The Tagore buzz is still on and so here is another paraphrase. Did I just hear my regular readers (are there are any?) wail, ‘What, another one?’ To confess, Tagore, has really got under my skin and I can’t help but talk about his works. So begging pardon for this obsession, here is ‘another’ one…..
This
latest discovery belongs to the category of ‘Love and Longing’ and like many of
Tagore’s love songs, is both a love song and a hymn. Many of Tagore’s verses,
while overtly appearing as love songs can also, in the finest of ‘Bhakti’ traditions
wherein the beloved is only another manifestation of the Supreme Being, be interpreted
by the discerning listener as hymns to the Almighty.
So
this one is about unrequited love, about the silent admirer who adores from a
distance. Diligently retrieving bits and pieces of the words, glances and
touches carelessly thrown away by the adored one, this lover weaves himself a wild
and wonderful tapestry of dreams. And so he lives his love in his dreams, never
mind that the Adored One is not even aware that he exists, let alone know
of his love for her. And though he experiences his love vicariously and finally
even rues that what he has are only the pieces and not the whole, I still find it
kind of sweet and even poignant. In this day of loud, blatant, in-your-face expression of romance,
the idea of a silent admirer living in the dream world he has woven around his Adoration, is not without appeal.
And
for the devotee, the song is a wistful expression of his devotion to the
Almighty, of how because She never manifests in person, one can only worship
from afar, finding Her in the bits and pieces of Her creations.
Ektuku Choyan
Laage….
একটুকু ছোওয়া লাগে
একটুকু ছোঁওয়া লাগে, একটুকু কথা শুনি-
তাই দিয়ে মনে মনে রচি মম ফাল্গুনী ।
কিছু পলাশের নেশা, কিছু না চাঁপায় মেশা,
তাই দিয়ে সুরে সুরে রংগে রসে জাল বুনি ।
যেটুকু কাছেতে আসে ক্ষণিকের ফাঁকে ফাঁকে
চকিত মনের কোণে স্বপনের ছবি আঁকে ।
যেটুকু যায় যে দূরে ভাবনা কাঁপায় সুরে,
তাই নিয়ে যায় বেলা নূপুরের তাল গুনি ।।
With
The lightest brush of your touch,
And
The faintest murmur of your voice,
I compose for me,
My very own
Spring Symphony!
The lightest brush of your touch,
And
The faintest murmur of your voice,
I compose for me,
My very own
Spring Symphony!
With
A tinge of the red of the Palash
And
A whiff of the fragrance of the Champa
I weave for me,
My very own
Rhythm Tapestry!
And
Whatever little of You,
That slips through
Moment's seams
In my mind’s darkest corners
Draws vivid dreams.
Whatever little of You,
That slips through
Moment's seams
In my mind’s darkest corners
Draws vivid dreams.
Yet,
All that of You,
Which, leaving me to rue,
Draws far away:
With the tinkle of anklet bells
Whiles to close,
My day.........
