Of Tagore and Fair and Lovely!

         This blog’s theme is a done- to-death one, about the average Indian’s obsession with a 'white' complexion. Nothing new I know, for feminists, both real and virtual continue to rage on this topic on all available media including of course the internet . I am not really a feminist, being too laid back (read lazy), but I am a Tagore fan (..I can hear the “there she goes again...”) and the poet had addressed this issue many, many years ago when this obsession with ‘white’ skin had perhaps been much more acute than it is today. And to tell you the truth, this obsession with a ‘white skin’ is not restricted only to the colour of a woman's skin. Men also suffer much discrimination in this matter especially while being exhibited in the marriage market. But somehow no one really talks about them being discriminated against (the issue's not attention grabbing enough when it involves the male, I guess) and so these poor chaps suffer silently,  rubbing that obnoxious ‘Fair and Handsome’ on their faces night and day and hoping against hope that the mirror will soon tell them that their skin has turned a shade fairer.. ! 

            Now back to Tagore. In the his typical style, the poet addresses the issue in a rather abstruse way. The poem’s  called ‘Krishnokoli Ami Tarei Boli” or “I call her Krishnokoli” . Tagore talks about this dark-skinned, probably Santhal village girl he has seen at a paddy field on a rainy evening, somewhere in the heart of rural Bengal. He tells of how he is captivated by the girl's beauty , this girl, who because she is dark, is by default considered ‘not beautiful’ and maybe even ugly. He tells us how, in spite of what conventional wisdom dictates, he finds her to be exquisitely beautiful, her beauty  easily transcending the colour of her skin to come reside in her dark ‘gazelle’ eyes. The girl is unknown to him; but mesmerised by her dark beauty he names her ‘Krishnokoli’ which in Bangla or for that matter even in Hindi and Sanskrit means a dark coloured flower or bud. His metaphorical comparison of this Krishnokoli's beauty with the beauty of a darkening monsoon dusk is haunting and is perhaps the l' essence of the poem.

This work sometimes reminds me of the ‘Solitary Reaper’ for the situations are rather similar in both the poems, that of wandering poets chancing upon rustic village women working in the fields and being mesmerised by their beauty , be it the beauty of their physical form or that of their voice and song..!

         I’ve translated the verse for you  and though it cannot really the capture the wonder of the original, it will give you an idea of the thoughts of the poet.

            And just as a little afterthought, I’ll dedicate this post to the two prominent Krishnokoli’s in my life: the gazelle-eyed Deccan Queen, hauntingly beautiful with an irrepressible zest for life and the bass-voiced Other Half, tall, steadfast and handsome, the two living, breathing examples in my life that the colour of our skin is just that, a colour caused by this organic compound called melanin, of which some have more and some have less and it has got nothing, absolutely nothing to do with our worth as human beings.  

Hope you like the poem. Do let me know.

I call her Krishnokoli - she whom the village folks call ‘Dark’!

On a cloud laden day, at the field I saw

This dark girl’s gazelle eyes, dark.

Her veil, it trailed at her feet,
Her braid, it rolled over her back...

Dark? Well, dark she may be

But only her gazelle-dark eye did I see.    

Gazing at the darkening clouds, two dark cows lowed  

This dark girl, from her hut, rushed out, full of woe

Listening to the thundering clouds,

She glanced at the sky, raising her dark brows....

Dark? Well dark she may be, but only her gazelle-dark eye did I see.

The Eastern wind came rushing, making the paddy sway

Standing at that field, it was just me and none else that day!

Her glance, did it fall on me or did it not

Only I know and knows this girl dark.

Dark?  Well dark she may be, but only her gazelle dark eye did I see

And thus like the dark rain clouds
That gather on a sweltering summer day....

And thus like the dark rain shadows,
That draw over the forest at the end of May.......

And thus like those sudden gusts of joy,
That fill the heart on a dark Shravan night...... 

Dark??  Well, dark she may be,
But only her gazelle-dark eyes can I see!

I call her Krishnokoli – don’t really care what the others say...

Saw her at Moynapara, on the field that day:

A dark girl who had not veiled her face.....
A dark girl who had had no time to feel shy.......

Dark? Very well, dark she may be,

But only her gazelle-dark eyes do I see !

কৃষ্ণকলি আমি তারেই বলি,   কালো তারে বলে গাঁয়ের লোক।
মেঘলা দিনে দেখেছিলেম মাঠে   কালো মেঘের কালো হরিণ-চোখ।
ঘোমটা মাথায় ছিল না তার মোটে,   মুক্তবেণী পিঠের 'পরে লোটে।
কালো? তা সে যতই কালো হোক,   দেখেছি তার কালো হরিণ-চোখ।
    
ঘন মেঘে আঁধার হল দেখে   ডাকতেছিল শ্যামল দুটি গাই,
শ্যামা মেয়ে ব্যস্ত ব্যাকুল পদে   কুটির হতে ত্রস্ত এল তাই।
আকাশ-পানে হানি যুগল ভুরু   শুনলে বারেক মেঘের গুরুগুরু।
কালো? তা সে যতই কালো হোক,   দেখেছি তার কালো হরিণ-চোখ।
    
পূবে বাতাস এল হঠাৎ ধেয়ে,   ধানের ক্ষেতে খেলিয়ে গেল ঢেউ।
আলের ধারে দাঁড়িয়েছিলেম একা,   মাঠের মাঝে আর ছিল না কেউ।
আমার পানে দেখলে কি না চেয়ে   আমি জানি আর জানে সেই মেয়ে।
কালো? তা সে যতই কালো হোক,   দেখেছি তার কালো হরিণ-চোখ।
    
এমনি করে কালো কাজল মেঘ   জ্যৈষ্ঠ মাসে আসে ঈশান কোণে।
এমনি করে কালো কোমল ছায়া   আষাঢ় মাসে নামে তমাল-বনে।
এমনি করে শ্রাবণ-রজনীতে   হঠাৎ খুশি ঘনিয়ে আসে চিতে।
কালো? তা সে যতই কালো হোক,   দেখেছি তার কালো হরিণ-চোখ।
    
কৃষ্ণকলি আমি তারেই বলি,   আর যা বলে বলুক অন্য লোক।
দেখেছিলেম ময়নাপাড়ার মাঠে   কালো মেয়ের কালো হরিণ-চোখ।
মাথার 'পরে দেয় নি তুলে বাস,   লজ্জা পাবার পায় নি অবকাশ।
কালো? তা সে যতই কালো হোক,   দেখেছি তার কালো হরিণ-চোখ॥