Books and Blessings

A City Remembered

Some places are never new. They live within us quietly until, one day, they return in a different form and reveal themselves again. For me, Dharwad has always been such a place.

As a child, Dharwad meant relatives and, at most, the words “All India Radio Dharwad” from my music teacher. But years later, #77Indira became my vantage point into Dharwad once again. And this time, it wasn’t just about relatives or radio stations — it was about the gems of Dharwad, the people whose lives and legacies make the city feel alive.

Gift of Knowledge

This journey began with a conversation. Prof. Vinod Gaikwad mentioned Dr. Amrit Yardi, who had translated Sangya Balya into Marathi. Something in me knew I had to meet him.

On 18th September 2025, I called him. By Saturday morning, he phoned to ask if I had left, and gave me clear directions to his home. With a box of Kunda in hand and my best friends Sanjeevini and Sudarshini as companions, we drove down to Dharwad. With Sudarshini at the wheel, the 80-minute journey felt like flying on four wheels.

At his doorstep, Dr. Yardi welcomed us warmly. His first question was, “Why Sangya Balya?” And just like that, a new chapter began. He gifted me a signed copy of his book, asked me to return, and promised that next time we would visit the places of G. A. Kulkarni. I left his home full, carrying more than a book — carrying a blessing.

Kalburgi’s Silent Home

Our next stop was the Kalburgi Trust, where I met Veeranna Rajoor, its President. It struck me only when I entered that this was the home of M. M. Kalburgi. A police constable guided us to the office, where Rajoor sir spoke with us about Sangya Balya.

Echoes at AIR

Meanwhile, Dr. Sanjeev Kulkarni (Sanjeev anna) had already called. All India Radio Dharwad (AIR Dharwad) was our next destination, and he agreed to meet us there — a gesture that humbled me deeply.

At the AIR station gate, another gem awaited us: Dr. Shashidhar Narendra, AIR artist for decades. I had first met him in 2017 at Kurukshetra during the All India Sanskar Bharati Sammelan, where we performed Yakshagana. I knew he was a lead figure in the Belgaum Sanskar Bharati group, but we had never interacted deeply. This time, Sangya Balya became the bridge.

The three of us — Sanjeev anna, Narendra sir, and I — sat together. What else could the discussion be but Kuvempu, Bendre, Kurtkoti? Their conversation flowed with the intimacy of memory, while I listened in awe, overwhelmed by the presence of such living legacies.

Then Dr. Narendra casually asked, “Want to see the studio?” That was not a question — it was destiny.

As I stepped into the corridor, I realized: every name I know in Indian history must have walked here, breathed here, created legacy here. In the music room, the sight of instruments was emotional for me. I imagined who must have sat here, rehearsing before recordings.

Meanwhile, Sanjeev anna and Dr. Narendra continued recalling memories — not as history, but as lived experience. They spoke of artists and thinkers, of moments shared, of the spirit of Dharwad itself. I could only listen, knowing I was standing in the same space where 75 years of history had been sung, spoken, and recorded.

(L to R) Shashidhar Narendra, Sanjeev Kulkarni, Vaibhav, Sudarshini & Sanjeevani

Manohar Granth Mala

After lunch and a paan, my journey led me to Manohar Granth Mala (MGM). For me, MGM is synonymous with my god — Dr. Girish Karnad, a pillar of Indian theatre. Ever since a small chat with him on Hayavadana in 2015, he has been a god-like figure in my life.

At the Book Brahma Lit Fest earlier this year, I had met Sameer Joshi, the visionary custodian of MGM. When I called him now, he simply said, “Come, I’ll wait for you.”

Walking up Subhash Market Road, I saw the MGM board above a tailoring shop and felt my heart race. Inside, Sameer welcomed me warmly, but for me, the space itself was like entering a sacred archive — pure, serene, and overwhelming.

Then, the treasures began to appear. Sameer showed me original handwritten scripts — one by one. When he brought out Karnad’s Hayavadana manuscript, I froze. Complete, with title, preface, and the entire play. I hesitated to touch it, almost afraid, before finally placing my hand upon it.

I also saw Bendre’s Sakhigeete manuscript. The scribbles, deletions, corrections — things we edit digitally today — were there, marked by hand. Sameer shared how Karnad ensured that no two editions of his books were ever the same, each edit bringing a new life to the text. My respect for him multiplied infinitely.

That Sameer trusted me with this legacy is something I can never forget.

Naikar’s Gentle Words

Through Sameer, I also spoke remotely with Prof. Basavraj Naikar, who has translated Sangya Balya into English. Though age now makes hearing difficult for him, he encouraged me to write to him, promising to answer any number of questions. Even in a short call, his warmth was evident.

Patil’s Quiet Gesture

And then there was Dr. Mallikarjun Patil, professor at Karnataka University Dharwad. Despite his busy schedule, he took the time to send me a copy of the English Sangya Balya by post. A gesture small in effort, perhaps, but enormous in meaning.

A Second Homecoming

When I began, this trip was meant to be a quick visit — out by morning, back by 3 pm. Instead, we returned only by 6:30 pm, carrying not just books, but blessings, friendships, and memories.

Perhaps Dharwad is no longer just a city for me. Perhaps it is now a second home. A place where my search for out-of-print books has become a search for roots, for stories, for a literary soul that continues to breathe through people, manuscripts, and music.

Needless to say, theatre is at the heart. And now, Sangya Balya is being the soul of it.

Gearing up for this journey and curious what unfolds next.

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