While I was overhauling my bookshelf, I discovered
few diaries of mine. They all were written before the age of blogs, or at least
before I started writing them.
.
In that pile of scribbles I found this travel
account. It is no piece of great work, much like most of my writings. Still I
decide to share this simply because it cherishes one of those bygone moments when
I felt at home with the two most special ladies of my life. It talks about a
time when my life was so rosy, so complacent that I could recognize and be
amazed by the simple glories of God. Yes, that was a time when I staunchly believed
in the benevolence of God.
So, this blog is only a memory walk into those happy
moments under the cozy canopy of a blessed family. So much has changed since
then…
My
Trip To Shantiniketan
Amusing on my naivety, I have kept the piece intact,
as much as possible.
(Circa
2002. )
We
drove to Shantiniketan which is in the heart of Bolepur, on 15th
August, wishing to get some independence from the modern, mechanized life of
Kolkata. And our expectations were fully nourished after staying there for
three nights and two days.
As
soon as I entered Shantiniketan, the first thing that my eyes marked was the
coherent coexistence of the rural and urban life. Huts and pucca houses stood
side by side, swans swam in the pond, half naked carefree street urchins played
on the road side and the women gave dung cakes for drying. But adjacent to all
that stood mansions with garages. We
checked in to one such construction.
That
evening we went on a drive into the outskirts of Shantiniketan. The people
there seemed to be feebly acquainted with automobiles. They gaped at us as we
drove over red soil … the red soil that
fascinated many a poet including Rabindranath Tagore himself. These poets,
especially Tagore valued country life
and Santhal culture greatly. That is why our founder of Vishwabharati always
tried to uplift the Santhals but never uprooted them. That is why, essence of
tribal culture can still be sensed in every nook and corner of
Shantiniketan. Not only that, he also
helped tribal art, dance and music to flourish under the thickets of
Chatimtala.
Such
beautiful amalgamation of rural and urban, tribal and modern has been possible
only because of the inhabitants of this place. All are very friendly here. Even their quarrels
sound like notes of music. They have a jolly face, as if highly satisfied with
life.
When
we entered the lodge, in the beginning we got overwhelmed by the reception
that we became a bit skeptical. But soon we realized that the warmth they
showed was out of sheer simplicity. On the second day we met a bow legged old
lady near the Kopai river. She spoke to us in such a manner that anybody would
think we knew each other for quite a long time. She asked one coin each from my grandfather, my
grandma, my father and my mother. She was so thrilled to have gotten so many
coins that she invited us to her shack. She also prayed for us at their Santhal
Devi temple.
But
all this has started to be tainted by businessmen. Their intrusion is engulfing
the farming lands. Multi-star resorts are being constructed which are maligning
the serenity of the place. The proprietors of the resorts retort by saying that
these ventures are encouraging tourism, which is indirectly giving boost to the
economy of the place. This is true to an extent. But it must be kept in mind
that beauty of Shantiniketan remains in the chastity of the place. Few have
already violated it, and many others attempt to do so. And this will not stop
unless all stand arm in arm against such adulteration.
Nevertheless,
we had a wonderful time in Shantiniketan. We saw teachers taking classes under
the trees, painters and artisans at work in the open field. We also went to
Tagore’s residence and viewed many sculptures made by the talented craftsmen of
Vishwa Bharati.
But the most memorable part of the
trip was Varsha Mangal show. In this show the dance and music students performed
Rabindra Nritya accompanied by Rabindra Sangeet. In this way they paid tribute
to the rain. Spending a musical evening at Shantiniketan, sitting among the
students, residents and local people was a pleasure in itself… truly
“Shadhu!”(heavenly)
Those
were the scribbling of my living spirit. So ancient do they sound. So much has
been lost, so much has been done. Yet I failed to write one more line although
I have revisited Shantiniketan several times.Was it because I got preoccupied or
it was because I have gone blind?
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