Sudhakar Gaidhani is a M.A.M.F.A.(Honorary Litt.D.)Date of Birth - 18th September Place of Birth - Khapa, Dist. Nagpur-India.Former Part-time lecturer at Government BFA College, Nagpur for nine years, before that Assistant Postmaster in the Post Office In 2017, the World Academy of Arts and Culture-USA/World Congress of Poets in Mongolia awarded him the honorary doctorate "Doctor of Literature (Litt.D.)". Along with this, he has received honorary doctorates from three other world-recognized art and literature institutions.
* Honorary title of Knight from the Imperial and Royal House of Indonesia. He was awarded the William Blake International Award from Romania's 'Contact International' journal, the Silver Cross for Culture, the World Medal from Italy. In addition, he received awards of one lakh Rupees each from the Hindu Research Foundation and the Krishi Vikas Pratishthan. The Gyanyogi Award from Sahitya Vihar. The Vidyavachaspati Prof. Ram Shewalkar Award from Nagpur Municipal Corporation-Maharashtra. He is the author of the play 'Raibai Bhulabai' and has received the Maharashtra Government's Best Music Direction Award for the music direction of this play. The Maharashtra Government's Best Literature Award for the epic poem DevdootThe Angel. This book has been listed in the UNESCO List. Participation in a painting exhibition along with world known painters B.Goswami and Prof.Prakash Kawale.
Opportunity to interview world-renowned painter S.H. Raza A three-acre garden has been opened for the public by the Khapa Municipality at his birthplace, Khapa, in his honor as- "Mahakavi- Sudhakar Gaidhani Garden". Many of his poems have been translated into 38 languages of the world.
He has 6 poetry collections, 3 epic poems, 125 short radio plays and 3 stage plays to his credit. Translations of both his epic poems have been published by European and American publishers. While he was appearing for his M.A. degree examination in Marathi literature at Nagpur University, his own collection of poems was in his syllabus. The State of Birland has issued a one-pound postage stamp on him.
DARKNESS IS INFINITE
Our eyes are not self-illuminating.
But darkness has divine eyes.
The universe is illuminated
by the light reflected
from the mirror of darkness.
We are born
from the womb of darkness
and sleep soundly
in the darkness of the grave.
Darkness is egalitarian
not light.
Darkness is infinite,
not light.
ON A SINLESS PERSON'S TOUCH
"Lord,
Shall I tell you something
The stones
which remained
unthrown
At your command,
have all along
Lain as such.
These stones
have always insisted
On a sinless person's touch".
(An excerpt from my epic poem DEVDOOT THE ANGEL)
I AM A SOCRATES
I'm Socrates the fakir,
I beg you to
lend me some ink.
I have to repay
my debts to death,
And my inkpot
has no letters in it.
EGO
Ego is the backbone
of our personality.
But ego should be beautiful.
Only then can a wonderful
and beautiful creation
like the marble Taj Mahal be created.
But if ego is ugly,
then the Bibika Maqbara (tomb)
built by Emperor Aurangzeb
in memory of his queen
is made of only black stones.
THE TRUE HONOR OF POETRY
My poem said to me
in my dream yesterday,
"Oh poet, it is a crazy satisfaction
to maintain these
mementos of awards,
certificates of honor,
and records of money received.
The true honor of a poet is
when a poet's poetry brings joy
to the heart of the earth,
then the poetry with the poet
receive the rare honor
of traveling with time."
IN THE SHADOW OF THE INFINITE
(An excerpt from my epic poem
Devdoot The Angel, translated by Dr.Om Biyani)
Shadows move, talk, blossom out,
Shadows contract and grow fat.
By whom are you accompanied
In your doom?
Except for your shadow
None is in the tomb.
In the shadow of the infinite
I have rested just a while.
Don't measure the distance
Between life and death
With the length of your shadow
Short or tall
Don't devide anyone's
Shadow at all.
THE POEM AND THE AGE OF THE POET
A poet's poem wishes
to live a longer life
than the poet himself.
But this is neither
within the poet's control
nor the poem's.
That journey through life
depends solely
on the test of time.
And time tends
to care more for the fragrance
of the flowers
that have blossomed
from the seeds of the present.
THE RIVERS OF LINES ON MY PALMS
The rivers of lines
on my palms have flooded,
creating a transparent sea
in my cupped hands.
In it, my feminine soul
is engrossed in gazing
at its own reflection.
And suddenly,
the clouds of my heart began
to pour down heavily,
and the ocean started
to seethe with bubbles.
Finding this unpleasant,
the lightning of the lines
on my skull crackled.
An earthquake at the bottom
of my mind predicted,
"Beware,
the earth is setting out
towards a new universe
to assume a new form."
FIRE IN THE HEART
AND MILK IN THE BREASTS
Deep within the earth
is immense fire,
and on its surface,
the waters of seven oceans.
But the scorching flames
of the earth's fiery heart
never boil the waters
of the vast, circular ocean basin.
This is because
the earth endures this heat
only for the sake of its children—
the living beings, animals,
birds, and plants.
Just as a mother
breastfeeds her hungry child
even when she has fever.
THE MIRROR OF THE DEWDROP
SThe fragrant silver showers
of the clouds bathe her.
Then, as she adorns herself
by looking in the dewdrop's mirror,
the dewdrop gets in a thrilling mood
and says to her lovingly -
"My dear, take me for a moment
on the lotus petals
of your very beautiful pink lips.
My fleeting youth will be blessed
in the dream of your fickle gaze."
Sudhakar Gaidhani's poetry collection, as glimpsed through these selected verses, emerges as a luminous tapestry woven from the threads of existential philosophy, human frailty, and cosmic wonder. A prolific Marathi poet honored with international accolades, including a UNESCO-listed epic and translations into 38 languages, Gaidhani infuses his work with a profound humility that belies his stature. Poems like "Darkness is Infinite" and "In the Shadow of the Infinite" (an excerpt from his epic Devdoot The Angel) elevate the ordinary—shadows, dewdrops, and palm lines—into portals of infinite reflection, challenging the reader to confront the egalitarian embrace of darkness over the fleeting tyranny of light. His language, deceptively simple yet layered with metaphor, echoes the stoic wisdom of Socrates, whom he invokes in "I Am a Socrates," begging for ink to settle debts with death. This is poetry that doesn't merely observe the human condition; it cradles it, urging us toward a gentler reckoning with our egos and illusions.
What truly distinguishes Gaidhani's voice is its tender interplay between the personal and the universal, as seen in "Fire in the Heart and Milk in the Breasts," where maternal sacrifice mirrors the earth's quiet endurance, or "The True Honor of Poetry," a dreamlike dialogue that prioritizes timeless joy over ephemeral awards. Even in critiquing ego through architectural analogies in "Ego"—contrasting the ethereal Taj Mahal with the somber Bibi Ka Maqbara—Gaidhani avoids bitterness, opting instead for a call to beauty's redemptive power. These verses, rich with imagery drawn from nature's rhythms and the soul's quiet upheavals, leave an indelible fragrance, much like the flowers he muses upon in "The Poem and the Age of the Poet." In an era of noisy introspection, Gaidhani's work is a serene invitation to linger in the infinite, reminding us that true poetry, like a sinless touch, awakens what slumbers within.
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