Author Topic: उत्तराखंड में जन्मे महान कवि / साहित्यकार : GREAT POET / LITERATE OF UK  (Read 57302 times)

एम.एस. मेहता /M S Mehta 9910532720

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Shekhar Joshi


Shekhar Joshi (शेखरजोशी) (Born. September, 1939) is a renowned Hindi author, who is equally famous for being his hallmark insight into the culture, traditions and lifestyles of people of Uttarakhand, as late Shailesh Matiyani, together they created a composite image of ethos of Kumaon for the rest of nation. His most known works are Dajyu (Big Brother) and Kosi Ka Ghatwar (The Miller of Kosi).


Biography

Shekhar Joshi was born in September, 1939, in village Ojiyagaon, in Almora district of Uttarakhand in a farmers family and received his early education at Dehradun and Ajmer, and thereafter while studying in Intermediate he got selected for Defense Institute of E.M.I. and went to work within the Defense establishment from 1955 to 1986, when he resigned to take up full-time writing.

His acclaimed story, Dajyu (Big Brother) has also been made into a Children’s film by Children Film Society of India. Kosi Ka Ghatwar (The Miller of Kosi) and many other stories have been translated into English, Russian, Czech, Polish and Japanese [1]

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Bibliography

10 Pratinidhi Kahaniyan by Shekhar Joshi (Hindi), ISBN 04217-5286.
Naurangi Bimar Hai by Shekhar Joshi, Rajkamal Publications.
The Miller of Kosi by Shekhar Joshi. Modern Hindi Short Stories; translated by Jai Ratan. New Delhi, Srishti, 2003, Chapter 5. ISBN 81-88575-18-6. [2]
Bachche Ka Sapna by Shekhar Joshi, 2004 (Hindi). ISBN 8186209441.
Dangri Vale by Shekhar Joshi, 1998.
Mera Pahar by Shekhar Joshi. [3]
"Big Brother" by Shekhar Joshi (Dajyu), Andersen 1994. [4]

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गौरा पंत शिवानी


गौरा पंत ‘शिवानी’ का जन्म 17 अक्टूबर, 1923 को विजयादशमी के दिन राजकोट (गुजरात) में हुआ। आधुनिक अग्रगामी विचारों के समर्थक पिता श्री अश्विनीकुमार पाण्डे राजकोट स्थित राजकुमार कॉलेज के प्रिंसिपल थे, जो कालांतर में माणबदर और रामपुर की रियासतों में दीवान भी रहे। माता और पिता दोनों ही विद्वान संगीतप्रेमी और कई भाषाओं के ज्ञाता थे। साहित्य और संगीत के प्रति एक गहरा रुझान ‘शिवानी’ को उनसे ही मिला। शिवानी जी के पितामह संस्कृत के प्रकांड विद्वान पं. हरिराम पाण्डे, जो बनारस हिंदू विश्वविद्यालय में धर्मोपदेशक थे, परम्परानिष्ठ और कट्टर सनातनी थे। महामना मदनमोहन मालवीय से उनकी गहन मैत्री थी। वे प्रायः अल्मोड़ा तथा बनारस में रहते थे, अतः अपनी बड़ी बहन तथा भाई के साथ शिवानी जी का बचपन भी दादाजी की छत्रछाया में उक्त स्थानों पर बीता, किशोरावस्था शान्ति निकेतन में और युवावस्था अपने शिक्षाविद् पति के साथ उत्तर प्रदेश के विभिन्न भागों में। पति के असामयिक निधन के बाद वे लम्बे समय तक लखनऊ में रहीं और अन्तिम समय में दिल्ली में अपनी बेटियों तथा अमेरिका में बसे पुत्र के परिवार के बीच अधिक समय बिताया। उनके लेखन तथा व्यक्तित्व में उदारवादिता और परम्परानिष्ठता का जो अद्भुत मेल है, उसकी जड़ें, इसी विविधतापूर्ण जीवन में थीं।

शिवानी की पहली रचना अल्मोड़ा से निकलनेवाली ‘नटखट’ नामक एक बाल पत्रिका में छपी थी। तब वे मात्र बारह वर्ष की थीं। इसके बाद वे मालवीय जी की सलाह पर पढ़ने के लिए अपनी बड़ी बहन जयंती तथा भाई त्रिभुवन के साथ शान्तिनिकेतन भेजी गईं, जहाँ स्कूल तथा कॉलेज की पत्रिकाओं में बांग्ला में उनकी रचनाएँ नियमित रूप से छपती रहीं। गुरुदेव रवीन्द्रनाथ टैगोर उन्हें ‘गोरा’ पुकारते थे। उनकी इस सलाह को, कि हर लेखक को मातृभाषा में ही लेखन करना चाहिए, को शिरोधार्य कर शिवानी ने हिन्दी में लिखना प्रारम्भ किया। ‘शिवानी’ की एक लघु रचना ‘मैं मुर्गा हूँ’ 1951 में ‘धर्मयुग’ में छपी थी। इसके बाद आई उनकी कहानी ‘लाल हवेली’ और तब से जो लेखन-क्रम शुरू हुआ, उनके जीवन के अन्तिम दिनों तक अनवरत चलता रहा। उनकी अन्तिम दो रचनाएँ ‘सुनहुँ तात यह अकथ कहानी’ तथा ‘सोने दे’ उनके विलक्षण जीवन पर आधारित आत्मवृत्तात्मक आख्यान हैं।

1982 में शिवानी जी को पद्मश्री से अलंकृत किया गया। उपन्यास, कहानी, व्यक्तिचित्र, बाल उपन्यास और संस्मरणों के अतिरिक्त, लखनऊ से निकलनेवाले पत्र ‘स्वतन्त्र भारत’ के लिए ‘शिवानी’ ने वर्षों तक एक चर्चित स्तम्भ ‘वातायन’ भी लिखा। उनके लखनऊ स्थित आवास-66, गुलिस्ताँ कालोनी के द्वार, लेखकों, कलाकारों, साहित्य-प्रेमियों के साथ समाज के हर वर्ग से जुड़े उनके पाठकों के लिए सदैव खुले रहे। 21 मार्च, 2003 को दिल्ली में 79 वर्ष की आयु में उनका निधन हुआ।

एम.एस. मेहता /M S Mehta 9910532720

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'Dajyu' by Shekhar Joshi

I’m 11 years old and I’m about to enter seventh grade. Thanks to our school’s policy to not teach the regular NCERT English readers that contain rather boring lessons but to teach the text books issued by the Oxford University Press, we have very cute, small and interesting reads as our English texts. The contributing authors included big names like Hemingway, Doyle, Satyajit Ray, R.K. Narayan, Oscar Wilde and much to my delight; Isaac Asimov and Roald Dahl. Short stories by Asimov and ‘Charlie and the Chocolate factory’ by Dahl continue to be my favourites. However the story that impressed me most was one by an unknown Indian author, Shekhar Joshi. I rarely had emotional overflows reading a story…stories amazed me, puzzled me, made me think, made me sympathize but rarely gave me tears. And the ones that gave me those, remained etched in my memory. One by which I was deeply moved was ‘Charlie and the Chocolate factory’ about which I shall write someday later. The other one was from my very own English text of seventh grade, the one by Shekhar Joshi. I still have the text with me and it has travelled with me across the state and I must’ve read the story more than fifty times. I post it here and hope that some of you will share the same emotions that I had when I read the story as a kid of 11.



Big Brother


SHEKHAR JOSHI



Jagdish Babu saw him for the first time, at the small café with the large signboard, in the market place. He had a fair complexion, sparkling eyes, golden brown hair, and an unusual smooth liveliness in his movements-like a drop water sliding along the leaf of a lotus. From the alertness in his eyes, one would guess his age at only nine or ten, and that’s what it was.

When Jagsish Babu, puffing on a half-lit cigarette, entered the café, the boy was removing some plates from a table. By the time Jagdish Babu had seated himself at a corner table, the boy was already standing in front of him. He looked as though he’d been waiting for hours for him-for a person to sit in that seat.

The boy said nothing. He did bow slightly, to show respect, and then just smiled. Receiving the order for a cup of tea, he smiled again, went off, and then returned with the tea in the twinkling of an eye.

Jagdish Babu had come from a distant region and was alone. In the hustle and bustle of the market place, in the clamour of the café, everything seemed unrelated to himself. Maybe after living here for a while and growing used to it, he’d start feeling some intimacy in the surroundings. But today the place seemed alien. Then he began remembering nostalgically the people of his village region, the region, the school and the college boys there, the café in the nearby town.

‘Tea, Sha’b!’

Jagdish Babu flicked the ash from the cigarette. In the boy’s pronunciation of ‘Sahab’, he seemed something which he had been missing. He started to follow up the speculation-‘What’s your name?’

‘Madan.’

‘Very well, Madan! Where are you from?’

‘I’m from the hills, Babuji.’

‘There are hundreds of hill places-Abu, Darjeeling, Mussorie, Simla, Almora. Which hills is your village in?’

‘Almora, Sha’b,’ he said with a smile, ‘Almora.’

‘Which village in Almora?’ he persisted.

The boy hesitated. Perhaps embarrassed by the strange name of the village, he answered evasively- ‘Oh it’s far away, Sha’b. It must be fifteen or twenty miles from Almora.’

‘But it still must have a name,’ Jagdish Babu insisted.

‘Dotyalgaon’, he answered shyly.

The expression of loneliness vanished from Jagdish Babu’s face. When he smiled and told Madan he was from a neighbouring village, the boy almost dropped his tray with delight. He stood there, speechless and dazed, as though trying to recall his past.

The past-village …. high mountains … a stream … mother …. Father ….. older sister ….. younger sister …. big brother.

Whose shadow was it that Madan saw in the form of Jagdish Babu? Mother? - No. Father? - No. Elder or younger sister? - No. Big brother? - Yes, Dajyu!

Within a few days, the gap of unfamiliarity between Madan and Jagdish Babu had disappeared. As soon as the gentleman sat down, Madan would call out-‘Greetings, Dajyu!’ ‘Dajyu, it’s very cold today.’ ‘Dajyu, will it snow here too?’ ‘Dajyu, you didn’t eat much yesterday.’

Then from some direction would come a cry of ‘Boy!’ Madan would be there even before the echo of the call could be heard.

‘Anything for you, Dajyu?’ he would call out repeating the word ‘Dajyu’ with eagerness and affection of a mother embracing her son after a long separation.

After some time, Jagdish Babu’s loneliness disappeared. Now, not only the market-place and the café, but the city itself seemed like home to him.

‘Madan! Come here.’

‘Coming, Dajyu!’

This repetition of the word ‘Dajyu’ aroused the burgeois temperament in Jagdish Babu. The thin thread of intimacy could not stand the strong pull of ego.

‘Shall I bring tea, Dajyu?’

‘No tea. But what’s this “Dajyu, Dajyu” you keep shouting all the time? Have you no respect for a person’s prestige?’

Jagdish Babu flushed with anger, had no control over his words. Nor did he stop to wonder whether Madan could know the meaning of the word ‘prestige’. But Madan, even with no explanation, had understood everything. Could one who had braved an understanding of the world at such a tender age fail to understand one, unimportant word?

Having made the excuse of a head ache to the manager, Madan sat in a small room head between his knees, and sobbed. In his situation far from home, his display of intimacy towards Jagdish Babu had been perfectly natural. But now, for the first time in a foreign place, he felt as though someone had pulled him from the lap of his mother, from the arms of his father, and from the protection of his sister.

Madan returned to his work as before.

The next day, heading for the café, Jagdish Babu suddenly met a childhood friend, Hemant. Reaching the café, Jagdish Babu beckoned to Madan. But he sensed that the boy was trying to remain at a distance. On the second call, Madan finally came over.

Today that smile was not on his face, nor did he say, ‘What can I bring, Dajyu?’

Jagdish Babu himself had to speak up- ‘Two teas, two omlettes.’

Even then instead of replying, ‘Right away, Dajyu’, he said, ‘Right away, Sha’b’, and then left as though the man were a stranger.

‘Perhaps a hill boy?’ Hemant speculated.

‘Yes,’ muttered Jagdish Babu and changed the subject.

Madan had brought the tea.


‘What’s your name?’ Hemant asked, trying to be friendly. For a few moments silence engulfed the table. Jagdish Babu’s lowered eyes were centered on the cup of tea.

Memories swam before Madan’s eyes-Jagdish Babu asking him his name like this one day … then, ‘Dajyu, you didn’t eat much yesterday’ … and one day, ‘You pay no attention to anyone’s prestige …’

Jagdish Babu raised his eyes and saw that Madan seemed about to erupt like a volcano.

‘What’s your name?’ Hemant repeated.

‘Sha’b they call me “boy”, he said quickly and walked away.

‘A real idiot,’ Hemant remarked, taking a sip of tea. ‘He can’t even remember his own name’.


http://aeiohyou.blogspot.com/2008/02/dajyu-by-shekhar-joshi.html


एम.एस. मेहता /M S Mehta 9910532720

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Shivani गौरा पंत 'शिवानी'


Gaura Pant 'Shivani' (October 17, 1923[1] – 21st March 2003) (Hindi: गौरा पंत 'शिवानी'), better known as Shivani, was one of the most popular Hindi authors of the 20th century and a pioneer in writing Indian women based fiction[2]. She was awarded the Padma Shri for her contribution to Hindi literature in 1982[3].

She achieved a large following in the pre-television times of the 60s and 70s, as her works like her most famous novel, 'Krishnakali', were serialised in Hindi magazines like Dharmayug and Saptahik Hindustan, leading to her cult status as a Hindi novelist[4]. Through her writings, she also made the culture of Kumaon, popular with Hindi-speaking Indians across the country. Her novel 'Kariye Chima' was made into a film, while her other novels including 'Surangma', 'Rativilaap', 'Mera Beta', and 'Teesra Beta' have been turned into Television serials[5]

Upon her death in 2003, Government of India released in a press note described her contributions to Hindi literature as, "...in the death of Shivani the Hindi literature world has lost a popular and eminent novelist and the void is difficult to fill"[6].

Shivani was also the name of the Character played in the song 'eh Shivani' which is sung by Sanjay Dutt,many people have been influenced by this song and therefore have named their daughters by this name. :D:D

Early life and education
Gaura Lant 'Shivani' was born on October 17, 1924, the Vijaya Dasami day in Rajkot, Gujarat, where her father, Ashwini Kumar Pande was a teacher with princely state of Rajkot, her mother was a Sanskrit scholar. Later her father became the Diwan with the Nawab of Rampur and the member of Viceroy's Bar Council[7], thereafter the family moved to the princely state of Orchha, where her father held an important position. Thus Shivani's childhood had influences of these varied places, and an insight into high class women, which reflected in much of her work. At Lucknow, she became the first student of the local, 'Lucknow Mahila Vidyalaya'[8].

As she grew older, she along with her brother and a sister, went to live with her grandfather, a Sanskrit scholar and a founding member of Banaras Hindu University.

In 1935, Shivani's first story was published in the Hindi Children's magazine 'Natkhat', at age twelve[9]. That was also when, the three siblings were sent to the study at Rabindranath Tagore's Visva-Bharati University at Shantiniketan. Rabindranath Tagore even visited their ancestral home in Almora several times.

Shivani remained at Shantiniketan for another 9 years, left as a graduate in 1943. It was this period that she took to writing whole-heartedly and had the most profound influence in her writing sensibilities[10], a period she recounts vividly in her book, 'Amader Shantiniketan'[11].

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Career

In 1951, her short story, 'Main Murga Hun' (I am a Chicken Man) was published in Dharmayug, and she became Shivani, from Gaura Pant.

Her first novel, Lal Haveli, established her reputation in the early sixties, and in the next ten years she produced several major works which were serialized in the Hindi magazine, Dharmayug. Proficient in many other languages including Sanskrit, Gujarati, Bengali, Urdu, and English, Shivani received the Padma Shri for her contribution to Hindi literature in 1982[3].

She was a prolific writer, her oeuvre consists of over 40 novels, many short stories and hundreds of articles and essays. Her most famous works include Chaudah Phere, Krishnakali, Lal Haveli, Smashan Champa, Bharavi, Rati Vilap, Vishkanya, Apradhini (a collection of interviews with women lifers); travelogues: 'Yatriki', based on her London travels and 'Chareivati', based on her travels to Russia[12].

Towards the end of her life, Shivani took to autobiographical writings, first sighted in her book, 'Shivani Ke Shryaas Kahaniyan', followed by her two-part memoir, ‘Smriti Kalash’ and ‘Sone De’, whose title she borrowed[13] from the epitaph of a 15th Century Urdu Poet:

Thak Gaya Hoon Neend Aa Rahi Hai Sone De
Bahut Hein Zindagi Mene Diya Hai Saath Tere


(I am tired, sleep overtakes me, let me rest
I have been long enough with you in the journey of life)

Shivani continued to write till her last days, and passed away on 21st March 2003 in New Delhi[14].

In 2005, Her daughter, Hindi writer, Ira Pande, published a memoir based on Shivani's life, titled 'Diddi' My Mother's Voice. 'Diddi' in Kumaoni means elder sister, and that's what her children used to address her, as she really was a friend to them[15].


[edit] Thematic style
"Shivani's fiction proclaims a quiet, warm humanism. Characters who might seem pale and uninteresting in real life – an undistinguished, very orthodox Brahmin priest in a village up in the foothills of the Himalayas, his traditional wife, the village idiot, the widowed mother – take on a human glow and their lives an unexpected resonance. It is the small events, little gestures, nondescript people, that suffuse the world of Shivani's fiction with hope, and the future is something one enters with courage. Shivani's feminism is like a gentle humanism that does not stop short when it meets the female. Within the world-view of her fiction, there are few contradictions or problems that cannot be transcended with a little sympathy and a belief in the goodness of humankind."
- 'Women Writing in India', Vol II, by Susie Tharu & K. Lalitha[16].


[edit] Family
Shivani was married to 'Shuk Deo Pant' (S. D. Pant), a teacher who worked in the Education Department of Uttar Pradesh, this lead to the family travelling to various places including Allahabad, Nainital (1958-1964 and 1966-1968)[17](29°14′N 79°16′E / 29.23, 79.26 Priory Lodge at Nainital, where Shivani stayed, 1958-1964 and 1966-1968), before settling in Lucknow, where she stayed till her last days[8]. She had four children, six grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

Unforturnately her husband died at an early age, leaving her to take care of the four children, but a defiant Shivani chose to stay by her self[18], and raised them to be successful in their own right. Her two daughters, Mrinal Pande, Ira Pande are established writers in themselves. Her other two children are Veena Joshi, and Muktesh (Micky) Pant, who now lives in Dallas, Texas.

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Bibliography

Chareiveti. A narrative of travel in Russia and her encounters with literary figures.
Atithi. 1996. A novel whose central character, Jaya, after a failed marriage meets Shekhar who proposes to her.
Pootonvali. 1998. A collection of two novelettes and three short stories.
Jharokha. 1999.
Chal Khusaro Ghar Aapne. 1998. A novel.
Vatayan. 1999.
Ek Thi Ramrati. 1998.
Mera Bhai/Patheya. 1997. A novella and her recollections of events and personages.
Yatrik. 1999. Her experiences in England where she travelled for the marriage of her son.
Jaalak. 1999. 48 short memoirs.
Amader Shantiniketan. 1999. Reminiscences of Shantiniketan.
Manik – novellette and other stories (Joker and Tarpan).
Shmashan Champa, 1997.
Surangma. A powerful novel about a political figure and his personal life shadowed by sordid relationships.
Mayapuri. A novel about relationships.
Kainja. A novel and 7 short stories.
Bhairvee. A novel.
Gainda. A novel and two long stories.
Krishnaveni. A novelette and two short stories.
Swayam Sidha. A novel and 6 short stories.
Kariya Cheema. 7 short stories.
Up Preti. 2 short novels, a story and 13 nonfictional articles.
Chir Swayamvara. 10 short stories and 5 sketches.
Vishkanya. A novelette and 5 short stories.
Krishnakali and other stories. Her most popular novel.
Kastoori Mrig. A short novel and several articles.
Aparadhini. A novel.
Rathya. A novel.
Chaudah Phere. A novel.
Rati Vilap. 3 novelettes and 3 short stories.
Shivani ki Sresth Kahaniyan. 13 outstanding short stories.
Smriti Kalash. 10 essays.
Sunhu Taat Yeh Akath Kahani. Autobiographical narratives.
Hey Dattatreya. Folk culture and literature of Kumaon.
Manimala Ki Hansi. Short stories, essays, memoirs and sketches.
Shivani ki Mashhoor Kahaniyan. 12 short stories.[19]

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Girda

Girish Tiwari (Girda) is a famous poet of Uttarakhand.

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Jugal Kishore Petshali (जुगल किशोर पेटशाली)


Born in 1947, Jugal Kishor Petshali is acknowledged both as a Kumaoni poet and as an expert in the field of Kumaoni arts, folklore and music. He heads the Uttaranchal Lok Kala Evam Sahitya Sanrakshan Samiti in Chitai, Uttaranchal and is the recipient of several awards such as the Kumaon Gaurav Samman (2005) and the Jaishankar Prasad Puraskar (1993).

इनके द्वारा कई पुस्तकें लिखी गई हैं, जिनमें से एक निम्न है-

 

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