Yes, he IS relevant even today.

“Age considers; youth ventures”. These words were spoken by none other than Rabindranath Tagore, nearly 100 years ago. His undying faith and confidence in the youth has made him relevant in young minds even 150 years after his time.

Despite his ancient appearance with his flowing white beard and hair, Tagore’s outlook and opinions were surprisingly modern. He religiously believed in the saying “Today’s youth is tomorrow’s future”, and devoted much of his life to educate, culture and inspire the young minds of his generation to the benefit of the country and in turn, the world. However, his efforts didn’t stop at his own generation alone – he went on to preserve his teachings in something more permanent than spoken words – written words.

In April 1905, Tagore was invited by the Vangiya Sahitya Parishad (a major literary association in Bengal) to address the college graduates of Kolkata. The lecture has been preserved in a collection of his works under the theme of “Self-Strength”. In his lecture, he strongly expressed his views and feelings towards the education of the generation.

At this time, India was still under the regime of the British Raj. In his lecture Tagore awakened the young in Bengal to a significant truth. He said that under the influence of the English, our society had reached the extent where we considered our native culture to be secondary. India had lost its self-pride, and those who excelled in literature were compared to literary phenomena in Britain, rather than Bengal – as though we didn’t have any rich culture ourselves. Michael Madhusudhan Datta was titled “The Milton of Bengal” and Bankim Chatterjee “Walter Scott of Bengal”. This fashion extended even till theatre, where an Indian actor had to be compared to Garrick to do him justice, despite Indian theatre having passed an era by the time Garrick came along. This lack of faith in our own culture resulted in a total lack of authenticity in thought. Today we are beginning to realise the meaning of this, as Bengali bands incorporate our native folk genres into their music to strengthen it and give it authenticity.

Tagore wanted to tell us that education must reach beyond the covers of a book – It must include practical resources to make the education stable. What use is there in learning the history of a country if you are not able to encounter it by visiting the country? Likewise, what use is living in a country of whose history we are totally ignorant of? This was the situation at that time – students memorised volumes of British history while remaining miserably ignorant of the history of their own land. Furthermore, education must include the awareness to enhance one’s own society or the education is fruitless. Once again, this is highly relevant in this century as well. Those with the capability, grow up with the aim of settling abroad. The thought of helping our own nation barely passes our minds.

This patriotism that was so deeply ingrained in his mind was spread amongst the youth through several of his poems, essays and plays. One particular dance drama, “Tasher Desh” (The Land of Cards), satirised the strict meaningless rules of the British. The play shows the journey of an adventurous prince and his friend to a land governed by meaningless rules. These Cards had never heard of the idea of ‘freewill’. The protagonist represented the free-spirited youth, while the Cards, the antagonists, symbolised the rigid British. On another level, we can also see the cards as the unwavering orthodox generation. The dance drama is still widely performed in Bengal as well as abroad, and is openly enjoyed by the young and old alike.

We often hear the words “In our days...” escape the mouths of the elderly. Rabindranath Tagore was vehemently against this approach. “These elderly people often criticise this age by comparing it to benefits of their own age. They have come to the ends of their journeys and are now simply calculating their advantages. They seem to forget that today’s young are also starting their journeys, full of hope and have decades left before they sit down to calculate! Each generation has its own advantages and disadvantages. The youth should be inspired to live life to the fullest...” he said in his lecture in 1905.

Tagore’s support towards the young has been reflected at its peak in his poem “Shobujer Abhijan” (The Adventure of the Green). In the poem, he has personified the new green plants of spring to be the youth and he calls out to them to break the idleness and monotony of the ancient who have fallen asleep.

“Youth of all ages, you are immortal. Shake off the old and diseased, unleash your endless spirit.”

Like in these lines, Tagore has immortalised youth. His significance will remain undiminished in the young minds for all the ages to come.

"Where have they gone?"

“Have you seen her: Mother gazelle?

Her coat shimmers in the sun’s heat

As she feeds her young with milk so sweet;

Have you? Seen our Mother Gazelle?”

The voice cracks, the scene shatters—

With one and twenty bullets through the air.

There she lies, silken coat in tatters,

With her young curled up – innocent, silent pair.

“Where are they, the rainforests,

Lush, green, home to so many?

Please, where have they gone?

Aren’t there any?”

Wiped off the face of earth,

Homes, hopes, lives devastated.

Only jungles of cement... and of what worth?

None – all done and wasted.

“Have you seen my glaciers?

Powerful, fluid and full of grace,

Purpose, and spirit of race –

Please, where can I find my glaciers?”

Where indeed... for they have melted.

Spirit, power, grace - departed;

Washed away without heed,

For such is Man’s greed.

Tears of acid stain her pristine face,

Sweat glistens on her skin’s surface.

Her once lively, lush, green hair wilts,

As she shivers and draws her hole-ridden

Atmospheric quilt.

“Don’t you see me, human, don’t you care?

Such torture, agony... Is it fair?

I pray to you, save me, preserve what is left,

For without me, you define tragedy.”

Five books that changed my life

Life starts out like a ball of clay. Each press, twist and pat contributes to its formation, and changes it in some small way. Its sculptors vary from person to person. Mine, among others, consist of the rustle of pages and printed words.
From a very young age, my mother had tried to instill the habit of reading in me. Every night, she would read me some children’s story. Although I loved listening to my mom reading me stories, the true birth of the bookworm within me didn't happen till 2^nd grade. Till then, Clifford and Dora the Explorer always held more attraction than the pages of a novel did. In 2^nd grade, my class teacher was the first person to reveal the wondrous effects of literature to me. As I read my way through Enid Blyton and Roald Dahl, I felt as I could never have done, sitting and staring at the TV. The thrill of books was intoxicating! Even today, at the age of fourteen, they are my best friends.

The first book that really touched my heart, was E.B.White’s “Charlotte’s Web”. During my first visit to Singapore at the age of eight, I stumbled upon heaven...in the form of ‘Borders’. It was unlike any bookstore I had ever laid eyes on. The atmosphere simply made me want to grab a book, sink into a bean bag, and read. It was here that Charlotte’s Web first called out to me. The plight of a little girl of my age to save the world from injustice captured my attention like nothing else could. As little Fern fought her father to stop him from killing the runty new born pig, she said words that went straight to my heart.
“The pig couldn't help being born small, could it? If I had been very small at birth, would you have killed me?” When her father tries to reason with her lovingly, that a little girl and a runty little pig had a lot of difference, she stubbornly replied that she saw no difference at all. These words brought her father to sense as his paternal instincts took over. Instead of killing the pig, he gave it to Fern to raise as a pet and hoped God would forgive him for the foolishness he had been about to commit.

After I read this much, I told Ma that we simply had to buy this book. She of course, promptly bought the book for me. The pages of the book took me through the journey of Fern and Wilbur’s friendship and also the introduction of a very special friend, Charlotte. When Charlotte died at the end of the book, I pictured the small grey spider deserted in the middle of the Fair Grounds, seemingly insignificant but really the most essential role played in the Fair. It was the first book to have brought tears to my eyes.
As I learnt the importance of such unnoticed but rather wonderful creatures, my own perception of life was transformed into something much deeper. I was never of the destructive nature, but after Charlotte’s Web, I like to think that I've saved many a spider from an untimely death, by stopping my friends and classmates from stamping them out. After all, they may as well be one of Charlotte’s descendants, couldn’t they?

After Charlotte, I read many other splendid pieces of literature, but didn’t find one that had such an effect on me, until I met Harry Potter. I had already watched the first two movies before I started reading the books. My family is full of his fans. However, I was to be the greatest Potterhead in the family yet… I finished all the books we had in our house, and then waited with bated breath for the next one to release and finished each one with growing enthusiasm. The journey through the series was of course, an exhilarating experience for me, but Harry continued to change my life, long after the first reading.

I read the whole series many more times after that, sometimes in order, and sometimes not. I found that each time I read them, I uncovered something new in there… the origin of the names, the terrific detail Rowling has put into the plot. Each fictional place, each character had an overflowing pool of thought behind it. Not a single role was half-done, or even overdone. Each one was very realistic and absolutely perfect. This magical world of hers was created with utmost care.

Her dedication gave me such great inspiration, which cannot be described in words. I had always wanted to be an author, but Rowling filled me with new enthusiasm. I realised the extent of dedication that is required to be such a successful writer, and also the wide range of knowledge. She was British, but only someone with a vast knowledge of Indian language and culture could name a snake ‘Nagini’. Even ‘Voldemort’ was quite obviously derived from French. After reading Harry Potter, I found this sudden urge in me to learn as much the world has to give, believing that everything would contribute to my writing when I eventually become a writer. In ninth grade, I took up Drama as a subject even after my already packed syllabus, with the hope that it would help me study human character more directly and reflect in my writing.

Surprisingly, I could never create this interest towards the books in my classmates. They would eagerly watch the movies, but found the books dull and boring. After a few years I found a handful of my classmates – a new girl, and a few guys who had the same passion as I did, but for a very long time, I was alone in my class. So I indulged in virtual Harry Potter communities. I’m still a member of one; it’s called ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’ on a website called Shelfari. I can’t say I’m not proud to declare that I was once a very active member of this group, and the friends I made here took me through one of the most troubled periods of my adolescent life. I try to do my best these days, but then the real world takes over and makes it rather hard.

Many people could tell you that Harry Potter gave them back their spirituality, or even gave them a family and a job, but I’m just fourteen. And Harry has changed as much of the life of a fourteen year old girl as he possible can.

When I reached class eight, everyone started talking about a book called The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. As always, I couldn’t wait to get hold of the book after having heard such great reviews of it. Finally, a friend of mine managed to ‘borrow’ her elder brother’s book, which I in turn, borrowed from her. With many a threat towards the well-being of the book, I started reading...

The Alchemist has a class of its own. Although I wouldn’t say the book is one of my dearest, or one of my favourites, I definitely learnt a lot, both about the world, and about my own identity on that journey to the Pyramids of Egypt with Santiago. Here, I will share two of the most important and interesting aspects that the book taught me.

One was the one true language of the universe. This has been recurrently mentioned throughout the novel. This is the language which requires no words, and is understood by all beings of the universe. Santiago first discovers this fascinating phenomenon when he realises that he had been talking with a boy of his age for over an hour, and neither had realised until later that one had been speaking Arab and the other, Spanish. Yet they had understood each other perfectly. Reading this had reminded me of a similar incident I had actually witnessed. When my brother was two years old, he was a fluent Bengali speaker. At around this time, we had gone to Chennai, to visit my uncle and aunt. My aunt, who is Tamil, took us to her parents’ house where we had lunch.

As we ate, we saw my brother casually walking into the kitchen and conversing with their maid. The astonishing thing was, my brother was speaking in Bengali, and the maid, in Tamil – but that seemed to be no problem at all. They chattered away in their respective languages for a long time like old friends, before my brother was put to bed. That was before I had read The Alchemist, and I had found this incident highly amusing. It wasn’t until I read this book that I realised the true significance of that event.

The other thing I learnt was more of a hidden skill I found myself in possession of. The skill is, in fact, the sort that lies, unacknowledged in every being, and never cultivated. At one point in the book, Santiago is introduced to his heart. His heart explains to him how it is always there to guide him and give him company. All he must do is strike up a conversation. Times come when his heart is so scared, he needs to reassure it that there is nothing to be afraid of. While reading the book, this simply struck as an interesting metaphor to me. However, I was to know a few months later, that the skill of conversing with one’s heart is one which is real, in a totally non-metaphorical way.

The realization came in the middle of what I believe to be the toughest and most disturbed period of my life yet. I had to take a decision that eventually made me a stronger person at the end of it all. This decision, I took from my heart. At one point, similar to Santiago, I felt a queer, uncomfortable feeling in my heart. I decided to try out a conversation with my heart. To my immense surprise, my heart replied to my questions! I didn’t have to think about it, the replies were instant, and clear. Even more astonishingly, by the end of the conversation the queer feeling had totally vanished. I learnt that day, that Science has yet to explain a lot!

These are the three books that have contributed most to my present outlook on life. However, it would be an injustice not to mention two other very important books. One contributed to my multidimensional interest in academics. Though it’s evident that Literature is a favourite with me, the next book goes in a totally different direction.

Surely You’re Joking Mr. Feynman, if nothing else, is definitely one of the prime reasons for my interest in Physics. My uncle, a physicist himself, was the one to introduce me to this book. The funny, carefree style in which the book has been written could not fail to produce an interest of Physics in the most unschooled mind to read it. Apart from that, the simplicity of a Nobel laureate like Feynman amazes me and makes me admire him all the more. The similarity we share in our scatterbrained-ness is probably another reason why this book has influenced me to this extent. Today, I cannot dream of not having Physics as a subject.

There are quite a few other books that I’m sure have affected my life for the better. There was one book on the life of Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan – the teacher of my teacher. In that book, there were pieces written by all the great artists who had met him at some point in their lives. All of them had mentioned the extent of his dedication in various ways. This definitely inspired me in my music and added tremendously to my interest.

My life at this stage is still taking form. All I can hope for is that many other great books like these will continue to sculpt my life for the better.

March's Stress

This isn't exactly the sort of thing I would count as my literature, but since this is "Writer's Random Rigmarole", I decided to put it up anyway.

Reality, Practicality, Emotions.

They all come crashing down... merciless.

You try to stand straight.

It’s hard... But you don’t hit the earth.

Just... The weight is unbearable. And it’s

Gone.

Gone as soon as it had almost

Crushed your shoulders to

Dust.

Ah, the relief! But for a moments’ notice...

And it’s back.

Will it ever cease? The

Endless stress, pressing from

All sides as if to

Suffocate...

Will it?

I'll admit it's typically something a stressed out teenager would write to let out her feelings, but at the end of the day, that's what I am, aren't I? And on reading this with a fresh mind, I figured that pretty much everyone can relate to this sort of thing once in a while. So here you are.

For a Very Special Teacher...

Stars like diamonds,

Stud the skies. But only

One in a million

Guides the wandering bark.

Many a gardener grow

Plants from seeds, but only

The greatest blooms the

Flower of inspiration.

Teachers, mentors, guides, they

Come and go. Yet only the

Best, stimulate the

Quest of inquisition.

Classes crowd the day’s schedule

Each 40 minutes long.

It is the true guide who fills

Each minute,

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run.

She escapes with us

Into the clock-less land of ever

Beyond all the timefors

Before the bell rings and

Slots us back into the day.

Time flies by, as does

Life: impatient, unforgiving.

Yet the memories of such a

Special person,

Will remain, long after goodbyetime.

This is a poem I wrote for the farewell of one of the best teachers I ever came across. In case anyone's wondering, I have taken ideas from the following poems:-

If - Rudyard Kipling

"Let me not to the marriage..." (Sonnet 116) - William Shakespeare

Half-past two - U. A. Fanthorpe

These were poems she had taught us during the term, so I intentionally wove them in, to remind her of the memories. I have the utmost respect for the works mentioned above - so no plagiarism intended.

New hope... A new beginning.

As most 'first posts' go, I'm guessing most of you will be expecting an introduction of sorts. So here you go.

I'm a teenager whose dreams lie in writing. Although I have my aspirations, I'll admit that I often need some sort of push to start writing.... well anything for that matter. Sometimes I encounter unusual scenes and get equally unusual inspirations to start scribbling, but for the most part, my creations are the result of some sort of compulsion. The result of this was a drop in self-faith - I had given up the hope with the opinion that I didn't have enough spirit to turn my dreams into reality.

Don't get me wrong, I love writing! All I need is a reminder, an initiative to start and then I drop everything and don't look left or right until I am satisfied with my work.

So recently, due to various requests and reasons, I've been writing a lot. Delightfully enough, most of these pieces have brought me considerable praise. Enough praise to initiate some serious contemplation of my ideas and dreams of being a writer, and spreading those written words. So one could say that praise can have a lot of impact on the artist's mind! Here you'll find my poems, thoughts, and various other odd pieces of writing which came into being for a variety of purposes. Due to the lack of specific themes or topics or even genres, the "Writer's Random Rigmarole" was born.