Finally vacations arrived after nearly a year and needless to say, I was overjoyed at the thought of probably witnessing a spell of Kaalboishakhi, something the Mumbaikar cannot dream of. For those of you who wonder what it is, well, a “Kaalboishakhi” is a sudden shower that hits Gangetic West Bengal during the onset of summer.
It is characterized by gusty wind followed by a torrential downpour for a good couple of hours, in the process bringing down the mercury levels by a good three to four degrees Celsius, thereby completely paralyzing life in the city. Roads are waterlogged, traffic comes to a standstill and the average office goer is severely inconvenienced, but still the quintessential Bong like me finds a new lease of life. “Shnoda maatir gondho” – the typical smell of wet mud that makes one nostalgic and brings one closer to his roots. The icing on the cake can be the “shila brishti”- the ice-cubes that so typically accompany a Kaalboishakhi”.
No prizes for guessing who would call me “Antel”- (the sarcastic term for intellectual) but I would not make any effort to curb my sentiments for fear of invoking cynicism.
As the poet had said
“Kaalboishakhir Hobey Je Nachon
Shathey Nachuk Tor Morono Bnachon”
Let your life and death dance to the tune of the Kaalboishakhi storm.
Fortunate as I was, a sudden spell of Kaalboishakhi hit Calcutta
While for the present generation, Shantiniketan is more of a name in the books of General Knowledge, for me it is the nerve centre of Bengali culture. So it was more to bask in the sentiment and philosophy of Tagore than anything else that I travelled to Shantiniketan, all alone, on a hot summer day, ignoring the advice of all at home.
A short but sweet trip that it turned out to be was made all the more memorable by Sir and Angshuman, I dare not consider myself to be a member of such an erudite statistical fraternity, hence we spoke on politics, the institute education system in West Bengal, Tagore and post Tagore era and everything except our dreadful subject.
The day began with an eventful journey by Ganadevata Express from Bardhhaman to Bolpur.
No sooner had the train left Barddhaman than the “Bauls” came inside the compartment and rendered a few unforgettable numbers including "Lal Paharir Deshey Ja" followed by "Koshto Pabey Sheshkaley"- a song my grandmother used to hum. Accompanied by a single stringed instrument, these simple sons of the soil, render melodious numbers, often oblivious of their surroundings. Some of these songs have a social message; others merely carry the essence of Bengali folk music.
As I travelled by rickshaw to Shantiniketan, I was amazed by the level of the knowledge of the rickshaw puller regarding Rabindranath and the entire Tagore family. Little hesitation do I have in confessing that he probably knew much more about Rabindranath and his works than many of our so called ‘educated’ brains collectively.
After a long chat with Sir and Kakima and having thoroughly enjoyed their warm hospitality, I set on foot to explore Shantiniketan with the sole intention of inhaling the pristine air and fulfilling my intellectual pursuits.
My first stop was the prayer hall. Disappointed to hear that the same was closed, I managed to click a few photos from the outside.
Visit to Uttarayan was followed by a long session at the museum where I witnessed some of the memorabilia and personal articles of the great man including some rare photos.
After a quick trip to Kala Bhavan and Sangeet Bhavan, I sat down under a banyan tree and proceeded to sing by myself
Modhyo Diner Bijon Batayaney
Klanti Bhora Kon Bedonar Maya Shopnabhashey
Bhashey Money Money
The tired breeze of the lonely summer afternoon is the harbinger of my deep sorrows.
Time flew by till the realization dawned on me that it was time to go home, go back to Kolkata, finally back to Mumbai and the same routine life.
Immersed in the the serene beauty and immaculate simplicity of the life around, it was almost as if I had lost track of my surroundings till I was awakened by Sir’s call inviting me for lunch.
After a sumptuous lunch of paratha and chicken at the Science faculty canteen, I proceeded to visit Khoai and Kopai with Angshuman who was gracious enough to come with me leaving aside his commitments. A long rickshaw journey through the red soil reminded me of one of Tagore’s very popular number
“Gram Chhara Oi Ranga Maatir Poth
Aamar Mon Bhulaye Re”
My heart gets lost along the red village road
Drenched in sweat but filled to the brim with happiness, I proceeded to the station to catch the Ganadevata Express. Not the slightest perturbed by the delay of the incoming train, I sat in one corner of the station enjoying the setting sun and singing to myself
“Aji Godhuli Logoney
Ei Badolo Gogoney
Taar Chorono Dhwani
Aami Hridoye Goni
Shey Ashibey Amar Mono Boley
Shara Bela
Akarono Pulokey Ankhi Bhashey Joley”
Sitting by the clowdy dusk, I could feel her footsteps throbbing in my veins as needless streams of tears flowed from my eyes.
The hospitality of Sir and Angshuman, the tranquility of the surroundings, the richness of the culture and traditions, all of it will remain my cherished possessions.
As I reminisced about the entire day, I came to the conclusion that whatever little I gathered during the course of a single day completely satisfied my emotional and intellectual thirst and filled my heart with an intense longing to come back and spend some more time at the abode of one of the greatest human beings to have set foot on this earth.
“Tumi Kemon korey gaan Koro Hey Guni
Aami Abaak Hoye Shuni ………...
Money Kori Omni Shurey Gaai
Konthey Amar Shur Khujey Na Pai.”
Dumbstruck I listen to the ethereal tune that stems from you. Wishful longing in my heart to repeat thy words, my vocal chords seem too meek to echo thy mellifluous numbers.
