25she Boishakh. 25th Boishakh. Boishakh, for the uninitiated, is a Bengali
month. According to the Bengali calendar, it is yet another day that
demands a toast. It is one of those days in Bengal that adorns the “Holidays”
section in our planner. It is the birthday of the great Bard, Rabindranath
Tagore.
My sepia-soaked
childhood days still remember this particular day for some piquant reasons. One
among them was the yearly dusting of the life-size portrait of Tagore on the
eve of 25shey Boishakh.
Second would undoubtedly
be the annual sun-bath of His entire works. The silverfish, at the first
exposure to Sun, would scurry off to cooler shades. Ah the innocence of yester –years. Whatever!!
But then, the irony of
these B&W days lay in the significance they pose in today’s context.
With time, Tagore has
become more of a symbolic yardstick of cultural inheritance and fist-fight. The
celebration is just a show of might to prove the cultural stronghold over the
Bard.
Reminds me of the 26th
January or 15th August parades where the objective is pretty much
the same. The audience just becomes global in the latter case. Charades!!
The tapestry of images
woven in my mind regarding those dusting of the portrait or the sun-bath given
to the volumes still continue to be a part of an extended heritage throughout
Bengali households. Even to this day. As if handed down by generations to their
successors.
So
does in our State too. The “Tagores”, all around the city, will be provided
with a garland apiece today. To be worn till next birthday. Conditions applied. The bird-poops will
be removed; kids will dance, rhyme and sing aloud His poems and songs. Storms
will be raised in tea-cups regarding the political inclination of Rabindranath
and suicide notes of Kadambari Devi; but for 25she Boishakh only. Like the NI Act-enforced holiday.
We have successfully
managed to lock the “Bard” at traffic signals – his songs playing out every 5
minutes. Insignificant to the inherent meaning of the song scheduled.
Nonchalant to the particular mood of that particular scheduled song. Reminds me of Gramsci’s “cultural
hedgemony”.
And, history shows us
that we have successfully managed to commodify
our heroes so far – Che Guevara to Eddie Guerrero.
We should be proud and
thankful that Tagore is not on Gucci’s premium-range underwear as yet.
Let the rigmarole
continue. Let us all join the circus where Che will smile from a T-Shirt, Steve
Jobs will stare out of the ceiling, Jesus will keep giving us false hopes and
Bob Marley will keep teaching us the good effects of grass.
Let us not keep the
Tagore alive in all of us.
Though
we remember the Dead at least once a year.
Anyways …
What’s the point in
going to the Bard’s house on this day? Place flowers? Stare at the Gitanjali instead. Consider it to be his epitaph i.e.
Let His creations be his
grave. Let Him sleep peacefully.
And if we manage to keep
doing this inane trapeze play with Tagore, one day, there will be no flowers to
place on His grave. It will only be complacent, ignorant and vainglorious us
who will have Tagore as a relic and a mere relic only.
BTW, I chose this day to publish this post only to remind all and sundry a point. That we need not pay gratitude to a son of the soil only on his / her birth or death anniversary. One needs to carry that respect within in order to pay respect. Period.
