were requested to present a shawl and Abhinandan Patra to the visiting Indian poetess Madhu Chaturvedi, who has published several poetry collections and has participated in Kavi Sammelans all over the world. Madhu began her recital with some hykus including ‘किरण की पायल बाँध के धुप उतरी मुंडेर पर' ' ओ बेधड़क, काट के पेड़ तूने बोई सड़क' and couplets ('रे मन रख तू खोल कर, आँख कान मस्तिष्क, पगले इस संसार में, क़दम क़दम पर रिस्क) followed by a geet and a ghazal. The English translation of one of her poems was translated and eloquently presented by Chaand Chazzel, author, poet and an award winning filmmaker.
The programme concluded with a Vote of thanks appreciating Vatayan’s teamwork - Shikha Varshneya,Vasudha, Abir Mathur,Anjana Sharma, Dr Piyush Goel and specially Dr KK Srivastava of Kriti UK, who came with 100 samosas all the way from Birmingham.
The distinguished guests included Broadcaster Pervaiz Alam, Dr Hilal Fareed, President of Aligarh Muslim Alumni, educationists Uma Malhotra, Devina Rishi and Aruna Ajitsaria; well known poets Mohan Rana, Toshi Amrita, and Swati Bhalotia, amongst many more.
***
प्रयास संस्थान, चूरू की ओर से दिया जाने वाला घासीराम वर्मा साहित्य पुरस्कार वर्ष 2013 के लिए उदयपुर के आलोचक-संपादक पल्लव को दिया जाएगा। इसके लिए वर्ष 2011 में प्रकाशित उनकी आलोचना पुस्तक 'कहानी का लोकतंत्र’ को आधार बनाया गया है । दिल्ली विश्वविद्यालय के हिंदू कॉलेज में प्राध्यापक पल्लव हिंदी साहित्यिक पत्रिका 'बनास जन’ का संपादन भी कर रहे हैं। पल्लव को इससे पूर्व भारतीय भाषा परिषद, कोलकाता का युवा पुरस्कार, संबोधन कांकरोली का आचार्य निरजंननाथ प्रथम कृति पुरस्कार तथा श्री भारतेंदु समिति कोटा का 'कथा संवाद सम्मान’ भी मिल चुके हैं।
उन्हें प्रयास संस्थान की ओर से सितंबर में जिला मुख्यालय पर प्रस्तावित समारोह में 5100 रुपये नगद, शॉल, श्रीफल अर मानपत्रा देकर पुरस्कृत किया जाएगा। उल्लेखनीय है कि इससे पूर्व यह पुरस्कार अब तक 2008 में 'सितम्बर की रात’ के लिए जोधपुर के डॉ. सत्यनारायण, 2009 में 'कठपुतलियां’ के लिए मनीषा कुलश्रेष्ठ, 2010 में 'जगह जैसी जगह’ के लिए हेमंत शेष, 2011 में 'खेत तथा अन्य कहानियां’ के लिए रत्नकुमार सांभरिया तथा 2012 में 'जिजीविषा और अन्य कहानियां’ के लिए कमर मेवाड़ी को प्रदान किया जा चुका है।
***
कवयित्री ,कथाकार पद्मा मिश्रा को ''जय प्रकाश भारती'' सम्मान
जमशेदपुर नगर की चर्चित कवयित्री ,कथाकार पद्मा मिश्रा को ;;भारतीय बाल साहित्य परिषद;; की ओर से ''जय प्रकाश भारती सम्मान'' कवयित्री ,चिकित्सक डॉ आशा गुप्ता के द्वारा प्रदान किया गया, यह संस्था प्रति वर्ष एक ,साहित्यकार को यह सम्मान देती रही है,.बहु भाषीय साहित्यिक संस्था ''सहयोग' एवं ''अक्षर कुम्भ ''से जुडी पद्मा मिश्रा लगातार सृजन रत रह कर साहित्य की अविरल सेवा में निरत हैं .
डॉ ,बच्चन पाठक सलिल जी इस संस्था के अध्यक्ष हैं वहीँ इस अवसर पर संस्था के सचिव हरेराम हंस की पुस्तक ''समय भारती ''का विमोचन भी हुआ और उन्हें ''भारत भारती ''सम्मान भी दिया गया . इस अवसर पर आयोजित कवि सम्मेलन मे डॉ आशा गुप्ता ,ने पहाड़ों की त्रासदी पर तो पद्मा मिश्रा ने '' याद करें बचपन के दिन ''नामक कविता सुनाई .शैल जी ने गजल तो ,श्यामल सुमन जी ने दोहा व् गीत ,डॉ बच्चन पाठक सलिल जी ने पावसपर --''आ गई बरसात की वो इन्द्रधनुषी शाम '',से समां बांध दिया ,वहीँ गीता नूर , बाल कवि -हरे राम हंस जी ने दोहों ,''कुरजां'' 'के सम्पादक मामचंद अग्रवाल,भंजदेव ''व्यथित ''जे पी श्रीवास्तव आदि कवियों ने भी काव्य पाठ किया, कार्यक्रम अत्यंत सफल रहा .
***
आशीष नैथानी की ‘तिश्नगी’ का लोकार्पण 7 को हैदराबाद, 3 जुलाई, 2013 (प्रेस विज्ञप्ति).
“अंधेरी रात में/ रोशन सुबह का ख़्वाब अच्छा है./ बच्चे के चहरे पे हँसी है/ शहर में,/ कुछ तो जनाब अच्छा है.” यह कविता युवा कवि आशीष नैथानी ‘सलिल’ के सद्यःप्रकाशित कविता संग्रह ‘तिश्नगी’ में शामिल है. उत्तराखंड के पौड़ी गडवाल में जन्मे आशीष नैथानी इन दिनों हैदराबाद में सॉफ्टवेयर इंजिनीयर है और एक सक्रिय ब्लॉगर के रूप में अपनी पहचान बना चुके हैं.
‘साहित्य मंथन’ के तत्ववाधान में आगामी 7 जुलाई, 2013, रविवार को सायं 4 बजे दक्षिण भारत हिंदी प्रचार सभा के खैरताबाद स्थित परिसर में आशीष नैथानी ‘सलिल’ के प्रथम कविता संग्रह ‘तिश्नगी’ का लोकार्पण समारोह आयोजित किया जा रहा है. लोकार्पण प्रतिष्ठित कवि एवं समीक्षक प्रो ऋषभदेव शर्मा द्वारा किया जाएगा तथा प्रो एम.वेंकटेश्वर एवं डॉ अहिल्या मिश्र विशिष्ट अतिथि के रूप में संबोधित करेंगे. लोकार्पण समारोह के अध्यक्ष ‘भास्वर भारत’ के संपादक डॉ राधेश्याम शुकल होंगे. युवा समीक्षक डॉ बी.बालाजी विमोच्य कृति का परिचय देंगे.
आज आयोजित ‘साहित्य मंथन’ की बैठक में लोकार्पण समारोह समिति का गठन किया गया. जिसके सदस्यों में डॉ जी.नीरजा, ज्योति नारायण, राधाकृष्ण मिरियाला और जी.संगीता के नाम सम्मिलित हैं.
समारोह संयोजक डॉ जी.नीरजा ने सभी साहित्य प्रेमियों से ‘तिश्नगी’ के लोकार्पण समारोह में उपस्थित होने का अनुरोध किया है.
लाल कला मंच एवं हिन्दी अकादमी दिल्ली संयुक्त रुप से बिश्व पर्यावरण दिवस पर कार्यक्रम आयोजित
नई दिल्लीः लाल कला,सांस्कृतिक एवं सामाजिक चेतना मंच(रजि.) तथा हिन्दी अकादमी दिल्ली के संयुक्त तात्वावधान में विश्व पर्यावरण दिवस के अवसर पर विश्व में बिगडते हुए पर्यावरण के संरक्षण में युवाओं की भूमिका पर एक परिचर्चा एवं काव्य गोष्ठी का आयोजन लाल किरण बिल्डिंग्स,मीठापुर में किया गया। जिसमें वक्ता के रुप में डा. अख्तर अंसारी एवं बल्लवगढ कालेज के पूर्व प्रो.(आचार्य) हवलदार सिंह शास्त्री,डा.आर पी.सिंह तथा रतन सिंह ने भाग लिया। इन्होंने पर्यावरण संरक्षण पर युवाओं की भूमिका पर कहा कि आज के नई पीढी ही इसमें अहम भूमिका निभा सकती है।क्येकि वर्तमान पीढी इस पर उदासीन होते जा रही है। इसी अवसर पर पर्यावरण प्रेमी लाल विहारी लाल ने कहा कि पर्यावरण संरक्षण के लिए इसकी विगडती हुई दशा के रफ्तार को कम किया जा सकता है क्योकि बढती हुई आवादी की आवश्यकताओं का पूर्ति प्रकृति ही करती है इसलिए इसे अपने छोटे-छोटे कर्मों से इसे कम किया जा सकता है। जैसे.कागज के दोनों पन्नों पर लिखना,रद्दी कापी से बचे हुए पन्नें को अलग कर एक नई कापी खुद को बनाना,पालिथीन के स्थान पर कपडे का बैग उपयोग में लाना, घर के हर सदस्यों का एक अलग-अलग गिलास हो जिसे बार-बार धोने के लिए पानी की बर्वादी न हो। बिजली एवं पानी के बर्बादी को रोकना तथा एक्वा गार्ड में निकले बेकार पानी को संचय कर इसे घरेलू वागवानी में उपयोग मे लाने सहित अन्य छोटे-छोटे उपाय द्वारा इसे संरक्षित किया जा सकता है। इस अवसर पर भारतीय संस्कृति के प्रतीक तुलसी के पौधो का भी लाल कला मंच द्वारा वितरण किया गया।
पर्यावरण पर आधारित रचनाओं का काव्य पाठ भी किया गया जिसमें भाग लेने वाले कवि थे-डा.ए.कीर्तिवर्धन, इसरार अहमद,पर्यावरणप्रेमी लाल बिहारी लाल,श्री शिव प्रभाकर ओझा ,श्री महेन्द्र गुप्ता प्रीतम ,आकाश पागल,सुरेश मिश्रा,मनोज सिंह । संचालन दिल्ली एथेंस के लेखक श्री सुमित प्रताप सिंह ने किया । इसके अलावे श्री अर्श अमृतसरी के गजल संग्रह जिन्दगी गजल है लोकार्पण किया अतिथियों द्वारा किया गया ।
इस कार्यक्रम के में अतिथि वरिश्ठ पत्रकार राजकुमार अग्रवाल थे। संयोजन दिल्ली रत्न लाल बिहारी लाल का तथा अध्यक्षता कामरेड जगदीश चंद्र शर्मा ने किया। इस अवसर पर हिन्दी अकादमी ,दिल्ली से प्रतिनिधि के रुप में श्री जगदीश चंद्र मौयूद थे। अंत में संस्था की अध्यक्षा श्रीमती सोनू गुप्ता ने सभी आगन्तुको का धन्यवाद ज्ञपन किया। प्रस्तुतिः श्री लाल बिहारी लाल(सचिवःलाल कला मंच,नई दिल्ली) फोन-09868163073
This July issue is on the ' Quest' of body and soul in the journey of life...how we fill the void and reach our goals, what are the wins and failures, joy and sorrows of this 'quest' ? It is a difficult choice of the subject, specially now when we are living in such an intense and painful time and literature is neither a sermon, nor a revolt. Words like humanity, justice and honesty are loosing their face and search for these values day by day becoming more futile and depressing!
Night had fallen on that great and beautiful city known as Bagdad- on-the-Subway. And with the night came the enchanted glamour that belongs not to Arabia alone. In different masquerade the streets, bazaars and walled houses of the occidental city of romance were filled with the same kind of folk that so much interested our interesting old friend, the late Mr. H. A. Rashid. They wore clothes eleven hundred years nearer to the latest styles than H. A. saw in old Bagdad; but they were about the same people underneath. With the eye of faith, you could have seen the Little Hunchback, Sinbad the Sailor, Fitbad the Tailor, the Beautiful Persian, the one-eyed Calenders, Ali Baba and Forty Robbers on every block, and the Barber and his Six Brothers, and all the old Arabian gang easily.
Title : Beyond Images, Author: Elizabeth Kurian ‘Mona’, Pages: 112, 
VATAYAN AT KEATS HOUSE
30 June. In collaboration with the prestigious Keats House- Hempstead (once occupied by the Romantic poet, John keats) and the UK Hindi Samiti, the Vatayan : Poetry on South Bank celebrated its tenth anniversary as well as 100 Years of Tagore’s Gitanjali, in the Nightingale Room. The day began with a picnic on the beautiful lawns in front and back of Keats House, where Indian and British poets and poetry connoisseurs shared a variety of food, drinks and poems on this glorious afternoon.
The second session began with a warm welcome to the participants and guests by Mira Kaushik, Director of Akademi-South Asian Dance followed by a brief powerpoint presentation on Vatyan’s activities by Dr Padmesh Gupta, President of the UK Hindi Samiti, who conveyed Dr Satyendra Srivastava’s blessings and message – he fondly remembered that over 35 years ago, he and the famous Hindi litterateur, the late Dharamvir Bharti were invited to recite their poems at Keats House. To commemorate that memorable event, this programme commenced with Dharamvir Bharati’s famous poem, Kanupriya, presented by the established choreographer and Kuchipudi dancer, Arunima Kumar and wonderfully performed by her disciples, Sebilla from Italy and Zofi from Poland. 
The established Bharatanatyam dancer-choreographer, Chitra Sundaram presented the Britain’s poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy’s famous poem, Penelope, in a bhava version. It tells a moving story of a lass who weaves all day and unweaves all night because once the shroud she is knitting is complete, she has to marry one of her suitors. Each and every poem received rounds of applauds from the discerning audience. 
प्रयास संस्थान, चूरू की ओर से दिया जाने वाला घासीराम वर्मा साहित्य पुरस्कार वर्ष 2013 के लिए उदयपुर के आलोचक-संपादक पल्लव को दिया जाएगा। इसके लिए वर्ष 2011 में प्रकाशित उनकी आलोचना पुस्तक 'कहानी का लोकतंत्र’ को आधार बनाया गया है । दिल्ली विश्वविद्यालय के हिंदू कॉलेज में प्राध्यापक पल्लव हिंदी साहित्यिक पत्रिका 'बनास जन’ का संपादन भी कर रहे हैं। पल्लव को इससे पूर्व भारतीय भाषा परिषद, कोलकाता का युवा पुरस्कार, संबोधन कांकरोली का आचार्य निरजंननाथ प्रथम कृति पुरस्कार तथा श्री भारतेंदु समिति कोटा का 'कथा संवाद सम्मान’ भी मिल चुके हैं।
जमशेदपुर नगर की चर्चित कवयित्री ,कथाकार पद्मा मिश्रा को ;;भारतीय बाल साहित्य परिषद;; की ओर से ''जय प्रकाश भारती सम्मान'' कवयित्री ,चिकित्सक डॉ आशा गुप्ता के द्वारा प्रदान किया गया, यह संस्था प्रति वर्ष एक ,साहित्यकार को यह सम्मान देती रही है,.बहु भाषीय साहित्यिक संस्था ''सहयोग' एवं ''अक्षर कुम्भ ''से जुडी पद्मा मिश्रा लगातार सृजन रत रह कर साहित्य की अविरल सेवा में निरत हैं .
“अंधेरी रात में/ रोशन सुबह का ख़्वाब अच्छा है./ बच्चे के चहरे पे हँसी है/ शहर में,/ कुछ तो जनाब अच्छा है.” यह कविता युवा कवि आशीष नैथानी ‘सलिल’ के सद्यःप्रकाशित कविता संग्रह ‘तिश्नगी’ में शामिल है. उत्तराखंड के पौड़ी गडवाल में जन्मे आशीष नैथानी इन दिनों हैदराबाद में सॉफ्टवेयर इंजिनीयर है और एक सक्रिय ब्लॉगर के रूप में अपनी पहचान बना चुके हैं. 
नई दिल्लीः लाल कला,सांस्कृतिक एवं सामाजिक चेतना मंच(रजि.) तथा हिन्दी अकादमी दिल्ली के संयुक्त तात्वावधान में विश्व पर्यावरण दिवस के अवसर पर विश्व में बिगडते हुए पर्यावरण के संरक्षण में युवाओं की भूमिका पर एक परिचर्चा एवं काव्य गोष्ठी का आयोजन लाल किरण बिल्डिंग्स,मीठापुर में किया गया। जिसमें वक्ता के रुप में डा. अख्तर अंसारी एवं बल्लवगढ कालेज के पूर्व प्रो.(आचार्य) हवलदार सिंह शास्त्री,डा.आर पी.सिंह तथा रतन सिंह ने भाग लिया। इन्होंने पर्यावरण संरक्षण पर युवाओं की भूमिका पर कहा कि आज के नई पीढी ही इसमें अहम भूमिका निभा सकती है।क्येकि वर्तमान पीढी इस पर उदासीन होते जा रही है। इसी अवसर पर पर्यावरण प्रेमी लाल विहारी लाल ने कहा कि पर्यावरण संरक्षण के लिए इसकी विगडती हुई दशा के रफ्तार को कम किया जा सकता है क्योकि बढती हुई आवादी की आवश्यकताओं का पूर्ति प्रकृति ही करती है इसलिए इसे अपने छोटे-छोटे कर्मों से इसे कम किया जा सकता है। जैसे.कागज के दोनों पन्नों पर लिखना,रद्दी कापी से बचे हुए पन्नें को अलग कर एक नई कापी खुद को बनाना,पालिथीन के स्थान पर कपडे का बैग उपयोग में लाना, घर के हर सदस्यों का एक अलग-अलग गिलास हो जिसे बार-बार धोने के लिए पानी की बर्वादी न हो। बिजली एवं पानी के बर्बादी को रोकना तथा एक्वा गार्ड में निकले बेकार पानी को संचय कर इसे घरेलू वागवानी में उपयोग मे लाने सहित अन्य छोटे-छोटे उपाय द्वारा इसे संरक्षित किया जा सकता है। इस अवसर पर भारतीय संस्कृति के प्रतीक तुलसी के पौधो का भी लाल कला मंच द्वारा वितरण किया गया।
इस कार्यक्रम के में अतिथि वरिश्ठ पत्रकार राजकुमार अग्रवाल थे। संयोजन दिल्ली रत्न लाल बिहारी लाल का तथा अध्यक्षता कामरेड जगदीश चंद्र शर्मा ने किया। इस अवसर पर हिन्दी अकादमी ,दिल्ली से प्रतिनिधि के रुप में श्री जगदीश चंद्र मौयूद थे। अंत में संस्था की अध्यक्षा श्रीमती सोनू गुप्ता ने सभी आगन्तुको का धन्यवाद ज्ञपन किया।
