Its the 7Th of August. As I returned from College and switched the T.V. on, I was informed by the frantic looking news anchor, who blared in almost incomprehensible hindi, that tomorrow, the 8Th of August would be doomsday for the world. The unholy combination of the three 8's,the anchor expounded, was potent enough for a catastrophe.
I switched the channel. This time I landed on an English breed. True to its language, the hype here was international. The Beijing Olympic games 2008. Commencing from tomorrow is the greatest show on earth; the Chinese having been a model of fastidious,meticulous,albeit slightly robotic precision. The channel having sent a correspondent all the way to China, seemed to want its investment back fast. The correspondent was foaming at the mouth as he spoke about how the Olympic committee might be goaded into including cricket in 2012.
I switched the channel. This time I landed on an English breed. True to its language, the hype here was international. The Beijing Olympic games 2008. Commencing from tomorrow is the greatest show on earth; the Chinese having been a model of fastidious,meticulous,albeit slightly robotic precision. The channel having sent a correspondent all the way to China, seemed to want its investment back fast. The correspondent was foaming at the mouth as he spoke about how the Olympic committee might be goaded into including cricket in 2012.
Fervently praying that they didn't,I surfed all the channels...everyone seemed to be focussing on the impending...all of those enlightened people seemed much too busy in the prospects of the future than the significance of the present. None were interested in today.
The day had been an unusual one. The college seemed to be teeming with young enlightened souls brimming with novel ideas about the commemoration of the day and posters were abound about the gala cultural recital that afternoon as a token of fond and cherished remembrance of the heritage of one of Indian literature's greatest exponents. I was disappointed. Not only was the program under-rehearsed and hopelessly amateur, there seemed to be a genuine lack of spontaneous outpouring of creative energy. The apathy was palpable. The dancers danced cuz they had been directed to; the singers sang the song in a particular drab fashion, never bothering to infuse the song with a breath of life. The dramas enacted were more about showing off personal skills than commemorating the life of a great master. Indeed, the loudest cheers received were for the street goon. And this was supposed to be a cultural event.
Every year, Calcuttans and Bengalis around the globe gather round a certain photograph on this day and apparently pay homage. The streets bustle with people talking of literature and every institution worth its name hosts a multitude of events to celebrate the day.The rest of the world thinks bengalis are fussing. That they have a perennial identity crisis and hence tend to cling to the last vestiges of glory. Indeed, I have seen many a wry smile smack on the faces of some of my most intelligent friends.Maybe all don't. But some sure do!
Perhaps part of it is fuss. Maybe it is ridiculous for the rest of the nation to see people going berserk over something that is not remotely related to cricket. But you know what? I like it. I like it when people remember their heroes, their poets, the people who helped the nation move onward. Even if blended with pompous self importance,even a modicum of hypocrisy,I like that people at least remember his name today, even if for a minute.
Naysayers will say he remains alive only on paper,not in our hearts. But that is better than dying and getting buried anonymous,isn't it?
Calcutta remembers. For the rest,today is the 7th of August. Rabindranath Thakur died today.
The day had been an unusual one. The college seemed to be teeming with young enlightened souls brimming with novel ideas about the commemoration of the day and posters were abound about the gala cultural recital that afternoon as a token of fond and cherished remembrance of the heritage of one of Indian literature's greatest exponents. I was disappointed. Not only was the program under-rehearsed and hopelessly amateur, there seemed to be a genuine lack of spontaneous outpouring of creative energy. The apathy was palpable. The dancers danced cuz they had been directed to; the singers sang the song in a particular drab fashion, never bothering to infuse the song with a breath of life. The dramas enacted were more about showing off personal skills than commemorating the life of a great master. Indeed, the loudest cheers received were for the street goon. And this was supposed to be a cultural event.
Every year, Calcuttans and Bengalis around the globe gather round a certain photograph on this day and apparently pay homage. The streets bustle with people talking of literature and every institution worth its name hosts a multitude of events to celebrate the day.The rest of the world thinks bengalis are fussing. That they have a perennial identity crisis and hence tend to cling to the last vestiges of glory. Indeed, I have seen many a wry smile smack on the faces of some of my most intelligent friends.Maybe all don't. But some sure do!
Perhaps part of it is fuss. Maybe it is ridiculous for the rest of the nation to see people going berserk over something that is not remotely related to cricket. But you know what? I like it. I like it when people remember their heroes, their poets, the people who helped the nation move onward. Even if blended with pompous self importance,even a modicum of hypocrisy,I like that people at least remember his name today, even if for a minute.
Naysayers will say he remains alive only on paper,not in our hearts. But that is better than dying and getting buried anonymous,isn't it?
Calcutta remembers. For the rest,today is the 7th of August. Rabindranath Thakur died today.
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3 comments:
You know, my mum would probably adopt you as her son!.. She's the biggest fan of tagore that I've ever come across... likewise, she infused some of it into me too..
As for 08/08/08.. it seemed to have done more damage than 06/06/06... remember? the "devil's day" apparently?!!..
08/08/08 an unlucky day? But, on one of the news channels about a month befor the olympics, they said that the Chinese considered it a lucky day for the beginning of such an important event. They said that Chinese actually wanted to start the event at 8 minutes past 8 in the morning!
Anyway, coming back to the actual purpose of your post. Its absolutley true that only a handful of people really remebered Rabindrannath Tagore on his death day. Luckily, he is still remembared well on his birthday. Don't know how well that'll happen after a few years...
Anwesha,
I'd love to meet your mum!The adoption thing though will have to wait. I'll talk to my mother.
Sinjini,
I hope they continue to remember the birthday! My college is hopeless and its supposed to be one of the best in the country!
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