B h a s k a r H a n d e

VwPo én _mPo XoUoYour Form is My Creation

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VwPo én _mPo XoUog§V VwH$mam_ _hmamOm§À`m JmWoVyZ ^mñH$a hm§S>o

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First Published 1995Second Edition 2015

(C) Copyright Bhaskar Eknath HandeAll rights Reserved No. Part of this Publication may be reproduced in any term or by any means, including Photocopying without Prior Permission of the Copyrighter.

Publisher :Sandhya Bhaskar HandeVaishwik Art Environment

English translation by Dilip Chitre

Courtsey Translator & Penguin Books India(C) Copyright Dilip Chitre, 1991.Copyright Viju Chitre2015

Second Edition 2015Digital Edition 2015Vaishwik Art Environment Aundh Pune 411007

VwPo én _mPo XoUoYour Form is My Creation

‘YOUR FORM IS MY CREATION’BHASKAR HANDE’S

PAINTINGS, DRAWINGS, SCULPTURES & GRAPHICSINSPIRED BY TUKARAMACHI GHATHA

VwPo én _mPo XoUog§V VwH$mam_ _hmamOm§À`m JmWoVyZ ^mñH$a hm§S>o

`m§Zm ñ\w$acoë`m {MÌ{eënH¥$Vr

d¡{ídH$2015

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‘Tuze Roop Maze Dene’ is a visual arts exhibition with a difference. It is the first large scale effort by a contemporary artist to respond to traditional Marathi bhakti poetry. These paintings in various media, graphics in different techniques, and models of sculptures conceived on an architectural scale are the response of one modern (or should one say post-modern) artist to one of India’s greatest poets, the Marathi mystic Tukaram. The exhibition is unique on several other counts, too. Bhaskar Hande was born Umbraj in the Maval region not far from Dehu where Tukaram was born. Though four hundred years apart in time, both share the same na-tive universe. Though Hande has been living Europe for about thirteen years now and has become a Dutch citizen, his cultural signature has remained the same. He coninues to write excellent poetry in Marathi and his paintings are nourished by visual forms that can be traced back to rural Maharashtra. His sence of colour, texture and form is dis-tinctly Indian. In ‘Tuze Roop Maze Dene’ his Indianness comes out even at the conceptual and thematic level. Yet Bhaskar Hande’s Indiannes is not ethnicity worn on the sleeve. It is the very substance of his cultural identity in a multi-cultural, global community of artists. It is remarkable that he brings the refereshing force of Tukaram’s poetic vision into his paint-ings and sculptures giving them a com-prehensive cultural context. Any serious evaluation of these works will have to account for their cultural orgin. Bhakti Abhyaspeeth decide to sponsor ‘Tuze Roop Maze Dene’ precisely because it is the first large-scale effort by any contemporary

artist to interpret the work of a major bhakta poet or to calim inspiration from traditional bhakti poetry. This is a novel dialogue between the language of poet-ry and the language of painting in which motifs from the unique religious culture of varkari pilgrims figure prominently. Hande’s leitmotif is the key image of Vithoba given varied geometric and per-spectival treatment by the artist. Semi-abstract shapes and figures of objects familiar to the people or rural Maha-rashtra, tools and implements used by farmers or rural housewives for example, spring up in striking forms and compo-sitions throughout these works. Many of Tukaram’s poems have picturesque, vivid visual imagery. They become texts for Hande at the level of painting. Yet Hande;s work in not crudely illustrative or elaborately narrative though subtly suggestive of its cultural origin. ‘Bhakti Abhyaspeeth’ has been founded fot the study of bhakti in all its socio-cultural dimensions as the main-spring of the Marathi literary tradition. It proposes to establish four centres of reserch and museums at Dehu, Nevase, Paithan and Pandharpur. It will also en-courge translations of Bhakti literature and documentation of recitation, sing-ing, dancing, bhajan, keertan and so forth. It will support interpretations of bhakti tradition in new and non-tradition-al media because ‘Bhakti Abhyaspeeth’ has been founded in the belief that the bhakti tradition is a vital component of the continuity of Marath culture as well as its dynamics of change.

DILIP CHITRE

“VwPo én _mPo XoUo’ ho {MÌ {eënàXe©Z AZoH$ AWmªZr Zì`m dmQ>m emoYUmao Agco Var EH$m AWu na§naoÀ`m _hm_mJm©cm AZwgaUmao Amho. _mÌ hm _hm_mJ© AmYw{ZH$ H$mimVë`m H$cmd§Vm§Zm n[a{MV Zgë`m_wio ho {MÌ {eënàXe©Z Ë`m§À`mhr à{V^ocm MmcZm XoUmao R>aoc. {MÌH$ma-H$dr ^mñH$a hm§S>o ho _yi _mdi ^mJmVco. C§~«O ho Ë`m§Mo Jmd. eoVH$ar Hw$Qw>§~mV OÝ_coco hm§S>o {MÌH$coÀ`m AmdS>rnm`r _w§~B©À`m ga Oo. Oo. H$cm àemcoV XmIc Pmco. VoWyZ Cn`mo{OV H$coMr nX{dH$m {_idë`mZ§Va Vo H$cm joÌmVë`m Cƒ {ejUmgmR>r ZoXac±S> _Ü`o Joco. `wamonr` H$cm{dídmÀ`m EoZ Jm^mè`mV Vo EH$ XeH$mhÿZ OmñV H$mi dmdaco. S>oZ hmJ øm ehamV ñWm{`H$ hmoD$Z Ë`m§Zr ñWm{ZH$ H$cmdVw©im§_Ü`o Amncm O_ ~gdcm Am{U cdH$aM Ë`m§Mr àXe©Zo {Z`{_VnUo VoWo ^é cmJcr. AmO ZoXac±S>_Yrc àñWm{nV wdm H$cmd§Vm§_Ü`o Ë`m§Mr JUZm hmoVo. \«$mÝg d O_©ZrVgwÕm Ë`m§Mr {Z`{_V àXe©Zo hmoVmV. AmVm Ë`m§Zr S>M ZmJ[aH$Ëd KoVcoco Amho. ^mñH$a hm§S>o ho `mà_mUo Oar AmO EH$ A{Zdmgr ^maVr` H$cmd§V Agco Var Amnë`m _yi qnS>mer Ë`m§Zr àVmaUm Ho$cocr Zmhr. CcQ> Amnë`m _yi _amR>rnUmÀ`m H$jm é§XmdyZ Ë`m§Zr g_H$mcrZ OJ H$doV KoÊ`mMr YS>nS> Ho$cocr Amho. {MÌ{eënmÀ`m d¡pídH$ ^mfoV Ë`m§Zm _amR>r gm§ñH¥${VH$ ñdmZw^dmVyZ Amcocm Img Xoer Ame` àH$Q> Ho$cocm Amho. ^mñH$a hm§S>o `m§À`m {MÌ{eënH¥$Vt_Ü`o hm Img _amR>r gm§ñH¥${VH$ ñdmZw^d Ho$ìhm d H$moRy>Z Amcm `mMr hH$sH$VM AmnU VwPo én _mPo XoUo _Ü`o Amnmnë`m S>moù`m§Zr nmhÿ eH$Vmo. h`m àXe©ZmV ^mñH$a hm§S>o øm§Zr VwH$mam_ _hmamOm§À`m JmWocm {MÌ{eënm§À`m énmZo EH$ AmXam§Ocr dm{hcocr Amho. VwH$mo~mÀ`m H$mhr A^§Jm§Mo qMVZ H$aV AgVmZm Ë`m§À`m S>moù`m§g_moa Á`m Ñí`à{V_m dma§dma `oV am{hë`m, Ë`mVyZ {MÌo gmH$ma Pmcr. ZoXac±S>_Ü`o hm§S>o `m§Zr “nwÝhm VwH$mam_’

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CcQ> åhUm Va ømV {MÌ AmYr {eH$cmo H$s eãXm§Mr AmoiI AJmoXa Pmcr ho gm§JUo _cmM H$R>rU OmV Amho. {MÌH$coMr AmdS> hmoVr Var _mÜ`{_H$ emioV H$Yrhr {MÌH$cm hm {df` KoVcm Zmhr. Eg. Eg. gr. À`m n[ajocm _mÌ J{UVmEodOr {MÌH$coMm B{Vhmg KoD$Z CÎmrU© Pmcmo. hmM H$m` Vmo {MÌH$coer g§~§Y Amcm. _hm{dÚmc`rZ {ejUmMo H$mhrhr {ZpíMV

ZgVmZm. CXa{Zdm©hmgmR>r {MÌH$coÀ`m CnOV kmZmda {\$ë_ B§S>ñQ´>r_Ü`o ~°Za a§JdÊ`mMo H$m_ H$éZ Ë`mV a§J ^aUo Mmcy Pmco. VoWyZM H$cm _hm{dÚmc`mMr nm`ar MT>cmo. _mÌ øm gd© H$mimV gm{hË`mÀ`m AmoT>rnm`r dmMZ hmoV am{hco. OmhramV H$coÀ`m Aä`mgH«$_mV gm{hË` d {MÌ `m§Mr gm§JS> ~gcr. à{V_m ^a^a eãXmgmo~V AmH$ma KoD$ cmJë`m, “EH$_oH$m gmø H$é AdKo ~Zw gmja’’ Agë`m A^§JmÀ`m AmoirÀ`m AmYmamZo Om[hamV H$coMm amÁ` nwañH$ma {_imë`mda EH$ doJim CËgmh Amcm. Ë`mVM ZmQ>H$, {gZo_m, OmJ{VH$ Am¡Úmo{JH$ _oio, gm{hpË`H$ àH$meZo, ZdrZ ZdrZ AmoiIr ømV nmM dfmªMm {S>ßcmo_m Pmcm Ë`mdoiocm Hw$R>o VwH$mam_mMr JmWm g_Om`cm cmJcr. Vmo H$mi H$gm ApñWa hmoVm. Zì`m C_oXrMm. EH$m ZdrZ OJmMr AmoiI Pmcr. Om{hamV V§Ì

nU àíZ AmpË_H$ d ~m¡ÕrH$ g§nyU©VoMm hmoVm. ømM AdñWoVyZ naXoer àJV H$cm§Mm Aä`mg H$aUmar BÀN>m hmoD$Z Ë`mà_mUo hmcMmc Ho$cr. AmO Omo hm°c§S>_Ü`o Amho Vmo Ë`mMrM n[a[UVr. 1982 Vo 1986 hm H$mi g§nyU© doJù`m ^mfoV, g§ñH¥$VrV, dmVmdaUmV Jocm. Ë`mdoiog ~gcoco YŠHo$ doJdoJù`m nmVirdarc hmoVo. Ooìhm H$Yr _w§~B©V Amcmo hmoVmo Voìhm Kar hmoVmo. JmdmV _r _ù`mV amhUmam hmoVmo. naXoemV _r maVr` hmoVmo. øm ZgÊ`mVrc naHo$nUmMr OmUrd. Ë`m{déÕ Agcoco _mPo ApñVËd ømMr gVV AmoT>mVmU hmoV am{hcr. _r AmOhr eoVmda OmVmo VoWo em§VVoZo {dMma H$aVmo. VoWo OmÊ`mMr AmoT> H$m Amho? H$m` Amho Ago Ë`m _mVrV {H$ {OWo AgÊ`mZo naHo$nUmMr OmUrd hmoD$ XoV Zmhr. Amnco åhUVmV Vo hoM H$m? øm-VyZ {Z_m©U hmoUmar Ag§»` àíZm§Mr CÎmao ~m¡pÜXH$ ^wHo$Zo gmoS>{dcr OmVrc nU AmpË_`VoZo AmpñVH$ AgUmamcm VwH$mam_-{dR>mo~mMo AmÜ`mpË_H$ {_cmn nhmÊ`mMo YmS>g _mÌ n¡Xm hmoV§. dma§dma Vy Am_À`mVrc Zmhr ømMr OmUrd H$éZ XoU§ qH$dm _r Vw_À`mVrc Zmhr ømMr OmUrd hmoV amhU§ åhUOo H$mhr ewÐ Zmhr VgmM ~«måhUhr Zmhr VgmM {d^ŠVhr Zmhr VgmM ZmpñVH$hr Zmhr Ag§ åhUmd§ cmJoc. Joë`m gmS>o~mam dfm©V _r Xadfu ^maVmV `oVmo. nwÝhm naXoemV OmVmo. n[apñWVrMo C§M gIc añVohr Mmccmo. gwI Xw:ImMo MQ>Ho$ gmogco. _Zwî` åhUyZ Oo ^moJ AgVmV Vo AZw^dVmo Amho. _r naX-oemV H$m amhVmo ømMhr CÎma Zmhr AZ² BH$S>o H$m amhV Zmhr ømMo hr Zmhr øm AdñWocm H$mhr åhUVrc {ÛYm AdñWm. na§Vw Vg§ A{O~mV Zmhr. ho R>m_nUmZo gm§JVmo. AmIcoco AmS>mIo AZ² Ë`mV emoYm`M§ g_mYmZ ho VwH$mo~mMo {dR>mo~mcm hmi KmcUo Amho. Vgo eh XoUo Amho. ømV na§naoMm {damoYm^mg C^m amhVmo. g§ñH¥$VrMo g§H«$_U hmoVo. OrdZmMm Zdm AW© cmJVmo. VwH$mo~m {dR>mo~mMo EH$mM nmVirda Xe©Z KS>Vo. øm g§nyU© H$cm H¥$Vr {Z{_ÎmmZo lr. {Xcrn {MÌo `m§À`m nwÝhm VwH$mam_ øm _amR>r g{_joMm \$ma _moR>m hmV^ma cmJcm. Ë`m§À`m _mÂ`m d¡`{º$H$ _¡Ìrì`{V[aº$ nwñVH$mVrc YmaXma e¡crZo JmWoH$S>o

Deity XodVm

nmhÊ`mMr EH$ doJir ZOa Amcr. 1990 _Ü`o lr. {MÍ`m§Zm {Xgcocm _mPm XeH$ H$mì`g§J«hmVrc XmoZ nmVù`mdarc AmË_{dîH$ma VgmM {dR>mo~mÀ`m AmaoIZmVrc OmoaH$g R>mognUm cmoH$ H$cm gmÑí` dmQ>cm. gd© n[a{MV Agcoë`m {dR>mo~mÀ`m _yVrV cmoH$H$cm Am{U A{^OmV H$cm `m§À`m {g_maofocmM MnIc ñne© Pmcocm {Xgcm. cmoH$H$coMo R>gR>erV, OmoaH$g Am{U {MÌ~Õ én {ZdSy>Z _m§S>coco {Xgco. {MÌ H$mì` øm g§H$ënZm _mÂ`mM H$mì` g§J«hmVyZ {Z_m©U hmoD$Z Ë`mV {Xgcoco {dÇ>cén nwT>o A^§JmÀ`m gmo~V dmT>V Joc§ AZ JmWoVrc A^§JmVyZ VwH$mam_ _hmamOm§Zr _m§S>coë`m à{V_m, à{VH$o, énHo$, øm§Mm EH$ nQ>M S>moù`mg_moa ZmMV am{hcm. AJXr Q>mi hmVr KoVcoë`m dmaH$è`m§nar Jocr 5 df} gVV aoImQ>Zo, {MÌ, {eën _wX«m{MÌ, {gëH${ñH«$Z Aem doJdoJù`m _mÜ`_mV H$m_ H$aV Amho. ho gd© H$m_ EImÚm {Z`{_V [a`mPmgmaIo Pmco Amho. Jocr {H$˶oH$ df} `wamonr` H$cm {dídmÀ`m EoZ Jm^mè`mV ahmVmo Amho. aoå~«m§Q>, pìhÝg|Q> ìh°Z Jm°J, {nQ> _m±ÐrAmZ øm§À`m H$coMm dmagm Agcoë`m XoemV ~hwg§»` {MÌ-{eënH$mam§À`m_Ü`o dmdaV Amho. {Z`{_V àXe©Zo ^adVmo. _mÌ VwH$mam_ Jm-WoVrc A^§JmVyZ ñ\w$acoë`m H$cmH¥$Vr EH$Ì Aem \$ŠV àW_ ^maVmV XmIdV Amho d Z§Va `wamonmV XmI{dUma Amho. ho gd© H$aVmZm `wamonmMr gm§ñH¥${VH$ n[apñWVr ~XcV Amho. H$cm{dídmV _aJi Amcocr Amho. {nH$mgmo, {_amo, hoÝar_wa `m§Mm H$mi Jocm. AmVm ZdrZ H$m` ømMm {dMma gmè`m wamon^a Mmcy Amho. {H$Ë`oH$ J°cè`m ~§X hmoV AgVmZm Z¡amí`mMo dmVmdaU Joë`m AY©eVH$mV Amho. _cm _mÌ VwH$mo~m-{dR>mo~mÀ`m g§^mfUmV Ag§»` AmH$ma à{V_m {XgVmV. Ë`m H$moUË`mhr B§P_À`m aMZoVrc ZmhrV Ë`mMr ½dmhr XoVmV. _J Vo Z¡amí`mMo gmdQ> H$m nm§KéZ ¿`m`M§? AmO {MÌ H$er {dH$cr OmVrc ømda {dMma Z H$aVm AmOÀ`m dñVwpñWVrV doJir {Z{_©Vr H$er hmoB©c BH$S>o cj {Xco nm{hOo. à{VHy$c n[apñWVrV Joë`m XmoZ eVH$m§Mr

^a^amQ>rMr H$ma{H$X© Ho$ìhm Var d¥ÕmnH$mimcm `oU-maM. ~XcmÀ`m {g_maofm AmnUmcm AmoiIVm `oV ZmhrV. AmnU AmgnmgM Hw$R>oVar MmcV AgVmo. AmOda Pmcoë`m OmhramV H$coMr CÞVr AZ² {MÌ{eën H$mì` m§Mr gm§JS> VgoM {dewÕ H$coMr hmoV Mmccocr {nN>ohmQ> `m§Mm Hw$R>oVar øm g§nyU© {MÌ-{eën H¥$Vrda n[aUm_ Pmcm Agoc Vmo ZmH$maVm `oV Zmhr. Zd{Z{_©VrÀ`m OmoemV AZoH$ à{H«$`m KS>VmV Ë`mM§ àmË`{jH$ H$aVmZm ~amM H$mi \$ŠV {dM-mamVM OmVmo. Ë`mÀ`mda \$ma ~§YZ `oVmV. hm àH$ën V`ma hmoVm hmoVm _mÂ`m S>M {_Ìm§Zr hmÝg, ßcmoån, coAmo, \$mZ gmë_ Pmë`m VgoM nmocre {_Ìm§Zr VwH$mam_ _hmamOm§À`m A^§JmMo lr. {Xcrn {MÌo `m§À`m B§J«Or AZwdmXmdéZ ^mfm§Vao Ho$crV. coP°H$ ~moamoìhñH$s nmocre àmÜ`mnH$m§Zr _amR>r {eH$Ê`mMm Ü`mg KoVcm Amho. `wamonmV {MÌ{eën cdH$a g_OyZ KoVmV. Ë`mV VwH$mam_ Ë`m§Zr AJXr AmYw{ZH$ H${d dmQ>Vmo. ho Z_yX H$aUo _hÎdmMo dmQ>Vo. `wamonmVrc H$cmàdmhmV _amR>r gm{hË`àdmh gm_rc hmoV Amho. AZ² VwH$mam_mMo n`m©`mZo ^{º$Mo d¡pídH$Ëd {gÕ hmoV Mmcco Amho.

^mñH$a hm§S>o 1995

The sense of belonging A personal view In India I have very often been asked: how did you get interested in Tu-karam? A question that is asked by com-mon people, journalists, press reporters, critics and enthusiasts who know the background. They were simply puzzled by my passion. My journey led me from Umbraj to Bombay , and then to The Hague in Holland . I was a 17-year-old teenager from Umbraj, who had spent nine years as a Mumbaikar and twenty-five years as a foreigner. All these years I lived among dif-ferent peoples, struggling to survive. I led a restless life, but never stopped reading and writing. I traveled along many high-ways and byways. In the process I kept remembering my village, which seemed so attractive compared to the rat race of city life and the absence of my mother tongue among different peoples in foreign sur-roundings. And so I became introverted. The distance made me even more aware of my childhood memories of the country-side, my culture and religion—they domi-nated my thoughts; and naturally found their way into my writing. My first collection of poems, “Dashak” (Decade) was partly influenced by these impressions. Tukaram’s roots in this soil are deep. When I first encountered his vers-es, my understanding had just begun, my eyes had begun to wander, my mind was receiving all sorts of impressions and it was all like a breath of fresh air. It was because of the discussions between my parents and relatives that I saw Tukaram and Jnandev depicted in the theatre, in keertan performances and in the pilgrim-age to Pandharpur. I saw a small statue of Vitthal and Rukmini standing next to

Dei

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the God Khandoba, paintings and statues of varkaris and saints inside and outside the temples. These impressions were en-graved on my mind from childhood. When I first read Tukaram, his work was very hard to understand—I kept making the effort. At the time I was just be-ginning to understand the power of writing. For my secondary school examinations I chose art history instead of mathematics. I wasn’t sure of further schooling, so to make a living I joined a firm that made film posters in Bombay . In 1979 I was taking lessons at the Art Academy in Mumbai. Visuals accompanied the words, and vice versa. I find it difficult now to recall which came first, the visuals or the words. I was interested in the arts, but didn’t put much effort into it. I was doing mostly stage per-formances. With my natural talent for the fine arts, I began to draw larger-than-life faces of movie stars, and colored them with oil paint. I realized the need for proper art ed-ucation. I got admission to the Art Acad-emy . I was supposed to attend evening courses in literature but it was simply not possible. I avidly read all kinds of new writ-ing. In applied art, literature and the visual arts became more elaborate, supporting each other. I got more interested in my studies, won State Awards and people took an interest in my work. Drama, cin-ema, world trade fairs, literary publications and a new circle of friends occupied me day and night. After five years in an ad-vertising course I obtained my Diploma of Applied Arts. And then started my mission to explore Tukaram’s Gatha in depth. I went through an unstable period of my life in terms of hope and confidence. I had come to know another world. Adver-tising was a glamorous field, but I wanted to gain a full awareness of my capacities

and intellectual ability. I started gathering information on advanced study in the arts in foreign countries and cultures—I made my move accordingly. That’s how I arrived in Holland . From 1983 to 1987 I lived in a completely different culture, with a different language and atmosphere. There were jarring contrasts: in the village I was a farm boy, in the city I was a country bum and in that foreign country I was an Indian. So I became conscious that I was nowhere—certainly not among my own people—and I felt like an alien. Whenever I got a chance I vis-ited the farm and enjoyed my stay there. Why this longing? I kept thinking about this. Where on this earth would I not have the feeling of being a stranger? I tried to find an answer to this question. Gradually, I began to understand the spiritual harmo-ny between Tukaram and Vithoba. I began to see the meaning of not belonging to a people or a place. This is not a happy state to be in: neither a believer or devotee, nor an atheist. Then I started to believe in my own being. During the past twenty-five years I’ve been travelling between Europe and India . I’ve seen many aspects of life, come across many incidents, but I still cannot answer this question: why do I live in Europe and not in India , or why in India and not in Europe . One might say this is paradoxical, but I don’t see it that way. I search for meaning in the paradoxes or contradictions that these different tradi-tions present. Together they become a mixture of philosophies, cultures and tra-ditions, out of which my life has acquired a new meaning. The devotee and the deity stand face to face, like Tukaram and Vitho-ba. The idea of combining visuals and poetry was fleshed out when I pre-sented Dashak (Decade) in an exhibition.

I selected ten poems and made paintings out of them. In one of the poems I realized the form of Vitthal. In the process of read-ing the abhangas in Tukaram’s Gatha the form became vivid. Images, forms, sym-bols and metaphors surface again and again in Tukaram’s verses. They inspired me. I produced drawings, paintings, sculptures, and graphics such as litho silk-screens. I have worked constantly in the spirit of meditation. During my travels to and from my native place I read many books to satisfy my hunger for knowledge. Among them were Dilip Chitre’s books, ”Punha Tu-karam”, and”Says Tuka” (selected verses by Tukaram in English translation). They quickened my desire to critically examine Tukaram and his poetry. I’ve lived in Europe for the past twenty-five years. Visual art has been developing in Europe since the fifteenth century. Holland is the land of Rembrandt , Vermeer, Van Gogh, Piet Mondrian and many other masters. That golden age is known to Europe and the whole world as the art of and for the common man, but this happened only in Holland . I work here and simultaneously exhibit my works. The cultural face of Europe is changing. The art world has come to the end of the road, and all isms are feeding on themselves. Flashes of genius are now emerging the world over, not just in certain regions. Ma-levich, Paul Klee, Picasso, Miro, Dali, Henry Moore—all have passed into history. They have brought people to the museums so they can be spiritually enriched. Now the art scene is desperately seeking new hori-zons. I saw many images and forms in the dialogue between Tukoba and Vitho-ba. Those images and forms I put togeth-er, with colour, in the project “Your form

is my creation”. It does not belong to any particular ism or style; it stands on its own. It is like a meditation on the visual world. Visual art has been well-devel-oped in Europe over five centuries, and it has had its ups and downs according to the growth and development of Europe . Somewhere or other change takes place but we’re hardly aware of it in our lifetime, though we may be nearby. In April 2008 I came back to India by land from Holland with an art caravan. Along the roads of the Indian subcontinent I exhibited the work of artists from 80 na-tions in ten Indian cities, from Amritsar to Bangalore, under the title, SHOW YOUR HOPE—80 Questions Around the World. I decided to travel with the Pandharpur Vari (pilgrimage) to experience a centuries-old tradition, sketch book and camera in hand to celebrate Tukaram’s 400th birth anni-versary with his Palkhi. I walked with the common folk and witnessed the glorious celebration of the life of a great poet. This celebration by hundreds of thousands, full of life, speaks more persuasively than all the words of Tukaram and the other saint poets.

Bhaskar Hande 2008

VwPo én _mPo XoUo ‘YOUR FORM IS MY CREATION’

Devotee ^³V

537 ~mocmo A~mocUo _amo{Z`m {OUo Agmo{Z ZgUo O{Z Amåhm ^moJr Ë`mJ Omcm g§JrM Ag§J Vmo{S>`oco cmJ _mJ XmoÝhr VwH$m åhUo Zìho {XgVmo _r V¡gm nwgUo Vo nwgm nm§Sw>a§Jm

I speak a language of silenceI am already dead.

Being for me is not being among people.

What I consume is already sacrificed.I am alone in the company of all.I have cut off all connections.Between ends and means.

Says Tuka, I am not what I seem to be :If you have any questions, ask Pandurang.

556 H$mhrM _r Zìho H$mo{U`o JmdrMm EH$Q> R>m`rMm R>m`r EH$ Zmhr OmV H$moR>o `oV {\$amo{Z`m AdKo {M dm`m{dU ~moco Zmhr _O H$moUr Amnwco Xwgao H$moUmMm _r Iao H$mhr Zìho Zmhr Amåhm Á`mdo _amdo cmJV Amhmo AI§{S>V O¡go V¡go VwH$m åhUo Zdén Zmhr Amåhm doJim øm H$_m© AH$_m©gr

I ‘m nothingA nobodyNativeOf nowhereI am aloneIn my own place

I do not visitAny placeI neither comeNor go I talkTo emptiness

NobodyBelongs to meI belongTo nobodyNone of this is trueI do notHave to liveI do notHave to dieI amUndivided

Says TukaI have no nameOr formI am neither activeNor passive

692 Zìho eãX EH$ Xoer gm§S>r {Jder Hw$Umcm Omcr _mPr d¡Imar {dœ§^ar ì`mnH$ _moH${cco Omdo ~mUo ^mVm OoUo dmB©co AmVm `oWo H¡$Mm VwH$m ~moco {gH$m ñdm_rMm

It does not hit one personOr miss another

My language is ofCosmic being.

One who carries the quiverJust shoots His arrows.

Says Tuka, it is not I who aim:God hits you.

The word is not confinedTo one country.

977 H$m` AmVm Amåhr nmoQ>{M ^amdo OJ Mmidmdo ^ŠV åhÿU Eogm V[a EH$ gm§Jm Or {dMma ~hþ hmoVmo \$ma H$mgmdrg H$m` H${dËdmMr Kmcy{Z`m éT>r H$é OmoS>mOmoS>r Ajam§Mr VwH$m åhUo H$m` Jw§nmo{Z XwH$mZm amhmo Zmam`Um H$éZr KmV

Well, then God. Do you nowExpect me to feed mysefl onlyAnd amuse the worldIn the shape of your devotee?Then say so for onceUnequivocally,Because I cannot bearThis agony.

Or do you want me to write poems,CompulsivelyTurning out and fixing phrases?

Speak up, Narayana, Says Tuka-Am I to mind only my businessEven after having beenRuined

993 AUwaoUw`m WmoH$S>m VwH$m AmH$memEdT>m {Jiw{Z gm§{S>co H${ida ^d ^«_mMm AmH$ma gm§{S>cr {ÌnwQ>r Xrn COicm KQ>r VwH$m åhUo AmVm Cacmo CnH$mamnwaVm

Too scarce to occupy an atomTuka is vast as the sky.

I swallowed my death, gave up the corpseI gave up the world of fantasy.

I have dissolved God, the self, and the worldTo become one luminous being.

Says Tuka, now I remain hereOnly to oblige.

1328 `mOgmR>r Ho$cm hmoVm AQ>mhmg eodQ>Mm {Xg JmoS> ìhmdm AmVm {Z{üVrZo nmdcmo {dgmdm Iw§Q>{c`m Ymdm V¥îUo{M`m H$dVwH$ dmQ>o Om{c`m doMmMo Zmd _§JimMo VoUo JwUo VwH$m åhUo _w{º$ n[a{Ucr Zmodar AmVm {Xdg Mmar Io{i_ocr

I staked evertythingOn my last day being sweet

Now I cam certainly at peaceI have stopped thirsting after it

I am happy now that I spent myselfSinging His sacred name

Says Tuka, I am married to salvationI’ll spend a few days playfully with my bride

1337 _r {M _O ì`mcmo nmoQ>m Amnw{c`m Amcmo AmVm nwaco Zdg {ZagmoZr Jocr Amg Omcmo ~am ~ir Jocmo _amo{Z Vo H$mir XmohrH$S>o nmho VwH$m Amho V¡gm Amho

I came outOf my own womb

My prayers answeredMy longing vanished

Now I am truly strongIt’s long since I died

Looking both waysTuka is just as he is

1403 hmVr KoD${Z`m H$mR>r VwH$m cmJcm H${idam nmR>r ZoD${Z {ZO{dco ñ_emZr _mUgo Omir Vo R>mH$Ur H$m{S>co Vo AmoT>o _mJrc CnMmamMo nwT>o Zmhr dmQ>mo Amcm ^od gwI Xw:I ^mo{JVm Xod `mOgmR>r ho {Zdm©U Ho$co H${g`oco _Z VwH$m åhUo AZw^d ~am Zmhr Var emñV hmo` Mmoam

A stick in his handTuka chases his own corpse

He takes it to the crematoriumWhere bodies are laid to burn

He punishes itFor its past deeds

He fears nothingFor God can take all pleasure and pain

This is why I am determinedTo make such a clean exit

Says Tuka, it is healthier to dieThan to have a body to be punished

1524 h[aZm_mMo H$é{Z Vmé ^dqgYwnma CVacmo \$mdco \$mdco AmVm nm`r g§Vm {dZQ>cmo h[aZm_mMm eó KmoS>m g§gma JmT>m N>o{Xcm h[aZm_mMr YZwî`H$m§S>o {dÝ_wI Vm|S>o H${iH$mi `oUo {M ~io gaVo Amåhr h[aMo Zm_r cmoH$s {Vhr VwH$m åhUo Omcmo gmMo lr {dÇ>cmMo qS>Ja

Hari’s name my sail I crossThe ocean of apparent life

Surrender my self to all these saintsAnd I am so free as free

Hari’s name my sword my horseI smash the chariot of worldly life

Hari’s name my bow and arrowDeath flees from its battle with me

I rule the earth, the nether worldAnd heaven too in Hari’s name

Says Tuka I have truly becomeThe right hand of Vitthal

1607 VwH$m CVacm VwH$s Zdc Omco {Vhr cmoH$s {ZË` H$[aVmo H$sV©Z ho {M _mPo AZwð>mZ VwH$m ~¡gcm {d_mZr g§V nmhmVr cmoMZr Xod ^mdmMm ^wHo$cm

VwH$m d¡Hw§$R>mgr Zocm

Tuka has descended into Tuka :Heaven, Earth, Hell watch in wonder.

My only perfoemance of penanceIs my singing of His praises.

Tuka sits in heaven’s vehicleAs all the saints bear witness.

God starves after pure devotionSo much, He liftsTuka to heaven!

1790 ZoUo AW© H$mhr ZìhVr _mPo ~moc {dZ{dVmo H$monmc g§V PUr ZìhVr _mPo ~moc ~moco nm§Sw>a§J Ago A§Jg§J ì`mny{Z`m _O _yT>m e{º$ H¡$Mm hm {dMma {ZJ_m{XH$m§ nma ~mocmd`m am_ H¥$îU har _wHw§$Xm _wam[a ~mo~S>çm CÎmar ho {M Ü`mZ VwH$m åhUo JwéH¥$noMm AmYma nm§Sw>a§Jo ^ma KoVcm _mPm

I don’t KnowThe meaningOf what I say.It’s not meSpeakingTry to understand meO saints.Don’t lose your temperSo quick.It is not me speaking.It is Pandurang.He has possessed me.He has taken over this body.

What power to speakDo I An idiotHave?How can I speakFrom beyondThe scriptures ?“Rama Krishna HariMukunda Murari”Is all I can manageTo mumble

Says TukaBy the blessingOf my Guru,I am On my feet.All my burdenIs borneBy Pandurang.

I went beyond modestyTo attain my gole.

I entered the ocean of worldly experienceTo emergr dancing at the other shore.

I tied my own to the Lord’s nameTo make it a most pleasurable game.

Says Tuka, what reaches people isThe call of my residual speech.

2065 Cc§{K{O cmO VoU| gm{Y oc| H$mO gwI| ZmMm| n¡cVrat Jocm| ^dmMo gmJat Zm_mMr gm§JS>r gwI| ~m§Ycr AmdS>r VwH$m åhUo cmoH$m§ Cacr dmMm _mar hm§H$m

2157 {eH${dco ~moc ~moco V¡gr Zmhr Amoc AmVm Xodm g§Xoh Zmhr dm`m Jocmo `mgr H$mhr EH$m§VmMm dmg Zmhr g§H$ënmMm Zmg ~wpÜX Zmhr pñWa VwH$m åhUo eãXm Yra

I speakAs I have been taughtTo speakI do not feelAs I speak.

There is no doubt nowO Lord.I am good for nothing.

I have not becomeA recluse.I have not acted As I resoled.

Says Tuka -Neither isMy mind steady,Nor areMy wordsControlled.

2222 ^yV~mYm Amåhm Kar ho Vmo Amü`© Jm har Omcm ^º$sMm H$ig Amco dgVrgr Xmof OmJaUmMo \$i {Xcr OmoS>mo{Z Vi_i VwH$m åhUo Xodm AmhmM H$imo Amcr godm

This is really extraordinary, O Hari.You are supposed to relieve misery;And here I am, your own devotee,Whose house is haunted by poetry.

The more I excel in poems praising you,The moremy work seems flawed :This is yet another amazing parabox.Watchfulness is rewarded with anxiety.

Says Tuka, My Lord, it’s just dawned on meTo serve you is the ultimate difficulty.

If, O Murari, You find it so hardTo give as abundantly as Your name promises,I might as well somehow bide my timeThrough thick and thin with a muzzled hymn.Remember, it is the father who loses face If the sone is forced to bite the dust.

Without the salt of Your flavour, Says Tuka, I cannot savour, even my own speech.

2226 Zìho Vwåhm gar `odT>o H$maU _wamar _J O¡gm V¡gm H$mi XmQ> gmamdm nmVi ñdm_rMo Vo gm§S>o nwÌ hmoVm H$miVm|S>o eãXm Zmhr éMr _J H$moR>o VwH$m doMr

2229 nmdmdo g§Vmof Vwåhr `mgmR>r gm`mg H$ar AmdS>r dMZo nmcQy>{Z jUjUo Úmdo A^`XmZ ^y_r Z nS>mdo dMZ VwH$m åhUOo nañnao H$mhr dmT>dr CÎmao

I scribble and cancel it again,O heavenly critic, to pass your test.

I choose a word, only to change it,Hoping to find one you’d like the best.

I beg your pardon again ; and again;Lord, let not my words go waste.

Says Tuka, please, talk back at leastSo that this poem will have something to say.

Why should I set up this shop And mind its business? Why should I advertise it Making such a high pitch? What’s one small soul to you That you would run to my rescue? Isn’t it futile to hope That mounting mere words would reveal you?

A king may not grant land to the landless :But wouldn’t he at least ensureThat his subjects get a meal?After all a king must protectThe myth of his benevolence.

Don’t you see a point, O Lord?If you refuse me, says Tuka,I’d be forced to closed down your shop.

2231 H$memgmR>r ~¡gmo H$é{Z`m hmQ> dmCJm ~mo^mQ> S>m§Jmoam hm H$m` Amco EH$m OrdmÀ`m CÕmao nmder Cƒmao H$m` hmo Vo ZoXr nQ> nar AÞo Vmo Z _mar Amnw{c`m WmoagmR>r amOm VwH$m åhUo AmVm Aìho[aco Var _J H$moU H$ar XwH$mZ hm

Where does one begin with you?O Lord, you have no opening line.It’s so hard to get you started.

Everyting I tried went wrong.You’ve used up all my faculties.

What I just said vanished in the skyAnd I’ve fallen to the ground again.

Says Tuka my mind is stunned :I can’t find a word to say.

2157 H$mhrM Z cJo Am{X AdgmZ ~hþV H$R>rU {XgVgm Ad¿`mM _mÂ`m doM{dë`m eº$s Z Mcogr `w{º$ Omcr nwT>o ~mo{cco dMZ hmanco Z^r CVacmo Vmo C^r Amhmo V¡gr VwH$m åhUo H$mhr Z H$amdogo Omco W{H$V {M R>oco {MÎm CJo

The child has a quarrel of love with its fatherSo it twists its father’s dress not letting him goBackward of forward.

Would it take any great time or force to get rid of it?But the bonds of affection are too strong.

He pampers the child, finds whatever it says sweet,Feeds it a share of his own foodTo fulfil its wish.

Says Tuka, O Narayana you know who I mean :Intimate talk gives rise to no figth.

2251àrVrMm H$i hm nXamgr Kmcr nrigam| ZoXr ~mi _mJ| nwT>o {nË`mgrH$m` cmJo Ë`mgr ~i hoS>m{dVm§ H$moU H$miJmo{dV| g~i Omit ñZohgyÌm§MrgcJr {Xcm cmS> ~moco V| V| dmQ>o JmoS>H$ar ~wPmdmo{Z H$moS> hmVt XoD${Z ^mVwH|$VwH$m åhUo ~mocm| H$moUm h| H$m§ ZoUm§ Zmam`UmgcJrÀ`m dMZm H¡$M| CnOo {df_

The child has a quarrel of love with its fatherSo it twists its father’s dress not letting him goBackward of forward.

Would it take any great time or force to get rid of it?But the bonds of affection are too strong.

He pampers the child, finds whatever it says sweet,Feeds it a share of his own foodTo fulfil its wish.

Says Tuka, O Narayana you know who I mean :Intimate talk gives rise to no figth.

O kindhearted saints! you good people!This is the one favour I beg you for :Remember me to Pandurang :Beseech him to have mercy on me :

“A sinner without succour, unique among the fallen,Do not seperate him from Your feet.”

Says Tuka, once you plead on my behalf,Hari will hardly ignore me.

2256 H¥$nmiy gÁOZ Vwåhr g§VOZ h|{M H¥$nmXmZ Vw_Mo _O AmR>dU Vwåhr Úmdr nm§S>a§Jm H$s¨d _mPr gm§Jm H$mHw$cVr AZmW AnamYr n{VV AmJim n[a nm`m§doJim ZH$m H$é§ VwH$m åhUo Vwåhr {Za{dë`mdar _J _O har CnojrZm

I place all my faith at the feet of saints In every sence I am their servant

They are the ones who serve all my interestsWhich is why I have the blessing of GopalWhen I am tried, they will carry me in their arms.They are the harbingers of my happiness.

Says Tuka I love to have their leftoversI shall not break my pledge

2257 g§Vm§{M`m nm`t hm _mPm {dœmg gd©^md| Xmg Pmcm| Ë`m§Mm Vo{M _mP| {hV H$[aVr gH$i OoU| hm Jmonmi H¥$nm H$ar ^mJ{c`m _O dmhVrc H${S>`o Ë`m§{M`mZo OmoS>o gd©gyI VwH$m åhUo eof KoB©Z AmdS>r dMZ Z _moS>t ~mo{cc| V|

You take away the mind.So what is it that you give back?First, tell me that.

Only then will I makeMy own deal with you.I am not bargaining for loss.

Show me some real temptationSuch as prosperity and perfectionI have no craving for salvation.

Syas Tuka, I get what is yoursBecause the essence of BhaktiIs give and take.

2262 {MÎm KoD${Z`m§ Vy§ H$m` Xoer Eog| _Onmet gm§J AmYt V[aM n§T>aram`m H$arZ gmQ>modmQ>r ZoK| O`m VwQ>r `oB©c [a{Õ{g{Õ H$m§ht Xm{dgr A{^cmf Zmht _O Amg _wº$sMrhr VwH$m åhUo VwP| _mP| KS>o Va

^º$sMm ^md ao XoU| KoU|

It was the right thin That Narayana did. He made my jewelsPart of me.

Words came out Like flashing gems : Deep within meHe was the mine.

WordsExperienceThe meaningof beingUnended.

Says Tuka -The infinite One.My giftHas no limit.

2442 ZìhVr hr _mPr Om`mMr ^yfUo Ago Zmam`Uo C{MV Ho$co eãXmÀ`m dmodmoZr aËZ{M`m _mim _wirM {Oìhmim PadUr AWmªVar Ago AZw^dgodZ n[anmH$s _Z gmj `oWo VwH$m åhUo _O gaVo naVo

ho Zmhr AZ§Vo Camo {Xco

I have seen my death with my own eyesO what an incomparable festival it was

All the three worlds were filled with ecstasyI experienced it becoming the cosmic being

I was confined to the sole territory of my egoHaving renounced it, I enjoy the abundance of it all

I do not mourn the facts of birth and death nowI leave the remains of my shrunken self here

Narayana has given me refugeAll my feelings lie at His feet

Says Tuka, the whole world is His imprintAnd I wear it like a tattoo on my body.

2669 Amnwco _aU nm{hco å`m S>moim

Vmo Omcm gmohim AZwnå` AmZ§Xo XmQ>cr {VÝhr {Ì^wdZo gdm©Ë_H$nUo ^moJ Omcm EH$mXoer hmoVmo Ah§H$mao Am{Wcm

Ë`mÀ`m Ë`mJo Omcm gwH$mi hm

{\$Q>co gwVH$ OÝ__aUmMo _r _mÂ`m g§H$moMo Xwar Omcmo Zmam`Uo {Xcm dgVrg R>md R>ody{Z`m ^md R>ocmo nm`r VwH$m åhUo {Xco C_Qy>{Z OJr

KoVco Vo A§Jr cmdy{Z`m

The world has become a form of light,Darkness is gone.

There is no place to hide here.Everything is explicitly spread.

The day of truth has dawned.Everything is larger than language.

Says Tuka, only for the sake of life,One is still clinging to the dividing line.

2157 Ydico OJXmH$ma Am§Yma Vmo {Zagcm cnmo OmVm Zmhr R>md àJQ> nmho ngmam I[a`mMm {Xdg Amcm dmT>r ~mocm Z nwao VwH$m åhUo {Odo gmQ>r n{S>cr {_R>r Ywaogr

All I feelIs __God.God is allI believe.Who broughtThe worldInto being,Makes meSpeak.

It wasn’t I, whoOrderedThese words :The idea isHis

I wasn’t tryingTo becomeA celebrity.You’d be luckyIf you knewWhat I mean.

Says Tuka, what I sayMust be true,Because it startsFrom him.

3500 {dœmg Vmo Xod åhUw{Z Y[a ocm ^md _mPr dX{dVmo dmUr Á`mUo Y[acr YaUr Omo{S>cr Ajao ZìhVr ~wÕrMr CÎmao Zmhr Ho$cr AmQ>r H$mhr _mZX§ mgmR>r H$moUr ^m½`d§V V`m H$ioc C{MV VwH$m åhUo Pam Amho _wirMm {M Iam

The night has passed.I haven’t seen it.

I have built my nest is Narayana.My joy does not cease.

I have compressed my space.I have no room for myself.

Says Tuka, we are contained together.

We do not split for one moment.

3735 hanmo{Z Jocr {Zer {ZÐm H¡$gr Z XoImo Zmam`Ur dgco Ka {Za§Va AmZ§X AdKm éY{dcm R>md Zocm dmd _r _mPo VwH$m åhUo EHo$ R>m`r Agy Zmhr jU {^Þ

I burnt the seed itselfAnd pop it wentNow I have gone beyondLife and death

What space can enclose my form?My body itself is God.

Sugar does not becomeSugarcane again.We will never grow In another womb.

Says Tuka,This is absolute awakening :There is PandurangIn everything.

4306 ~rO ^mOw{Z Ho$cr cmhr Amåhm OÝ__aU Zmhr AmH$mamer H¡$Mm R>md XohàË`j Omcm Xod gmH$aoMm Zìho Cg Amåhm H¡$Mm J ©dmg VwH$m åhUo Am¡Km OmoJ gdm© KQ>r nm§Sw>a§J

We have bulit ourselves a house in empty spaceWe reside in formless enternity

We are one with a reality bereft of illusionsWe experience a wholeness that cannot be fragmented

Says Tuka, we do not have an ego any more,We have become what is immutable and pure

4326 {Za§OZt Amåht ~m§{Y oc| Ka {ZamH$mat {Za§Va am{hcm|g| {Zam^mgt nyU© Omcmo g_ag AI§S> EoŠ`mg nmdcm| Amåhr VwH$m åhUo AmVm§ Zmht Ah§H$mé Omcmo VXmH$ma {ZË` ewÕ

My first verse will thread the Three WorldsI shall sing of my sacred Pandurang

My second verse will find otherness nowhereIn crowds and forests I find Pandurang

My third verse in fathomless spaceThe whole of God is forests and crowds

My forth verse is a mill and everything’s gristI grind all into one being, Pandurang

My fifth verse is my home where I was bornI shall sing of Pandurang on and on

My sixth verse beings where the six scriptures endAnd there is my Guru, Pandurang

My seventh verse is constant rememberingPandurang in my eyes absolutely still

My eighth verse spans the twenty-eight AgesPandurang has stood still by the Chandrabhaga

My ninth verse spells the end of the grindWhole world is freed from the wheel of death

My tenth verse is addressed to the Ten AvatarasSays Tuka, I shall not return to any world again

4357 n{hcr _mPr Am|dr AmodrZ OJÌ JmB©Z n{dÌ nm§Sw>a§J Xwgar _mPr Am|dr XwO| Zmhr H$moR>o OZt dZt oQ>o nm§Sw>a§J {Vgar _mPr Am|dr {Vcm Zmht S>md AdKm{M Xod OZt dZt MdWr _mPr Am|dr d¡[ac| XiU JmB©Z {ZYmZ nm§S>wa§J nm§Mdr _mPr Am|dr _m{P`m _mhoam JmB©Z {Za§Vam nm§Sw>a§Jm ghmdr _mPr Amo§dr gmhmhr AmQ>co Jwé_y{V© oQ>cr nm§Sw>a§J gmVdr _mPr Am|dr AmR>do doimodoim§ ~¡gcmgo S>moim§ nm§Sw>a§J AmR>dr _mPr Am|dr AÇ>mdrg wJ| C^m M§Ð^mJo nm§Sw>a§J Zddr _mPr Am|dr gac| XiU MwH$co _aU g§gmatMo Xhmdr _mPr Am|dr Xhm AdVmam Z `md| g§gmam VwH$m åhUo

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