Tagore Songs

আহা তোমার সঙ্গে প্রাণের খেলা, প্রিয় আমার, ওগো প্রিয়--

বড়ো উতলা আজ পরান আমার, খেলাতে হার মানবে কি ও॥

কেবল তুমিই কি গো এমনি ভাবে রাঙিয়ে মোরে পালিয়ে যাবে।

তুমি সাধ করে, নাথ, ধরা দিয়ে আমারও রঙ বক্ষে নিয়ো--

এই হৃৎকমলের রাঙা রেণু রাঙাবে ওই উত্তরীয়॥

Oh this poignant sport with thou, my own

Unsettled is my spirit today, won’t be played down

Smear me thou only to bid adieu

Yield to me willfully your heart smears in my hue

The pigment of my spirit permeates your elements…

কাঁদালে তুমি মোরে ভালোবাসারই ঘায়ে--

নিবিড় বেদনাতে পুলক লাগে গায়ে॥

তোমার অভিসারে যাব অগম-পারে

চলিতে পথে পথে বাজুক ব্যথা পায়ে॥

পরানে বাজে বাঁশি, নয়নে বহে ধারা--

দুখের মাধুরীতে করিল দিশাহারা

সকলই নিবে-কেড়ে, দিবে না তবু ছেড়ে--

মন সরে না যেতে, ফেলিলে একি দায়ে॥

I am in tears; your love struck a blow

From deep anguish sheer joys doth flow

In quest of your love I travel afar

Pain intones every step I cover 

Music fills my heart as tears trickle down

In the ecstasy of my grief I’m drown

All my riches lost, I still not be spared I know

Yet infirm in love, I can’t leave you and go.

অনেক পাওয়ার মাঝে মাঝে কবে কখন একটুখানি পাওয়া,

     সেইটুকুতেই জাগায় দখিন হাওয়া ॥

দিনের পর দিন চলে যায় যেন তারা পথের স্রোতেই ভাসা,

     বাহির হতেই তাদের যাওয়া আসা।

কখন আসে একটি সকাল সে যেন মোর ঘরেই বাঁধে বাসা,

     সে যেন মোর চিরদিনের চাওয়া ॥

হারিয়ে যাওয়া আলোর মাঝে কণা কণা কুড়িয়ে পেলেম যারে

     রইল গাঁথা মোর জীবনের হারে।

সেই-যে আমার জোড়া-দেওয়া ছিন্ন দিনের খণ্ড আলোর মালা

     সেই নিয়েই আজ সাজাই আমার থালা--

এক পলকের পুলক যত, এক নিমেষের প্রদীপখানি জ্বালা,

     একতারাতে আধখানা গান গাওয়া ॥

Of all life’s bounty, its those chance rewards of little measure

That waft a wind of warmth and pleasure

Days go by; down the road do they flow

The outer world  they come from and go.

There comes a morn that settles down in my dwelling

The insignia of all my yearning

Motes I gathered from the waning light

In my life's laurel shine bright

Oh my garland of half-light on a spliced day distraught

With thee my life's platter is wrought

All the momentary mirth, a brief candle afire,

A half song played on a lyre.

Mother and Son

Mother and son they were. Selling pakodas on a rode side stall at a busy cross road of Kolkata for last 15 years, the duo appears almost detached and phlegmatic about life and its purpose. The mother makes the hot and spicy batter fries while the son sells them. Fifteen years of drudgery and monotony have settled heavy and deep on their faces. There was something about the posture of the mother washing the wares after the night's business which drew me towards her on a mundane evening. She was doing the chore with no apparent business of finishing it. It reminded me of the rat race, most of us are into, in our lives and in an odd way i understood the absurdity  of that race. The mother's stoicism reminded me of Plath's line, “Everything people did seemed so silly, because they only died in the end.” Slowly I approached her and sat on a bench the other end of which was occupied by  the son. He squirmed and fidgeted with the bag which perhaps contained their day's earning. To deal with the discomfort, I struck a conversation with him on the variety of the fried stuff they sell and also tried two three of them. The conversation got easy soon after and I came to know that Ramesh and his mother Sakuntala Devi, stayed in a slum in the eastern fringe of the metro and travel to the spot of trade everyday. Ramesh is married with two children. The boy goes to school while the girl, bing 3 years old, reads at home. Ramesh is a proud father and says, "even if I remain half fed, I will ensure the education of my children". His eyes sparkled as he declared his motto with conviction. Working in the social sector for more than two years now, I am quite well versed with the RTE act and the Govt. schemes on education. While sharing them with Ramesh, I felt that learning never goes in vain! I did not take any picture of the two, for I felt that would undermine their dignity as humans. Time was up for me as my driver returned from the nearby shop where I sent him on an errand. Getting up from the seat it suddenly occurred to me, "do the children at Ramesh's home have enough clothes and shoes to cover and protect them? How utterly impossible it must be, to support a family of five, with the frugal income of selling pakodas!" The oft heard line, "amar sontan jeno thake dudh e bhaat e" (may my children always stay well fed) appeared ridiculous and hollow then! It was a deeply disturbing moment! In my muddled state I handed a five hundred rupee note to Sakuntala Devi, telling her to buy clothes and shoes for her grandchildren. Once in the car, something struck me again. There were few more five hundred rupee notes in my bag and I often spend thousands to procure my daughter's fancy stuff. Why could I not give the remaining notes to the ones whose many necessities are perhaps beyond fantasy! The last line of Tagore's celebrated poem, Kripon, kept ringing in my ears till sleep silenced it that night. The line goes- " Keno taare di ni amar sakal sunyo kore" (Why did I not give my everything up to him! )

Spirituality

I was once asked by a very close friend of mine about how I see spirituality. While putting words to my idea I was surprised that I could narrate it seamlessly though I have never consciously thought about it. I have in all my life avoided shrines and idols. Fasting as a mark of reverence to the umpteenth number of Hindu deities, standing in long queues to offer prayer never attracted me. But I was and am a strong believer in God and keep compete faith. 

While answering my friend I found myself saying that my spirituality is more internalised....it begins and ends inside my consciousness and hence perhaps I don't have to look outside. My spirituality is in my consistency as a person, my dedication as a mother, my commitment as a writer and in my integrity as a human being and it is in my constant effort not to waver from all these. My spirituality is also in negating the inherent impishness that perhaps every human is born with. It is in my fight not to compromise, in holding onto the truth and in taking up failures with dignity. And it definitely is in stopping myself from hatred towards others, especially those who are not good to me. 

Finishing my definition I was little apprehensive if I sounded high and mighty when he, my friend, said, "if I had not known you this long it could have sounded queer. But since I do, I know what you mean." My spirit smiled. 

The Giant Remains Selfish

                                       

There is a park in our neighbourhood. I cross it everyday on my way to office. Till few months back the park used to bustle with the loud cries of children , mostly from the adjacent slum, who played, ran, jostled among themselves with mirth and glee. One day the civic authorities were seen inspecting the park and within a week the muddy patch underwent a face lift. It was a happy sight. The entire area was a covered with a carpet of green grass. The new fence and gate added further beauty to it.

 But once draped the park gate was locked and it remains so till today. Not a child can be seen there anymore....only a coterie of the winged creatures convene at the now marred green, during dusk fall, as if in a protest of the unjust action !!

Angels are for real

                                                   

There is this man. As much I could gather from others, his name is Akku. He is one of the helps available at the local market to offer their services in carrying the bags home after you are done with the buying. I am a regular to this market for last 6-7 years. And since I buy my week's store in a day, I often need the service of these helps.  Akku was my help one day about a couple of months ago. He is among those who have this deformity in their face with a corner of their lips snipped off and who cannot utter words but only make some sounds with heavy nasal overtone. It so happened that in the consecutive few weeks he happened to be the only help available. As He accompanied me on my way back from the market I found him guiding me on the road lest i tumble over something. I was overwhelmed and happy. It was winter and many of my husband's winter clothes were there at home, unused. I gave him some to wear. He took them delightfully. I was happy that he will have enough now to keep him warm in the fierce winter. 

In my following visits to the market I was happily surprised to find him right beside me the very moment I step in. He would not leave my side throughout my shopping, carrying the bags and guiding me throughout. I feel myself safe in his company and happy to be given so much priority and attention. Angels are all round us....u need to be lucky to see and perhaps identify one.  

Namesake

                                                  

   Was watching Kabuliwala today. The kid in the movie is my nick namesake. Mini was not the name given to me by my parents but by our Nanny. She stayed with us for 23 years. My parents called her 'pishi' (aunt) and for me she was 'thakuma' (grandmother). As my mother was a working woman we had her as our guardian all through our childhood. I am sure she had never even heard of Tagore let alone his works. But Mini she did christen me with much love and affection. And I had a fondness to be called that instead of Mitul my official nickname. Gradually I found that every one calls me Mini. Her affection for me was not only limited in naming me but also in pampering me by cooking the food I like for lunch much to the consternation of my siblings, who often were furious for such favouritism. It was a known fact in my family and among other relations that I was being spoiled by her. I remember the comfort and safety i felt in her soft and hoary arms. Some relations remain inexplicable and only those into it understand the dynamics. Kabuliwala today took me down memory lane and I realised being Mini myself was no less:)