Or I could tell of you of when I first saw his painting. This man with the coal black eyes. I saw him once, I spoke to him, did I tell you? But that is later. These paintings that you treat as casually as the sheets on your bed, like the food at the table, like the million things that are given to you that you thrive in the security of, that you imagine are as easy to get as the air that you breathe and the water that you drink ( god willing, let it always be so)these paintings are as important, as precious, as hard earned as those things. This is something you will recognise with time.
I like the painting of Ma.
The studio is flying high over the city of Nasik, Babarya looks below: the Godavari is a thick thread of silver in the 'land sky', her banks tied to the thin stakes of the pennant like temples which have,like small birds, dug their claws into her sides. The sky rapidly turns grey from its midnight blue, and then, is dyed pink and orange that breaks into the still blue of morning. The sleeping studio is coming alive. Babarya peers in- wrestlers are swinging wooden lathes above their heads, by the bear cage, two men sit in the breaking light, their hands pulling out a basket full of a purple leaf, another man is stumbling with a basket over his head. A man in a elaborate costume of a doctor, is checking the chests of every man as he passes.
The children are sleepily lined up in a long corridor, with their chewing sticks, the wrestlers and vegetable carriers are walking past their still forms. At the end of the corridor two men are fencing in the open verandah, the sound cuts into the morning with the tedium of routine. Babarya sees that he and Prabhakar have cornered Mandakini and are getting her to do an imitation of Dada. She does a fine one, pushed against the wall by the crowd of children, and slowly, the adults who gather to see. She pulls in her lips, pushes up her chin at an angle and narrows her eyes significantly, before she speaks, letting her audience enjoy the sight of Dada in repose. And then, imitating his baritone, she says " When there is no paper, then we draw. When there is no training, we make films. What do you call it when light falls on a plate of repulsion?"
Neelkanth immediately chirps up
The others are all besides themselves, laughing. Saravati is wiping the edges of her eyes, in her mirth.
Dewan Tanjore Madhav Rao requests Sri Ravi Verma to make oleographs. But these are made by Ravi Varma only a decade later.
A dream of Raja Ravi Varma from Sauda
Ravi Varma was sleeping. The enchanting Sugandha, in the garb of Urvashi, was lying beside him on the bedstead, as if perched in the air. The window revealed the full moon light, with a fleet of sheep in its spread, like the Gandharvas from the heavens itself had loosened them. In a state of nakedness, Ravi got up as the lightening smashed into the sky. In that flash of light Sugandha saw Ravi and quivering, flew from the patio, vanishing into the sky. Ravi, as Puru, kept staring at her, floating further away from him in the firmament. He woke up from the dream, but the aura of it still lingered. He moved to the easel, but the brush would not trace that image.
Urvashi leaves Pururavas. She had once sought him out, propelled by her attraction to the man. The celestial nymph had become obsessed with a mortal, (so what if he was a king). She became his charioteer for days, dressed as a male, and finally revealed herself as the startlingly beautiful woman that she was. How could he resist her?
They were to live together, the creature of earth with the creature of the sky, on one condition, that she was to never see him completely nude. They lived within the night therefore, hidden from her eyes. Purvuras had gone into the bedroom, looking to conquer, and feel even more vainglorious as a man who had seduced a celestial being, but he was soon singed, just like she was.
They lived immersed in each other Till one day, the Gandharvas, the lovers that Urvashi had deserted, plotted and stole her beloved goat kid. Urvashi woke with a start and immediately woke Purvuras and asked him to leave and bring it back for her. Like Draupadi would ask Bhim for the Himalayan flower or Sita asked Rama for the golden deer. With even more urgency, almost like she was blaming him. Purvuras, startled from sleep by the sharpness of her tongue, unable to think as he heard her exhortation-accusation, just strode to the door and into the light that streamed in.. and so he lost his Urvashi
A popular song of J.J. School of Arts:
Jamsetjeemn Jabajeboy/ Jabberi dobi Porie/ Ikey Pickey Sikey Criky/ Chillungow llabdori
Ramkrishna Paramhansa visits and is entranced by Chaitanya Leela performed in Star Theatre, Calcutta. He goes into a reverie. The play itself is probably a result of the growing popularity of the Chaitanya Bhakti kirtans, resurrected by the Brahmo Samaj.
Fountain pen- Waterman Roll Film- Eastman Skyscrapers. Cocaine. Edison's peep shows.[Edison kinetoscope films 1894 -1896 www.youtube.com]
a large number of works on Indian folk stories published. Indian Fairy Tales (1880) Legends of the Punjab (Vol. 1, 1883-84) Damant's translation of Bengali legends in the Indian Antiquary (1872-8) Folk Tales of Bengal ( 1883) Wide Awake Stories (1884)
He watched her disappear as her illness took hold of her. He would feel the eerie silence of the dance room when he passed it by. Alone in his official carriage one day, he had turned his eyes away from a shop which had tablas hanging on its porticos.
She looked smaller and smaller in those gleaming silks. Maybe this sight decided his lifelong aversion to royal shine and decoration, his famed propensity to keep things a bit simple, had its roots in this moments, when he saw this small woman who looked like she was being devoured by the ageless gloss of her silks. She looked so weak, he heard the sound of something break like a large twig in his heart when he saw her, and knew she was going to go away.. even as he fought that knowledge as soon as it appeared to him in a clear sentence- she is dying, a loud voice repeated on and on inside him as he looked at her. His head would give a sudden shake of denial.
Maharani Chimnabai(1) dies of tuberculosis.
Linotype, a method of creating movable type by machine instead of by hand, was introduced in 1884 and marked a significant leap in production speed. Previous to the introduction of linotype machines each individual letter had to be placed on an iron tray before it could be used, a painstakingly slow process. With the introduction of linotype machines the efficiency of the printing press was improved dramatically. 
rotogravure tested in england by karel klic