Lost love, Monsoon & Tagore

My Dear Pouring Rain,

Greetings! Hope you all are well. I'll be leaving for Delhi tomorrow, so it won't be possible for me to stay on the keyboard for a couple of days. Most probably, I'll be back in the city, by next week. Clouds are hovering over the sky. They look teasingly at me and I don't see anychance from your end, to touch me. Can you let me know, my faults? Each and every time my questions are unanswered. Still, I don't know, why am I being punished, like this? At least let me know the reason. I'm waiting for you only.

A ghazal, sung by Ghulam Ali, is being played here. Some beautiful immortal words are in the air, with a lovely tune to go along, "Roj Kehta hoon kebhool jaaaun use, roj ye baat bhool jata hoon main.” I tell myself daily that I will forget her … but unfortunately I forget this everyday. You better be the judge of the situation. I promise myself to forget you, at the sametime I break it, and thus it's a daily routine. By the way, I spent a wholeday with the living legend Ghulam Ali, when I was in Nagpur. It was really marvelous and God’s gift to me. I'll share my experiences with Ghulam Ali some time later, in the coming mails.

Dear friend, I wanted to talk to you about rain, about poems, about rhythms and off course about Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore. Rabindranath read the universe and its nature profusely. His has penned vast literary works that speak of it. He put his every single word of thought in rhymes ofreason whether it is in prose or in poetry.

You must be surprised, why am I talking about him? By the way, when we talk about rain, we can't escape the truth. It was only Rabindranath Tagore and Kalidasa, who heard the songs of its various measures,when it rained. I have mentioned about Kalidasa, in one of my earlier mails. You already know the fact, Tagore's poems are heart touching. The composition of the light of love and beauty in his works enlightens us immeasurable. His meters of metaphors are absolutely effusive, where the depiction of nature, with diction is narrative that edifiesour mental horizon far and wide. I remember, one day, you sang a song from the collection of Rabindra Sangeet for me. The song meant, "You were waiting for me at the window, when it was raining." You are good at singing too, I must say. Go through these beautiful lines written by Tagore:

The grey-black clouds rolled in the sky

the monsoon had come.

Rain fell thick and lightning flashed,

with thunder-beating drums.

Harvested was my paddy,

bundled up neat and tidy.

The streams swelled strong

and mighty looking awesome.
As I cropped my paddy field

the monsoon had come.

Dear friend, I just wanted to say, the rain is the source of most of the creations of Tagore. Ours is an unfathomable desire. Our romance and desire play together. The more we get, the more we want and thisis the route cause of all the problems. Your desires were endless, you always wanted to get more, but still I was there to shower my love and affection. My love has no boundary. I always wanted to give, in fact I was happy and wanted to sacrifice, but never demanded anything from you. You were enough matured to understand the relationship, the world. I expected, only some respect from your side, but it was never possible for you. I'm missing something. Let's move to my poems, which I penned for you. I'm not comparing my lines to anyone, but want to say only, "do not ask me which song had I sung for whom. I shall stay ever on the dusty way for that person who pays due respect to my song."

In the mean time, I remember a sweet poem dedicated to Padma River byTagore. Just go through it."

O my Padma,

we meet each other a hundred times.
One day in your lonesome sandy beach

between the month of October and November.

At the twilight of the setting sun on the west

I put my heart and soul abreast you.

On the fall of dusk that day

your face was shyly downward

but calm and speechless like the bride.

An evening star smiles at you with loving humor.

Since that day onward

we meet each other a hundred times.''

Dear Pouring Rain, you must know the fact, human sufferings are caused absolutely by the human all over the globe. We fail to tap the naturalresources properly for we often court disaster creating troubles forourselves and others encountering nature. Tagore has mentioned all theissues, in his poems. Well, while summing up the letter, I would like to say that's eating me inside.

Rabindranath's rare books and manuscripts have gone missing from National Library, based at Kolkata, in mysterious circumstances. Though, the management of the organization has set up a five-member committee to look into charges and we are trying to get back the great things, but the fact is black and white. If you move down to your memory lanes, you'll find me right, when we lost the noble medal andother things from Shantiniketan, but still waiting for them. We peopledo politics and never respect our legends. Really, it's shame on us.

It’s time to leave now. See you soon.

Missing you!

Thanks & Regards!
The Desert.