Rabindranath and the unseen

I remember a story by my grandmother told at an age we enjoy narrations more than meanings. Hindus, very happy to be able to tame and own an elephant thought they could show of to Persians who always lauded their achievements of travels and trade. But afraid that they would know how the mahout tamed it, they kept the elephant in a dark room, and allowed some people to go in at a time. Each person going in with a candle, saw some portion of the large animal, some just nails, some the skin, some teeth and so on. They marveled at the existence of something so unusual and praised the lord for his unrelenting wondrous creations. Unfortunately, no one could see the whole elephant; and yet the myths of this monster from east never ceased.

This very amazing lecture on Rabindranath Tagore at NGMA (by Sugata Bose) brought back this story to me, and how partial knowledge about our own never lets us see the whole ever.  I came across many new facets of him as a political leader, with his numerous comments on USA, China, Japan, India/oriental as seen by west. He had prophesied in 1920s that we would someday relearn our own culture from west which is evident today. While travelling to Japan, he saw Chinese and Japanese workers staining themselves and wrote that they would someday become superpowers and rule. What a visionary! Yet, his humane qualities are the ones that are endearing (For example His dislike of Baudelaire as Furniture poet for writing on a rocking chair and later realizing a similar erotic in chair gifted by one of his friends). It was illuminating because most times his poetry of lifetime is compared with his paintings done after his age of 60, but here only his literature periodically parallel to his art was considered and how similarly striking and vital are they!

Seemingly sad ends in his works are never tragedies, are like life; never a singular emotion. In one of his stories, a woman is on her deathbed, and is advised change of weather and thus travels to Benares. But she is actually in mirth, as whatever reason she travels first time beyond the limits of her hometown. She succumbs to her illness as she reaches Benares, but the journey is the biggest adventure transcendence. How does this end be termed tragic? Similarly, in Chokherbali, the protagonist takes her own decisions, which is liberating, and simply beyond tragic or content. All his works seem to be such natural, where nothing and everything in dual/ multiple. Likewise his paintings are very striking, transcending beautiful or grotesque; be it landscapes or portraits. Striking because it is never the person in real, but certain visions of that being by the artist; and yet the same person, because personalities are perceptions; landscapes in late evening lights, between day and night, impressions of nature.

I would not elaborate more, as I don’t want to hide his works in the dark room and would advise all to break the break the walls. How sad to see just some part of the vast being!!!!