top of page

I PITY THOSE WHOM LOVE OF SELF

BINDS TO THEIR FATHERLAND.

THE FATHERLAND IS BUT

A FIELD OF TENTS

IN A DESERT OF STONE.

 

 

old Himalayan song

Editing: Rajula Shah Images: Arghya Basu & Rajula

Sometimes one must let one's life flow like water finding its way.

Sometimes one may lie in a bed of luxury

Sometimes one has to become what time demands of one.

Sometimes it is a gourmet's feast laid out.

Sometimes stale breadcrumbs for sheer survival.

Sometimes one travels in a comfortable vehicle.

Sometimes one goes barefoot all the way.

Sometimes one gets to wear the choicest garments.

Sometimes one has to wear tattered clothes.

Sometimes one has all the wealth in the world.

Sometimes one has to brave dire straits.

Sometimes one has to suffer the company of villains.

Says Tuka, know it well

Joys and sorrows must be equal on one's scale.

-Tukaram, Translated from Marathi by Dilip Chitre

Sometimes one must let one's life flow like water finding its way.

Sometimes one may lie in a bed of luxury

Sometimes one has to become what time demands of one.

Sometimes it is a gourmet's feast laid out.

Sometimes stale breadcrumbs for sheer survival.

Sometimes one travels in a comfortable vehicle.

Sometimes one goes barefoot all the way.

Sometimes one gets to wear the choicest garments.

Sometimes one has to wear tattered clothes.

Sometimes one has all the wealth in the world.

Sometimes one has to brave dire straits.

Sometimes one has to suffer the company of villains.

Says Tuka, know it well

Joys and sorrows must be equal on one's scale.

Poem: Tukaram, Translated from Marathi by Dilip Chitre Video: Arghya Editing: Rajula

bottom of page