I read somewhere recently that Gulzar once scribbled poetry on the empty portions of the Times Of India while he was traveling by train. I too, am sitting in the local train to Penn Station and have managed to find loose sheets of paper in my bag. I am not trying to compare myself with the great Gulzar Sa’ab – I am only saying that I know how it feels to be sitting in a train, with your mind galloping far ahead of you – traveling across time and space, blurring physical distances. Perhaps its creativity that makes me think thus; perhaps it is the musings of an empty mind, or perhaps of a cluttered one. Whatever it is – it is something deep and is coming from within.
Sitting still in a moving train, with legs crossed, pen and paper in hand in a scholarly fashion, a mind racing so fast that I can barely keep track of the images that emerge and quickly fade away, I can easily picture myself somewhere far far away. This far away memory is not vague, it is only separated from me in terms of physical distance, because I can easily connect with it; almost like an experience, a feeling, a present reality. Let me introduce you to this thought -
Picture this: Across the seven seas, in another land altogether there is a small room (commonly called the Study), with a bed, a computer, a study table, lots of books and clutter, of course. Also picture the walls, which are quite empty, except for a tennis racket, a calendar and a poster or two. On one of the walls – overlooking the student seated at the desk is an old black-and-white picture of Tagore. This picture has been around for quite a while (say 20 years or so, or, for as long as the writer can recollect), and it is a perfect ornament for the otherwise bare wall, as I cannot even imagine the wall without it. Tagore - with open white locks falling gently over the sides of his forehead, and an equally white beard hanging lose over his chest - is photographed in a side pose with a calm expression, looking straight ahead, with mellow eyes that seem to have a softening effect on his face. This picture is what I think of when I say ‘Tagore’. This picture is what made me curious to know what this man did, and what he is famous for. This picture is what helps me connect with the soul within. This picture has been my inspiration for a long time. This picture is what made me purchase my copy of the Gitanjali.
Now you might be thinking why did I have to introduce to you my memory (and also the topic of my review) in such a round-about manner. Well, its simple! I had to do it in a way, which was very close to my heart – a way that would introduce you to not just the thought, but also the thought process.
Sir Rabindranath Tagore was born into a Brahmin family on May 7, 1861 in Calcutta. He won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913, and it was for the collection of poems that he compiled in the Gitanjali. Gitanjali, literally means song offerings and it is a collection of prose translations made by the author from the original, which was in Bengali. Who is not familiar with the National Anthem or the famous poem “Where The Mind Is Without Fear”?
The copy of the book that I hold has a 10-page introduction by W.B.Yeats and it clearly suggests how well-known and respected Tagore was, not just in India but also in Europe and other countries. In Yeats’ own words, “Tagore writes music for his words, and one understands at every moment that he is so abundant, so spontaneous, so daring in his passion, so full of surprise, because he is doing something which has never seemed strange, unnatural, or in need of defense. These verses will not lie in little well-printed books …. But, as the generations pass, travelers will hum them on the highway and men rowing upon rivers”. Such is the power of Tagore’s verses, and rightly was it measured by Yeats – the common-man touch and the universal appeal of his words, is the strongest point of the book.
This thin, handy book is all of 83 pages and it can fit into almost any purse or bag. This is also the reason why I carry it with me at all times, though I do not necessarily read it on a daily basis. Thin, it sure is. But it is also very deep, and a powerhouse of thought with profound verses that are the work of utmost genius and intellect. Reading the Gitanjali once, is never going to be enough. It requires attention and careful thought. I’m not sure if I have yet fathomed the meaning of every verse in the way Tagore meant to have written it. Ofcourse, we as readers are open to our individual interpretation of the text.
Essentially, the Gitanjali is a compilation of verses that are meant as offerings to God. They are deeply philosophical and utterly moving. A verse is about 6-7 lines each and since it is short, it lays in front of you with such innocence that you could be cheated into thinking it is easy read. Its easy read if all you want to do is - read. However, if you want to know the meaning and contemplate about the significance of the verse, it will take time and effort. Also, it uses old-English as language (more like Shakespeare ) and one has to be familiar with words such as Thou, Thy, Thee, Hast, and the like.
A total of 103 verses, each so distinct and meaningful that you marvel at the quality (as opposed to quantity) that Tagore gives you. Most offerings are effectively culminated into emotions through the use of seasons, colors and images. There is ample reference to God as the lover that the poet’s soul yearns to meet with. Seasons and nature are symbolic with emotions – spring with love, parching summer with parting with the lover, darkness with sadness, flowers with happiness, etc. Most often Tagore’s love poetry is symbolic with his yearning to meet with the Supreme. There is abundant reference to the traveler, children, the bride, flowers, spring, etc. The traveler signifies the man in search of God, the child is the innocent yet saintly manifestation of the Supreme, the bride is the lover longing to meet with the Master, and so on.
I will now put forth one of the poems that I read most often (just to give you an idea of Tagore’s writing) and is of significance to me, as of now. I would further like to add that this is a reflection of my mind in the given circumstances – since I am thinking of my Grandpa who passed away two weeks ago. Ofcourse, this verse has to do with death and the final meeting with the Master.
“I was not aware of the moment when I first crossed the threshold of this life.
What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery like a bud in the forest at midnight!
When in the morning I looked upon the light I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world, that the inscrutable without name and form had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother.
Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me. And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well.
The child cries out when from the right bre@st the mother takes it away, in the very next moment to find in the left one its consolation.”
On this very-inspiring and enlightening note, I shall stop writing. There are many other poems that I love, but I have a space-constraint, and I know I would not be able to effectively communicate how close to my heart Gitanjali is.
So here I am, fondly remembering and deeply missing my old man – my Grandpa, and this is my tribute to Tagore – I bow to him once again!
