Tagore as Dumbledore who’s guiding us even when he’s no longer around

I am no Tagore aficionado. Tagore came to me quite late in life. As a probashi bangaali (non-resident Bengali), I have seen my sisters and mother need their daily dose of Tagore. Golpo Guchho (his collection of short stories), Gitanjali, Geetobitan was their bedside reading. But I never looked at them, though I pestered Phooldi and Ma to tell me those stories, which they sometimes did and sometimes did not.

But that didn’t sort of bother me. For me, Anna Karenina was a more interesting read than Streer Potro. For me, Steinbeck and Rachel Carson were more interesting than Muktodhara or Achalayatan. Bimal Mitra’s Begum Mary Biswas captured my imagination, not Tagore’s Khudito Pashan.

I was fleetingly reading Bengali books but not Tagore. Why? Perhaps his white flowing beard and his piran (the dress like the Kashmiri firan he wore) were a put off. If Dumbledore would have been created then, probably I could have found Rabindranath Tagore more within my understanding limits.

But that was then…. My growing up years were far away from Bengal—where Bengali and Urdu culture were an integral part of growing up, where the best of the plays and musicals of the world were performed at Ravindralaya Theatre, at a walking distance from our home.

Now, Tagore came to me a little less than a decade or so ago. Arup introduced me to Robigeetika, a group led by a witty and sharp Sudhir Chanda who has been teaching Tagore songs (and connected stories) since 1959 in Delhi. His fascinating story will come to you some other day. Till then it’s mine that you have to bear.

The bi-weekly class and the walk back home with Mastermoshai, as Sudhir Chanda is lovingly called, was an enriching experience.

“What’s the date today,” Mastermoshai asked one day to his pupils. We looked at each other. Well July 25th… So? “On this day, Noye Shrabon (1941), Rabindranath is to be brought from Santiniketan to Kolkata. He has pulled himself up from his bed. With a heavy heart, he sits by the window, as if trying to soak in the last sunrise of Santiniketan. He knew he would never return.

“Wearing his sunshades, Rabindranath is being assisted out from his room towards the Ashram. Students (Ashramiks as they are called) sing aloud Amader Santiniketan — our Santiniketan -- the anthem of the Ashram, song that was composed when the foundation stone of Sriniketan was being laid, so that workers and students could sing along and help build the structure.

Moder tarumuler mela, moder khola maather khela,

Our vast fair of trees lined under the open sky

Moder neel gogoner sohag-maakha sakol-sandhyabela.

The blue sky endearingly embraces our evenings

Moder shaaler chhayabeethi baajay boner kologeeti,

Our saal shadowed lanes sing aloud the songs of forest

........

Moder bhaaiyer songe bhaaike se je korechhe ek-mon.

We are bound by the brotherhood of this institution

Aamader Santiniketan aamader sob hote aapon.

Our Santiniketan, our own dear one

“Ashromiks bid him adieu. So do the villagers—for whom he has set up Bondongarh Haat (weekly market) and local cooperative Amar Kutir. Both are centres of local crafts. He was leaving a school that he started on December 22, 1901, with five students, including his eldest son and an equal number of teachers. A school that later, in 1921, became an institution—Vishwa Bharati.”

Mastermoshai sang Aamader Santiniketan loud. We all joined in.

While talking about Tagore’s Santiniketan, we must remember that the core of this educational institution was humanism, internationalism and environmental sustainability - learning to live lightly. Experiencing a rigueur in education, he felt the need to create an institution like Santiniketan. He developed its curriculum that blended art, human values and cultural exchanges.

To understand his childhood days and the need for Santiniketan, I turn to his Chelebela, a book that has been translated into ‘My Childhood Days’: From morning till night, the mill of learning went on grinding. Sejdada was assigned to wind up this creaking machine. He was a stern task master. I got up while it was still dark and practiced in wrestling. After the lesson, smeared with dust …. a Medical college student would wait to teach me the lore of bones with a whole skeleton. 7 o’clock time with Nilkamal Master .… Taking my book and slate I sat down before the table and he began to write figures on the black board, algebra, arithmetic and geometry. In literature … Shitar Bonobas to Meghnadbodh Kavya .

….…… While in this school I started a class of my own…. The wooden bars of the railings were my pupils, I with a cane in hand would act the schoolmasters. I had decided which of the bars were good boys, who were the bad… I could also distinguish clearly the quiet from the naughty and the clever from the stupid. The bad rails had really suffered from my caning.

He wrote extensively against the learn-by-rote system of education that he had to go through and emphasised, “Without music and the fine arts, a nation lacks its highest means of national self-expression and the people remain inarticulate.”

When discussing Tagore’s education, how can one forget Shohoj Path—first book of alphabets that all Bengalis read wherever in the world they are. With illustrations by Nandalal Bose, Shohoj Paath is a delight to read even today with my all silver hair. Let us remember, this was 1929...he was traveling all around the world, but his mind was busy evolving ideas to attract young readers.

Here was Tagore who, while making learning simple, was also convinced of incorporating the indigenous. In both these texts, Shohoj Paath 1 and 2, the motifs have deliberately been chosen from rural Bengal. Isn't this a great way to bring children to nature, talk to them about people, and sketch a picture in the child's mind of the 'other' world.

In 1926, while leaving Balatonfüred (Hungary), Tagore planted a tree on what is now the end of the Tagore promenade (Tagore Setany). It was one of Tagore’s first tree-planting ceremonies – he went on to plant trees at various locations around the world during his travels. A plaque stands testimony till date. In 1935, he started Brikhsharopan Utsav (Tree Planting Festival), Tree Worship and Halakarshan (ploughing the soil) in his institutions as well.

It is also important to understand the poet’s scientific temper. Witness how interesting was Einstein and Tagore’s conversation — when the two Nobel Laureates met in 1930 at Einstein’s home, just outside Berlin atop a hillock.

‘Einstein asked : Do you believe in the Divine as isolated from the world?

Tagore responded : Not isolated. The infinite personality of Man comprehends the Universe. There cannot be anything that cannot be subsumed by the human personality, and this proves that the Truth of the Universe is human Truth.’

Tagore for me today is no longer the man who just wrote the sensuous and sonorous, Jodi tore nai chini go sheiki or spiritual Bhubono joda aashon o khani and stories like Noshtoneer or Ghore baire. He neither is just ensconced in Geetanjali.

For me, he is also not the one who translated Kabir into Bengali or wrote Bhanusingher Podaboli when 16 to celebrate the local and locale.

For me, perhaps, he is like Dumbledore who taught Harry to look at the ‘Mirror of Erised’, a mirror that shows me my deepest desire when I am happy and not so happy.

My probasi mind now tells me sing that song of Phalguni

Aamader pakabe na chul go...moder pakbe na chul

Aamader jharbe na phul go...moder jharbe na phul.

(My hair will never grey, I will never grow old, my hair will be full of flowers which will always stay fresh and fragrant.)

The world knew the bearded gentleman through his translations. But boy.... translating Tagore is quite a task. Did Tagore not say in a letter to Edward Thompson : “In my translations, I timidly avoid difficulties, which has the effect of making them smooth and thin. I know I am misinterpreting myself ….to the Western reader.” (Feb 2, 1921)

On this Baishe Srabon, let’s celebrate Tagore as Dumbledore who's constantly guiding us all even when he's no longer around.

Sharmila Sinha is a storyteller, author and a wanderlust. She runs Desh Dekho, her effort to reach out to the 'other' India through meaningful and responsible action and interaction helping participants learn from communities