Rabindranath Tagore, some have heard and read about him some have not. Last week was his birthday. He was born in Calcutta on 7th May 1861 and died on 7th August 1941 in Calcutta. He was a Proud Indian He was a Writer, song composer, playwright, essayist, painter. And he received Novel Prize for ‘Gitanjali’ in the year 1913.

Honestly speaking on my blog today I won’t write what everyone knows or can read about him. This is my blog so today I will write what I truly feel, what I truly think about him.

I had read about him since my childhood. My Grandpa used to say one cannot finish reading his works during his/her whole lifetime. Of course he had written a lot. I somehow could feel whatever he might have felt during writing either a sad poetry or a love poem.

Many bengali people in India love him but some hate him. I remember, last year a renowned camera person from a renowned channel told me there’s no point in loving that man’s work because he got whatever he had because he was born in a rich family.

I didn’t respond him, I just smiled. Of course I could have argued with him because I have read him since my childhood. But I couldn’t make him understand what I exactly feel about Rabindranath Tagore.

If any artist is reading this then my question to you would be, have you seen Rabindranath Tagore’s old age photograph? If yes have you looked deep into his eyes? What do you see?

It is said that eyes of a human reflects everything about that person, I am not sure about others but about Rabindranath Tagore it was applicable. His emotions would be easily understandable from him eyes. I personally avoid looking in his eyes of his picture. Do you know what I see?

He might have recieved everything a man ever wants or wanted but his eyes says he was in agony, in deep pain which he couldn’t share with anyone. His eyes say he wanted peace. His eyes depict, only if he could turn over the time.

There are many portraits about him. Many people draw about him. I only sketched once about him because I can’t draw those eyes. I can’t draw that pain, that hurt. I can’t. I only sketched about him once in my lifetime but for me that was worse because I felt like thousands of knives were hitting me.

I have never seen him but I feel like as if I have known him since ages. May be it’s common.

Many “FAMOUS” people would say ,”Ah, that’s very normal”, if I share my true feelings about what I feel about Rabindranath Tagore. But my question is do you feel connected to him like I do? Do you feel like you have known him always like I do? Do you?

Honestly speaking he isn’t my favourite writer or poet or painter but still I love reading his works. This reminds me of one more incident in 2017 while I was working as a journalist, my senior asked me about one of the phrases of Rabindranath Tagore’s work “Ghore Baire”, a lady who sort of hated me commented, “How would she know about it? You asked the wrong person”, and she chuckled. My senior knowing me well then told her, “Why don’t you answer it then”, she didn’t have any answer to it. I simply completed the phrase and told him the other required details and left the room.

You know I didn’t feel victorious that day because she couldn’t answer it and I knew about it. I was extremely hurt because I can’t portray my feelings.

I know whoever reads it might feel it boring because for the very first time ever I have revealed this side of me but one thing I would say Rabindranath Tagore was really a great man. Not because I know it but because I feel it.

A quote by him, “Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence? I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. Open your doors and look abroad. From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before. In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across an hundred years.”

That’s all for today.

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