And Babarya poised - Revision history

HansaThapliyal at 10:53, 13 January 2012

2012-01-13T10:53:47Z

HansaThapliyal at 05:46, 5 July 2011

2011-07-05T05:46:39Z

HansaThapliyal at 11:18, 27 June 2011

2011-06-27T11:18:58Z

HansaThapliyal at 15:53, 9 June 2011

2011-06-09T15:53:29Z

HansaThapliyal at 17:32, 6 December 2009

2009-12-06T17:32:31Z

HansaThapliyal at 08:45, 19 October 2009

2009-10-19T08:45:27Z

HansaThapliyal at 05:27, 19 October 2009

2009-10-19T05:27:09Z

HansaThapliyal at 12:50, 3 July 2009

2009-07-03T12:50:49Z

HansaThapliyal at 12:04, 25 June 2009

2009-06-25T12:04:07Z

HansaThapliyal at 11:50, 25 June 2009

2009-06-25T11:50:33Z

←Older revision		Revision as of 10:53, 13 January 2012
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	[[Image:And babarya poised 1(1).jpg]]		[[Image:And babarya poised 1(1).jpg]]
		+
		+	piaget [http://pdilber.tripod.com/jean.html]

←Older revision		Revision as of 05:46, 5 July 2011
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	1919		1919

−	[[Image:And babarya poised.jpg]]	+	[[Image:And babarya poised 1(1).jpg]]

←Older revision		Revision as of 11:18, 27 June 2011
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	Dhundiraj Govind Phalke		Dhundiraj Govind Phalke
	1919		1919
		+
		+	[[Image:And babarya poised.jpg]]

←Older revision		Revision as of 15:53, 9 June 2011
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−	.. before a tin moon, suspended from the ceiling, is holding my life's work, Phalke's studio, aloft in his hand. My thirteen year old son, dressed as Hanuman, bears aloft all the stories, past and present, and even the nature of how we will be forgotten or remembered in the days to come. Our lives are held in a young palm that was our creation. Among the shifting rivers that cut into his hands, seeking the final, settled form of fate, between their embankments, he bears us. His eyes still unknowing, he peers into the studio, like you might into a doll's house. And in response to our child's call for play, Saraswati and I become living dolls, and relive our lives for our children.	+	And Babaraya poised before a tin moon, suspended from the ceiling, is holding my life's work, Phalke's studio, aloft in his hand. My thirteen year old son, dressed as Hanuman, bears aloft all the stories, past and present, and even the nature of how we will be forgotten or remembered in the days to come. Our lives are held in a young palm that was our creation. Among the shifting rivers that cut into his hands, seeking the final, settled form of fate, between their embankments, he bears us. His eyes still unknowing, he peers into the studio, like you might into a doll's house. And in response to our child's call for play, Saraswati and I become living dolls, and relive our lives for our children.

	I who would greedily let my camera swallow moments, capture them and make them mine, am going to try and retrieve moments from my own life for my child.Not captured on any glass plate, not processed by any camera. which therefore, are actually dead forever. I shall be magician again, and try and conjure them up, and disguise the fact that it is all an illusion. Nothing exists of these moments any more, only perhaps my own strong desire for immortality which I am seeking to imprint on my child.		I who would greedily let my camera swallow moments, capture them and make them mine, am going to try and retrieve moments from my own life for my child.Not captured on any glass plate, not processed by any camera. which therefore, are actually dead forever. I shall be magician again, and try and conjure them up, and disguise the fact that it is all an illusion. Nothing exists of these moments any more, only perhaps my own strong desire for immortality which I am seeking to imprint on my child.

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 .. before a tin moon, suspended from the ceiling,  is holding my life's work, Phalke's studio, aloft in his hand. My thirteen year old son, dressed as Hanuman, bears aloft all the stories, past and present, and even the nature of how we will be forgotten or remembered in the days to come. Our lives are held in a young palm that was our creation. Among the shifting rivers that cut into his hands, seeking the final, settled form of fate, between their embankments, he bears us. His eyes still unknowing, he peers into the studio, like you might into a doll's house. And in response to our child's call for play, Saraswati and I become living dolls, and relive our lives for our children.
-I who would greedily capture moments and pin them into the glass cases of my films shall try and show my child moments from our lives, which are not captured in any glass case, which therefore, are actually dead forever. I shall be magician again, and try and conjure them up, and disguise the fact that it is all an illusion. Nothing exists of these moments any more, only perhaps my own strong desire for immortality which I am seeking to imprint on my child.
+I who would greedily let my camera swallow moments, capture them and make them mine, am going to try and retrieve moments from my own life for my child.Not captured on any glass plate, not processed by any camera. which therefore, are actually dead forever. I shall be magician again, and try and conjure them up, and disguise the fact that it is all an illusion. Nothing exists of these moments any more, only perhaps my own strong desire for immortality which I am seeking to imprint on my child.
 Trymbakeshvar, where I was born, lives on the banks of the holy Ganga Godavari.

←Older revision		Revision as of 08:45, 19 October 2009
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	Dhundiraj Govind Phalke		Dhundiraj Govind Phalke
−	~~1917~~	+	1919

←Older revision		Revision as of 05:27, 19 October 2009
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	Trymbakeshvar, where I was born, lives on the banks of the holy Ganga Godavari.		Trymbakeshvar, where I was born, lives on the banks of the holy Ganga Godavari.

		+
		+	Dhundiraj Govind Phalke
	1917		1917

←Older revision		Revision as of 12:50, 3 July 2009
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	Trymbakeshvar, where I was born, lives on the banks of the holy Ganga Godavari.		Trymbakeshvar, where I was born, lives on the banks of the holy Ganga Godavari.
		+
		+	1917

←Older revision		Revision as of 11:50, 25 June 2009
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−	.. before a tin moon, suspended from the ceiling, is holding my life's work, Phalke's studio, aloft in his hand. My thirteen year old son, dressed as Hanuman, bears aloft all the stories, past and present, and even the nature of how we will be forgotten or remembered in the days to come. Our lives held in a young palm that was our creation. Among the deeply etched rivers/shifting rivers, the embankments on that palm, he bears us. His eyes still unknowing, he stares at us, like you might into a doll's house. And in response to our child's call for play, Saraswati and I ~~come alive to~~ relive our lives for our children~~, once again~~.	+	.. before a tin moon, suspended from the ceiling, is holding my life's work, Phalke's studio, aloft in his hand. My thirteen year old son, dressed as Hanuman, bears aloft all the stories, past and present, and even the nature of how we will be forgotten or remembered in the days to come. Our lives held in a young palm that was our creation. Among the deeply etched rivers/shifting rivers, the embankments on that palm, he bears us. His eyes still unknowing, he stares at us, like you might into a doll's house. And in response to our child's call for play, Saraswati and I becoming living dolls, and relive our lives for our children.

−	~~To many years ago~~, on the banks of the holy ~~river called~~ Ganga Godavari~~, which mothers the towns of Trymbakesvar and Nasik~~.	+	I who would grab moments by the handful and pin them into the glass cases of my films shall see recaptured moments of our lives falling against each other, shrieking on their confused way to the ground.
		+
		+	Trymbakeshvar, where I was born, lives on the banks of the holy Ganga Godavari.