Boundless Tagore
Rabindranath Tagore's message of humanity guided me through the various phases of my life. It sharpened my power of introspection and helped me develop a compassionate outlook toward the world at large. In the process I learned to confront life's challenges with a degree of equanimity.
"My Golden Bengal, I love you."
Turbulent tides of change swept through our country in the late sixties -- a change that altered the map of the Indian sub-continent. It impacted the lives of Bengalis in a major way, leading to the creation of Bangladesh -- a homeland for the people of former East Pakistan. Even before Bangladesh came into being, the region was overpowered by a surge of patriotism that sowed the seeds of Bengali nationalism. Tagore's literary works were an integral part of this movement.
Like many of my generation, my pride in Bengali culture and heritage was rooted in Tagore's writings. I developed a natural love for Bengali music early in life when I started to take lessons in Rabindra Sangeet at home and in the music school, Chhayanaut, under the tutelage of Wahidul Haq. The latter introduced me to the fascinating world of Tagore's songs in a manner that helped me appreciate their nuances and intricacies. Consequently, Rabindra Sangeet generated an ownership of Bengali language and ethos in me, to the extent that, when the movement for a separate Bengali entity took root, I embraced it as a struggle for my own identity.
If I were to single out the defining moment of my life, it was when I crossed the border from Bangladesh to India in June 1971, to participate in the Liberation War. Unwittingly, I had stepped into a very important crossroad of history and was destined to be a part of a momentous era. I joined a group of Bangladeshi musicians and roamed the camps for the displaced Bengalis who had taken refuge in India. We sang Tagore's patriotic songs to keep the spirit of a "free Bangladesh" alive for the unfortunate thousands who were dislocated and demoralised. Through this rare experience I realised that, along with the struggle for Bangladesh's independence, my inner struggle for a greater identity had begun and continues until today.
The forced exile in India was yet another step toward getting to know the real "Robi Thakur." It took me to his ashram "Santiniketan" where I met my music gurus -- legends Kanika Banerjee and Nilima Sen -- and other notable Tagore personalities like Debabrata Biswas and Shubha Guhathakurta. I was but a novice trying to make a modest entry into the Rabindra Sangeet world.
What I discovered was that, in the monastic environ of Tagore's ashram, egos had been shed. Hence, an insignificant young girl from a country with only a name but no territory was readily accepted into the affectionate fold of his disciples! In addition to Rabindra Sangeet, my gurus taught me the virtues of humility and dedication through the precept of their own lifestyles. I was offered a small niche in the extended family of Tagore singers, which I accepted with immense gratitude.
"Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not, thou hast given me seats in homes not my own."
Life's voyage took me to other lands and other cultures. I walked unknown paths and journeyed through new territory. However, every time I felt lonely and desolate, I was reconnected to my roots through Tagore. Every significant interaction and experience was related to him: whether it was teaching "Ami chini go chini" ( I know you, know you, Oh, maiden of a distant land) to street children in Yerevan, Armenia, or organising his birthday celebrations in Bucharest, Romania, with fellow Bangladeshi and Indian artists Saadi Mohammad, Nilanajana Sen, Shibli Mohammad and Shamim Ara Nipa.
Tagore provided me with the opportunity to show case the cultural treasures of my native land and helped me bond with people in most unusual ways. In Armenia, I developed a unique friendship with a 70-year-old Armenian painter, Armine Kalentz, who, in our first meeting, recited the Russian translation of Tagore's "A Tamed Bird Was in a Cage." I remember her doleful expression as she repeated the last lines of the poem:
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my love!"
The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage."
The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead."
Armine explained that, in the former Soviet Union, she was barred from expressing her artistic views in the passionate and free style that she longed for. Therefore, she often recited this poem in solitude to vent her frustrations. Whenever we met, Armine would invariably ask me to sing Rabindra Sangeet. I found a friend and confidante in a country where I knew almost no one. Truly, Tagore "brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger."
"Thou hast made me endless such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life."
Last month, I was sitting in my home in Virginia, USA, on a rainy afternoon, and humming strands of Rabindr Sangeet. Lost in a daydream, I felt nostalgic about my childhood friends, the monsoons of Bengal, the afternoon tea sessions and idle chit-chats with family, and, even the clamour of loud conversations and honking cars in Dhaka. But above all, I missed my music which is no longer in the centre stage of my life, primarily because I am in a setting where Tagore is not part of the mainstream.
Reluctantly, I have accepted the fact that the singer Milia Ali, like T.S. Eliot's Alfred Prufrock, is not destined to play Hamlet on the Tagore stage, but can at best be described as "an attendant lord to…start a scene or two." However, my desire to express myself through my songs has never waned, although some days I feel Rabindra Sangeet has deserted me. The thought fills me with a sense of dejection, because "the song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day …."
The phone rang, interrupting my reverie. On the other end was my friend, singer Zafar Billah from New Jersey. After the initial exchange of niceties, he said: "Mahmud Dulu and a few of us are staging a show for the Rabindrajayanti celebrations organised by the Cultural Association of Bengal. We would like you to sing with us. Can you?" The very thought of singing for Tagore's birthday with friends who share my love for his music filled me with joy. "Yes. Of course," was my definitive response.
Two weeks later, I was at the Rutgers University campus in New Jersey with Sharmila Roy Pommot, Zafar, Dulu, Jhumur Chakrabarty, Malabika Guha and other Tagore enthusiasts, singing "Praner manush ache prane..."
"The man of my heart, my in-dwelling man
dwells in my heart of hearts
which is why I see him everywhere.".
I realised how aptly the words expressed my deep relationship with the poet. Of course, Tagore is and always will be in my heart. Some days I am deluded into thinking that he has abandoned me since I search for him in the material world, forgetting that he dwells deep within me. Each time I feel that I have lost him, he makes his presence felt by filling up the empty receptacle of my heart with new elixir of life.
Thank you, Gurudev, for making the finite journey of my life an infinite experience!
The writer is a renowned Rabindra Sangeet exponent and a former employee of the World Bank
Note: Most of the translations are by Rabindranath Tagore. A few have been collected from other sources.
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