The British colonials gave the aborigines of Africa a name: Bushman.
Though struggling for their daily survival, they are excellent philosophers. Their attitude is reflected in their simple life and simple customs.
They are on the move each day of their lives for water and food. They have limited names, say about thirty-five for each gender (they think it fosters a “name kinship”). The women enjoy high importance and their opinions often take precedence. They hunt with a poisoned arrow which is neuro toxic, meaning that it affects the brain of the prey but does not contaminate the whole body. The portion where the arrow hit the prey is cut out and thrown away before consuming the hunted animal.
They take birth, wedding and death also very casually.
They are not big issues. A Bushman woman who is about to give a birth will simply go behind a bush (sorry, no pun is intended) and just ‘squeeze out’ the baby, have the baby and be back for her routine life in a short while, say an hour or so, unless there is some complication when an older woman could be called for help.
A wedding is a private affair between the bride and the groom and only in exceptional cases, a guest may be invited. Boys are not considered as men until they have killed a large, dangerous animal.
If some one dies, the clan will move away from that spot after burying the dead alongwith his or her possessions and never camp at that spot again. The dead person’s knees are folded and brought near the chin while burying, believing that this makes him ready for his new journey (a position resembling the foetus inside the mother?)
I did not start this post to write about the Bushmen but a beautiful piece of their wisdom:
“The day we die, a soft breeze will wipe our footprints in the sand.
When wind dies down, who will tell the timelessness that
Last month, our niece visited us from Kolkata. She brought one gift that was chosen for us by her mother. It was a music album of Tagore songs, translated in Hindi.
Each song was introduced in the baritone voice of Amitabh Bachchan. His sonorous narration, the poetry and music , all together had a mesmerizing effect. I was carried in to the old world charm when Tagore lived in flesh and blood, moved majestically in his flowing silk robes and flowing beard, a rare polymath, our home-grown Leonardo da Vinci, with superior intelligence and whose expertise spanned a significant number of subject areas like literature ( plays, poetry & prose, music, painting. He was also an artist, philosopher, singer, social reformer and educationist.He was as much versatile as was profound.
Listening to his creations was also so profound that one is carried back in history to witness the unfolding of an epoch-making event .
The clock must be turned backwards for about a century. .....................
The place is the Port of Mumbai.
The date is 22-5-1912.
Tagore carries in his luggage today the translations of his selected poems in a note book as he embarks upon his journey to the west with his son, daughter-in-law and the royal family of Tripura. He sails from Mumbai for London.
He had earlier planned and abandoned this voyage on 19th March, just two months ago. He was to sail from Kolkata , his luggage had been loaded on to the ship but he suddenly became ill and unconscious. The next port of call was Chennai. On doctor's advice, he disembarked here and returned with his luggage, dejected .
But his translation work was picking momentum, which helped him overcome his gloom. The pages of the note book were fast filling up.
16-6-1912. he reaches London. Obviously, there is only one copy of the note book containing Gitanjali translations. He took a train from Charing Cross to Bloomsbury, where his hotel was booked. The family was not accustomed to tube railway.
When they eventually reached the hotel and were settled, Tagore realized on the next day that his bag containing the translations was left in the train.
Fortunately, it was recovered from Lost Luggage Office, safely!
Sir William Rothenstein, (January 29, 1872 – February 14, 1945), was an English painter, draughtsman and writer on art, who became known for his portrait drawings of famous individuals and was an official war artist in both World War I and World War II.
Tagore had met the British painter Rothenstein earlier in India at his ancestral home (where Tagore was born) .
He had done Tagore's sketches earlier and was impressed with his writings also.
Tagore was feeling very lonely in London and he soon contacted Rothenstein. he moved to reside near Rothenstein's residence.
When he went through Tagore's translations, he was so impressed that he & his friend arranged a meeting with WB Yeats on 27-6-1912.
It was followed by a reading session on 7th July , followed by a dinner in a hotel on 10th July. On each occasion the attendance was growing larger. Very eminent and yet to be eminent literary figures were present and felt overjoyed with delight and emotions!
The subsequent events were to happen in quick succession :
[] In a week's time, Yeats completed his pencil corrections in Tagore's note book.
[] A limited edition with 750 copies was prined on 1-11-1912.
[] It was dedicated by Tagore to William Rothenstein ( whom he had described in his subsequent letter of 20-12-1913 from India very lovingly : ".... Of all the friends I have in the West, I think of you as the one who ought to have been born as my brother in this country"
[] Yeats, who eleven years later, in December 1923, himself received the Nobel Prize for literature, wrote an exhilaratingIntroduction where he said: ..." these verses will not lie in little well-printed books on ladies' tables, ... or be carried about students at the universities..... but, as the generations pass, travellers will hum them on the highway and men rowing upon rivers..." ( Any Bengali speakingbhadra lok will agree today, 90 years later).
I am thrilled to imagine that Tagore was 51 years old,
and both Yeats
and Rothenstein were 4 and 11 years
younger to Tagore
when these great things were happening !
[] During the eight months of 1913, Macmillan & Co Ltd of London, brought out ten reprints, well before the Nobel Prize was announced.
[] Tagore became the 13th winner for the prize for literature but the first non-westerner to win it. If we do not count Ronald Ross and Rudyard Kipling ( who were two India-born British Nobel prize winners before Tagore), he was the first Indian to be awarded a nobel prize.
Was he very happy ?
In Selected Letters of Rabindranath Tagore by Krishna Dutta, Andrew Robinson, the authors mention that
" ....In Bengal there was rejoicing, even by Tagore's distractors.
About a week after the announcement ( of the prize),
some five hundred Kolkata citizens went
by a special train to Shanti Nikentan
to felicitate Tagore.
He (Tagore) delivered a stinging rebuke
to this deputation. He was unable to accept praise
from the people who did not appreciate his work
and the fact that the prize was offered
simply because a foreign readership had shown appreciation,
struck him as doubly insincere!"
Read more about his disgust!
Harriet Moody was Tagore's closest American friend and a generous hostess to him in USA and England where she invited to stay in her building.
Ms Moody writes on 19-11-1913 to congratulate Tagore on being honoured with the Nobel prize and again on 27-12-1913, saying
"..... everyone in Chicago was buying Tagore's books as gifts and
the parsiomonius ( excessively miserly) book sellers of Chicago
could not get enough of them.."
Tagore wrote back to her on 22-1-1914 - ( in what I consider a very wonderful expression!):
My dear friend,
I am still suffering from the Nobel prize notoriety
and I do not know what nursing home there is where
I can go and get rid of my latest and greatest trouble.
To deprive me of my seclusion is like shelling an oyster -
the rude touch of the curious world is all over me -.
I am pining for the shade of obscurity.
I hope you have already tired of my name being
discussed in every newspaper
and you do not despise me, who has been
dragged from his nest of dreams
into the most crowded market of public applause.
Why do I not have a word of sympathy
from you in my time of distress?
Your affectionate friend,
Rabindranath Tagore"
Distressed he was most certainly.
Was not Gitanjali ( or `song offerings' )
inspired by successive deaths
of his near and dear ones ?
The mystery of death always haunted Tagore. .
His mother, his lonely symbol of love and freedom
too left him when he was 14.His brother’s wife
was his first inspiration to start writing dies when he was 23.
If we glance at the ups and downs
in his life, it is easy to feel his pain.
Essential Tagore chronology:
[] 1861, born as 14th child in a family of landlords
[] 1869, wrote his first poem
[] 1873, wrote first play
[] 1874, his poem Abhilasha ( a keen desire, ambition)
published - without his name - with just a mention that
it is penned by a 12-year old one.
[] 1883, Tagore marries 10-year old Mrinalini Devi
[] 1886, a daughter is born
[] 1888, a son is born
[] 1891, second daughter is born
[] 1894, third daughter is born
[] 1896, youngest child, a son is born
[] 1901, death of eldest daughter
[]1902, death of wife ( age 29) and second daughter ( age 11)
[] 1905, death of father
[] 1906, writes Amar Shonar Bangla ( the national anthem of Bangladesh)
[] 1907, death of the youngest child ( age 11) -
describes it as " the crowning tragedy" of his life"
[] 1910, Gitanjali published in Bengali
( It contains 157 poems written between 1906 to 1910
whereas the Nobel prize winning Gitanjali is a slender version
containing 103 poems selected and translated by Tagore himself)
[] 1911, The National Anthem of India Jana Gana Man is written by Rabindranath Tagore
( The only person credited with national anthems for two countries)
[] 1912, travels abroad from 22nd May 1912 to 4th September, 1913
[] 1913, on 13th November, the Nobel prize is announced.
No telephone at Shantiniketan , so the telegram from Kolkata
travels 213 kms distance and reaches him on 14th!
[] 1915, Knighthood from British Govt on 3rd June
[] 1919, returns knighthood on 30th May
( immediately after the Jalianwala Baugh massacre of 13th April)
To end the post, here is my favourite poem by Tagore ( not from Gitanjali, I presume ) , which tells the listener to continue his or her journey, irrespective of support or encouragement from others. It is presented here in three languages for the readers to savour the same as much as they like it:
Original - In Bengali( romanised script)
Jodi tor đak shune keu na ashe tôbe êkla chôlo re,
Êkla chôlo, êkla chôlo, êkla chôlo, êkla chôlo re.
Jodi keu kôtha na kôe, ore ore o ôbhaga,
Jodi shôbai thake mukh firaee shôbai kôre bhôe---
Tôbe pôran khule
O tui mukh fuţe tor moner kôtha êkla bôlo re.
Jodi shôbai fire jae, ore ore o ôbhaga,
Jodi gôhon pôthe jabar kale keu fire na chae---
Tôbe pôther kãţa
O tui rôktomakha chôrontôle êkla dôlo re.
Jodi alo na dhôre, ore ore o ôbhaga,
Jodi jhôŗ-badole ãdhar rate duar dêe ghôre---
Tôbe bojranôle
Apon buker pãjor jalie nie êkla jôlo re.
Tagore's English translation
If they answer not to thy call walk alone,
If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,
O thou of evil luck,
open thy mind and speak out alone.
If they turn away, and desert you when crossing the wilderness,
O thou of evil luck,
trample the thorns under thy tread,
and along the blood-lined track travel alone.
If they do not hold up the light when the night is troubled with storm,
O thou of evil luck,
with the thunder flame of pain ignite thy own heart
and let it burn alone.
Gujarati translation by Mahadev Desai
This delicate book Gitanjali is thinner ( just 108 pages ) and smaller than your copy of The Reader's Digest magazine and priced at Rs. 60/= !!
It is a steal, one would say & also very good for uplifiting our spirits !
And, finally,
a sample of Tagore's delicate expression - in his own hand-writing !
There are no greater events which need celebration than human birth, human, life and human death.
Birth day is the most regularly celebrated event and it has significance only to the birthday boy or girl and some one who is very very close. Others are mere onlookers who, by compulsions of civility & courtesy, shower an occasional bouquet, gift, a phone call or an SMS in the least.
Celebration of life is a serious daily affair and is an outcome of daily choices - rather a dozen choices each day – that one makes, which in turn build his life as though brick by brick. The superficial life will be full of superficial celebrations – as we have seen in my earlier posts - like Hand Washing Day and Pop Corn Day and Ice Cream Day, while a more serious life is like that of Nick Vujicic i.e. Life without Limbs - turned into- Life without Limit” - seen in another post!
In Gujarati, one recent message I received is very inspiring and the key to Life Without Limit :
Celebration of Death is the only one where the ‘guest of honour’ himself is absent! Hence, what happens that day is all the more crucial to know! It depends on two things: the social customs and beliefs of each community or province and how the life was lived. The latter is a dull and mundane subject, full of subjectivity and more importantly, a sacred, private domain and therefore better not to touch it. The former - customs and beliefs - is the subject matter of this post.
The subject of death has been long held as one of permanent separation, grief, bereavement, mourning and remembrance. To the living, its undertone is that of morbid fear, of some thing demonic or satanic, some thing unwelcome or inauspicious.
The Hindu trinity of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva are respectively the creator, preserver and destroyer deities of the universe. Lord Shiva - the destroyer - appears in a meditating but ever-happy posture. The Lord's attributes represent his victory over the demonic activity, and calmness of human nature.
Shiva is worshipped in a popular form named Nataraj ( the King of Dance ). His dance represents both the destruction and the creation of the universe and reveals the cycles of death, birth and rebirth. His Dance of Bliss is for the welfare of the world. In the pose of Nataraj, under his feet, Shiva crushes the demon of ignorance ( caused by forgetfulness) . One hand is stretched across his chest and points towards the uplifted foot, indicating the release from earthly bondage of the devotee. The fire represents the final destruction of creation, but the dance of the Nataraj is also an act of creation, which arouses dormant energies and scatters the ashes of the universe in a pattern that will be the design of the ensuing creation.
In spite of all this positive symbols in praise of death, the spiritual knowledge is quickly vaporized in many a homes and the dead are remembered in a very solemn, seriously suffocating atmosphere where family members spend the inauspicious period of 16-days of worshiping the departed souls by shunning themselves from all important auspicious decisions and actions every year, without fail!
In contrast, if one has to see the true celebration of death , perfectly in line with that of birth, a quick arm-chair journey to Mexico and other Latino communities should suffice.Then, tie up the seat belts please on the journey of fun, frolic, beautifully created art work , all in celebration of dear, dear friend we call death – to witness Day of the Dead(El Día de los Muertos) ! This festival is noteworthy in several ways. The theme is to “remember the dead”, but the rituals are unimaginably explicit, entertaining, colourful and creative.
The holiday focuses on gatherings of family and friends to pray for and remember friends and family members who have died. The celebration occurs on November 1st and 2nd in connection with the Catholic holiday of All Saints' Day which occurs on November 1st and All Souls' Day which occurs on November 2nd. Traditions include building private altars honoring the deceased, using sugar skulls, marigolds, and the favorite foods and beverages of the departed, and visiting graves with these as gifts. Rituals celebrating the deaths of ancestors have been observed by these civilizations perhaps for as long as 2500–3000 years.
In most regions of Mexico, November 1 honors children and infants as "Día de los Inocentes" (Day of the Innocents) or "Día de los Angelitos" (Day of the Little Angels) and November 2 as "Día de los Muertos" or "Día de los Difuntos" (Day of the Dead).
Beliefs
Some families build altars or small shrines in their homes which usually have the Christian cross, statues or pictures of the Blessed Virgin Mary, pictures of deceased relatives and other persons, scores of candles, etc. Traditionally, families spend some time around the altar, praying and telling anecdotes about the deceased. In some locations, celebrants wear shells on their clothing, so that when they dance, the noise will wake up the dead; some will also dress up as the deceased.
Those with a distinctive talent for writing sometimes create short poems, called "calaveras" ("skulls"), mocking epitaphs of friends, describing interesting habits and attitudes or funny anecdotes.
A common symbol of the holiday is the skull (colloquially called calavera), which celebrants represent in masks, called calacas (colloquial term for "skeleton"), and foods such as sugar or chocolate skulls, which are inscribed with the name of the recipient on the forehead. Sugar skulls are gifts that can be given to both the living and the dead.
The traditions and activities that take place in celebration of the Day of the Dead are not universal and often vary from town to town. Some where there is also dancing with colorful costumes, often with skull-shaped masks and devil masks in the plaza or garden of the town.
In some parts of the country , children in costumes roam the streets, knocking on people's doors, for a calaverita, a small gift of candies or money; they also ask passersby for it. They also clean their houses and prepare the favorite dishes of their deceased loved ones to place upon their altar or ofrenda.
People bring offerings of flowers, photos, mementos, mentos, and food for their departed loved ones which they place at an elaborately and colorfully decorated altar. A program of traditional music and dance also accompanies the community event.
Some where, Day of the Dead are highlighted by the construction and flying of giant kites in addition to the traditional visits to gravesites of ancestors. A big event also is the consumption of fiambre that is made only for this day during the year.
In the Philippines, , the tombs are cleaned or repainted, candles are lit, and flowers are offered. Entire families camp in cemeteries, and sometimes spend a night or two near their relatives' tombs. Card games, eating, drinking, singing and dancing are common activities in the cemetery. It is considered a very important holiday by many Filipinos.
“While it's strange for most of us to accept the fact that "death" and "festivities" can go hand-in-hand, for most Mexicans, the two are intricately entwined. This all stems from the ancient indigenous peoples of Mexico who believed that the souls of the dead return each year to visit with their living relatives - to eat, drink and be merry. Just like they did when they were living.
Tempered somewhat by the arrival of the Spaniards in the 15th century, current practice calls for the deceased children (little angels) to be remembered on the previous day (November 1st, All Saints Day) with toys and colorful balloons adorning their graves. And the next day, All Souls Day, adults who have died are honored with displays of the departed's favorite food and drinks, as well as ornamental and personal belongings.
Flowers, particularly the zempasúchil (an Indian word for a special type of marigold) and candles, which are placed on the graves, are supposed to guide the spirits home to their loved ones.
This may all seem morbid and somewhat ghoulish to those who are not part of that culture. But, for Mexicans who believe in the life/death/rebirth continuum, it's all very natural. This is not to say that they treat death lightly. They don't. It's just that they recognize it, mock it, and even defy it. Death is part of life and, as such, it's representative of the Mexican spirit and tradition which says: "Don't take anything lying down - even death!"
First the graves and altars are prepared by the entire family, whose members bring the departed's favorite food and drink. Candles are lit, the ancient incense copal is burned, prayers and chants for the dead are intoned and then drinks and food are consumed in a party/picnic-like atmosphere. At 6:00 pm, the bells begin to ring (every 30 seconds), summoning the dead. They ring throughout the night. At sunrise, the ringing stops and those relatives who have kept the night-long vigil, go home.
Mexico celebrates a yearly tradition called Day of the Dead during the last days of October and the first days of November. Due to the duration of this festivity and the way people get involved it has been called "The Cult of Death."In this place, the spirits rest until the day they could return to their homes to visit their relatives.
The legacy of past civilizations is graphically manifested on this occasion through people’s beliefs that death is a transition from one life to another in different levels where communication exists between the living and the dead. This communication takes place once a year throughout the country.
This may all seem morbid and somewhat ghoulish to those who are not part of that culture. But, for Mexicans who believe in the life/death/rebirth continuum, it's all very natural.
This is not to say that they treat death lightly. They don't. It's just that they recognize it, mock it, and even defy it.
Death is part of life and, as such, it's representative of the Mexican spirit and tradition which says: "Don't take anything lying down - even death!"
Therefore, the Day of the Dead in Mexico is not a mournful commemoration but a happy and colorful celebration where death takes a lively, friendly expression.What a friendly, joyful way to remember the departed dear ones !!
With inputs & Extracts from “ Mexico Celebrates Life” (http://www.dayofthedead.com/) by Journalist, Author, and Photographer, Mary J. Andrade
They are not big issues. A Bushman woman who is about to give a birth will simply go behind a bush (sorry, no pun is intended) and just ‘squeeze out’ the baby, have the baby and be back for her routine life in a short while, say an hour or so, unless there is some complication when an older woman could be called for help.
A wedding is a private affair between the bride and the groom and only in exceptional cases, a guest may be invited. Boys are not considered as men until they have killed a large, dangerous animal.
