This is what I am supposed to write about today and it makes me realise how poorly read I am.
I think hard, and one book comes to my mind, it is a collection of essays in my native language called Laxmi Nibindha Sangrahaa, written by Mahakabi Laxmi Prasad Devkota. I read this one when I was very young,and I has shaped my thoughts and emotions to a great extent. I just clicked to me that my philosophical take on life is a product of getting to read this great literature early. For those who don’t know what I am talking about, maybe someday I will translate one of his essays, or a poem. Then you will know what I am taking about.
(I am from Nepal)
And there’s this great ccollection of poems by Bhupi Serchaan (I have managed to pose some of them in my blog) called ghumne mech maathi andho manche. Roughly it translates, a blind man in a swivel chaair.
Hemingway’s Farewell to Arms, Eric Segal’s Doctors, Garcia’s One thousand years of Solitude, Khaled Hosseini‘s The kite Runner, and Paulo Coelho’s Warrior of Light are my favorite too.
Writers have written so much, and so good, its such a wonderful thing.
Here’s my amateurish translation of a stanza from Devkota’s poem Pravu ji malai bhedaa baanau- God, make me a Sheep!
For one prude runny nose,
Forged knowledge from Ved Vyaas
and million followers!
p.s- Dear readers, if you could suggest me some book, I’d like that very much. I want to read more, much more.