Atithi (Guest) by Rabindranath Tagore

Exploring the Depths of "Atithi": Key Themes in Tagore's Narrative

Rabindranath Tagore's "Atithi" (The Guest) is a poignant exploration of human connection, individual liberty, and the subtle interplay of emotions. The story, centered around the enigmatic character of Tarapada, weaves together several profound themes.

Freedom and the Call of the Open Road

The most striking theme in "Atithi" is freedom, personified by young Tarapada. He embodies an almost primal urge to wander, a spirit unbound by conventional societal expectations or familial ties. Despite the love and comfort offered by Matilal Babu's family, Tarapada consistently chooses to leave, driven by an insatiable desire for exploration and adventure. His casual remark, "I don’t eat every day," encapsulates his indifference to domesticity and societal norms, highlighting the stark contrast between his nomadic existence and the settled life of the family who briefly cares for him.

The Sting of Jealousy and Childhood Rivalry

The theme of jealousy emerges powerfully through Charushashi, Matilal's only child. Accustomed to being the sole recipient of her parents' affection, Charu feels deeply threatened by Tarapada's arrival and the attention he garners. Her insecurity escalates into open animosity, manifesting in sullen behavior at meals and a refusal to acknowledge Tarapada's talents. This portrayal offers a nuanced look at the complexities of childhood emotions and the challenges that arise when love and attention must be shared.

The Multifaceted Nature of Love and Affection

"Atithi" delves into the diverse forms of love and affection. Matilal and Annapurna's nurturing instinct towards Tarapada exemplifies a protective, parental love, quick to embrace and care for him. However, Tarapada's relationships are marked by a distinct lack of attachment. While he enjoys the affection of the villagers, he remains emotionally distant, never fully committing. This contrast prompts reflection on the essence of love—whether it stems from obligation or is a freely given connection, unburdened by expectation.

Innocence, Experience, and Inner Wisdom

Tarapada represents a unique blend of innocence and experience. Despite his travels and encounters with diverse people and situations, he retains a childlike purity and a sense of wonder. His adaptability and ease in various social settings speak to his experiences, yet his carefree spirit and detachment from material concerns underscore his unwavering innocence. The narrative subtly suggests that true wisdom might lie in maintaining this innate purity while navigating life's complexities.

Nature's Profound Influence

Nature plays a vital role in "Atithi," acting as both a vivid backdrop and a powerful catalyst for emotions. Descriptions of the monsoon river, lush landscapes, and vibrant village life create an atmosphere of beauty and tranquility. Tarapada's deep connection to the natural world is evident; it's a source of solace, inspiration, and fuels his passion for music and exploration. The interplay between the characters and their environment emphasizes the interconnectedness of all things and nature's profound impact on human feelings.

Fluidity of Cultural Identity

The story also subtly explores themes of cultural identity and tradition, particularly through Tarapada's Brahmin background. His immersion in various performance troupes and his rich knowledge of folk songs and stories highlight the diverse cultural tapestry of the region. Tarapada's ability to seamlessly move through different social strata and connect with individuals from various backgrounds challenges rigid notions of belonging, showcasing the fluidity of cultural identity.

Conclusion

Ultimately, "Atithi" is a compelling narrative that begins with Matilal Babu and his family's journey home by boat, where they encounter Tarapada. This encounter sets the stage for a rich exploration of freedom, affection, and the intricate web of human relationships, all culminating in Tarapada's ability to forge connections while remaining distinctly detached.

Tehelka Tarun Tejpal Tattered

Tarun J. Tejpal, Editor-in-Chief, Tehelka

Tarun Tejpal, who wrongly calculated 'The Alchemy of Desire' and who is now surrounded with strange faces in 'The Valley of Masks', will now have a tale to tell, 'The Story of My Assassins' (his assassins being his uncontrollable desires, so to say!). It was he who penned down 'The Alchemy of Desire' in 2005, 'The Story of my Assassins' in 2009 and 'The Volley of Masks' in 2011. But let's not sit on judgement here! It is just that the high-profile editor of Tehelka, Tarun J. Tejpal, is left with a tattered image now. The magazine Tehelka has lost the key staff and the remaining staff has lost its morale. After remaining in controversy the Managing Editor of Tehelka, Shoma Choudhary too has resigned. 

As far as his books are concerned, he is known for each one of them. Having achieved the status of a celebrity rather than a writer can be attributed to be the reason. Nevertheless, his skills of writing have received praise from the most famous of names. Khushwant Singh is of the opinion, ‘The Alchemy of Desire puts Tarun in the front rank of Indian novelists. I am inclined to agree with Naipaul: his book is a masterpiece.’ It was published in Washington Post about 'The Alchemy of Desire', "A bold, sensual novel about art, inspiration and the disintegration of a relationship...Tejpal's writing is unpredictable yet strikingly disciplined, and his explorations of matters physical and spiritual point out often painful truths." The novel tells us the story of a young couple, who don't have a penny with them but are absolutely in love. They are kind of obsessed with each other. The boy wants to be a writer. He is working on a novel. He takes a break from his writing only to feed his desires centred around his beautiful wife. Things take a strange turn when they start the renovation of an abandoned cottage that they have purchased. There are some unsettling things that take him away from his wife, life and everything. He turns out to be alone. The backdrop of the novel is India, what it is at the turn of the millenium. 

In 'The Story of my Assassins', Tejpal has taken in his viewpoint both the India living in cities and that living in villages. "This is a book of multiple roads to brutality, of multiple explanations for the central event. Policemen, crooks, village elders, journalists, venture capitalists, businessmen, lawyers, street children, whores – no one escapes Tejpal’s sharp pen which he sometimes uses like a caricaturist, at other times like a poet...The generation of Vikram Seth, Rushdie, Amitava Ghosh, Rohinton Mistry, Arundhati Roy is still writing and at the top of its form. But the literary equivalent of the cricketing question, “Who after the Fab Four?” continues to be asked...by taking on a big theme and finding in it a commentary on India – neither dark nor shining, but merely a world that is what it is – Tejpal has staked a claim to being taken more seriously than most others." - Mail Today 

Tarun Tejpal has been a regular at Jaipur Literature Festival. Even last year I attended his session, where he was in conversation with Shashi Tharoor. Let's see if he can make it this time!

Facebook and Literature

Life is all about Facebook now. A person can be called 'informed' only if he is always in and out of Facebook. Starting his roaming here from his desktop. Then he might want to take some rest, so he shifts on to his laptop, while reclining comfortably on his bed. Suddenly a while later, he gets a business call and he has to leave the cozy comfort of 'Facebooking' to attend an urgent business meeting. Now what! But there are no worries now. He continues to shower the likes uninterrupted because he has it all on his palms now, thanks to the fully loaded phone. Till this point it was still acceptable. But things have gone too far now. The literature being produced by the youngsters these days, is becoming more and more centred around Facebook and they are all love stories. It is as if talking about the Facebook is the only marketing strategy left. They all want to cash in on the popularity of Facebook. The latest in this line-up or should we say 'pile-up' is Sudeep Nagarkar's 'It all started with a friend request'.

'Closed Path' - a poem by R.N. Tagore

On the occasion of the birth anniversary of Rabindra Nath Tagore that falls on 9th May, I would like to share with my esteemed readers one of his poems.

CLOSED PATH

I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power,---that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.

Rabindranath Tagore What a wonderful piece of poetry! The title 'Closed Path' might be a pointer toward a hint of pessimism because of the word 'closed'. But the poem ends on a very positive note and therein lies the beauty of the poem. The poem moves from pointing towards a hint of pessimism because of the word 'closed'. But the poem ends of a very positive note. The poem is a wonderful moving from the shades of pessimism by assuming that the 'voyage had come to its end' in the first stanza, to a very optimistic one in the second stanza where 'new country is revealed with its wonders'. I hope you enjoy reading this poem. And do share your views about the poem here.

Release of Chetan Bhagat's 'Revolution 2020'

Chetan Bhagat

Chetan Bhagat's much talked about book 'Revolution 2020', his fifth one, was released in New Delhi on 8 October, 2011 by Yuvraj Singh, the cricketer. On the release Yuvraj jokingly related the title of the book to the concept of 20:20 cricket. Calling Yuvraj Singh for the book release was a nice publicity stunt! The book is already set to create a record of sorts. According to Rupa Publications, this book release could very well go down in history as the biggest one because they said that they have already shipped 5,00,000 (five lakhs) copies ordered in advance. Now the challenge before them is to see to it that the print is able to meet the demand.

The full title of the book is 'Revolution 2020: Love, Corruption,Ambition'. The story in the novel happens in the city of Varanasi. Against the backdrop of corruption, the novel narrates a love triangle. That's perfect bollywood masala again!

In Chetan Bhagat's own words, "The book is dedicated to 'the' Indian student and captures the dilemmas and pressures a student goes through in the corrupt and ruthless world of competitive exams."

Here's excerpt from the book 'Revolution 2020: Love, Corruption, Ambition':

PROLOGUE OF 'REVOLUTION 2020: LOVE, CORRUPTION, AMBITION'
“And I hope not just you but our whole country will keep that spark alive. For there is
something cool about saying – I come from the land of a billion sparks. Thank you,” I said,
ending my motivational speech at Tilak Hall, Varanasi.
The claps and whistles were my cue to leave. Security volunteers formed a human barricade
and soon I managed a neat exit from the hall.
“Thank you so much, sir,” someone said right behind me.
I turned around to face my host.
“Mr Mishra,” I said, “I was looking for you.”
“Please call me Gopal,” he said. “The car is over there.”
I walked out with the young director of GangaTech College, Gopal Mishra. His black Mercedes
whisked us away from the crowded Vidyapath Road.
“Any more temples you want to see?” Gopal asked. “That’s all Varanasi has, anyway. You saw
the ghats, right?”
“Yeah, I went to the Vishwanath temple and Dasaswamedh ghat at five in the morning,” I said.
“The aarti was out of the world.”
Gopal frowned.
“What?” I said. “You must be used to the aarti by now. I was seeing it for the first time, all
those diyas floating at dawn.”
“It is not that,” he said, but did not elaborate.
“You will drop me at Ramada hotel?” I said.
“Your flight is only tomorrow morning,” Gopal said. “Why don’t you come home for dinner?”
“Don’t be formal…” I began.
“You have to come home. We must have a drink together. I have the finest whiskey in the
world,” he said.
I smiled as I shook my head. “Thanks, Gopal, but I don’t drink much.”
“Chetan sir, one drink? I can tell people I had a drink with ‘the’ Chetan Bhagat.”
I laughed. “That’s nothing to brag about. Still, say it if you want. You don’t actually have to drink with me.”
“Not like that, sir. I actually want to have a drink with you.”
I saw his intense eyes. He had sent me twenty invites in the last six months, until I agreed to come. I knew he could persist.
“Okay, one drink!” I said, hoping I wouldn’t regret this later.
“Excellent,” Gopal said.
We drove ten kilometers outside the city on the Lucknow Highway to reach GangaTech. The guards saluted as the campus gates opened up. The car came to a halt at a gray bungalow. It had a stone exterior that matched the main college and hostel buildings. We sat in the living room on the ground floor. It opened out to a badminton court-sized lawn.
“Nice house,” I said as I sat on an extra-soft brown velvet sofa. I noticed the extra-high elevated ceiling.
“Thanks. I made it myself. The contractor built it, but I supervised everything,” Gopal said. He proceeded to the bar counter at the other end of the room. “It’s the bungalow of an engineering college director. You and your friends raided one, right?”
“How do you know?” I said.
“Everyone knows. We’ve read the book. Seen the movie.”
We laughed. He handed me a crystal glass filled with a generous amount of Irish whisky.
“Thank you.” I took my drink.
“Single malt, 12 years old,” he said.
“It’s the director’s bungalow, but you don’t have a daughter,” I said. “You aren’t even married.
The youngest director I’ve ever seen.” He smiled.
“How old are you?” I was curious.
“Twenty-six,” Gopal said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Not just the youngest, but also the most
uneducated director you’ve met.”
“Uneducated?”
“I never went to college.”
“What?” I said as I twirled the ice-cubes in my glass and wondered how potent this drink was.
“Well, I did do a joke of a correspondence degree.”
“Wow!” I said. “It isn’t a joke to open such a big college.”
“Sixteen hundred students now, ji, across all batches. Each paying one lakh a year. We already have a sixteen-crore turnover. And you inaugurated the MBA coaching today. That’s another new business.”
I took a sip. The smooth whiskey burnt my throat. “Do you have beer? Or wine?” I coughed.
Gopal’s face fell. Not only had I ignored his impressive business statistics, I had rejected his whiskey.
“Not good?” Gopal asked. “It’s Glenfiddich, four thousand a bottle. I’ll open Blue Label? That’s ten thousand a bottle.”
It is not a price issue, I wanted to tell him but didn’t. “I don’t drink whiskey. Too strong for me,” I said instead.
Gopal laughed. “Live life. Start having fine whiskey. You will develop a taste.”
I attempted another sip and winced. He smiled and poured more water in my drink to dilute it.
It ruined the scotch, but saved my sanity.
“Life is to be enjoyed. Look at me, I will make four crores this year. What is the point if I don’t
enjoy it?”
In most parts of the world, speaking about your income is taboo. In India, you share the figures
like your zodiac sign, especially if you have lots.
He seemed to have put the question more to himself than me. His dark eyes continued to bore into me. His eyes demanded attention. The rest of him – wheatish complexion, modest fivefeet-seven-inch height, side-parted hair – was reassuringly nondescript.
“Yeah, of course. One should enjoy,” I said as he cut me.
“Next year I will make five crores.”
I realised he would keep forecasting his salary until I demonstrated suitable awe.
“Five crores!” I said, my voice loud and fake.
Gopal grinned. ‘Baby, eat this, for I have made it,’ is probably the T-shirt slogan he would choose.
“That’s incredible,” I murmured, wondering how I could switch the topic. I noticed stairs winding up. “What’s upstairs?” I said.
“Bedrooms and a terrace. Come, I will show you.”
We climbed up the steps. We walked past a room with a luxurious king-sized bed. From the terrace I took in the panoramic view.
“This was a wasteland, all of it. My grandfather’s old agricultural land,” Gopal said.
“Ten acres?” I made a guess.
“Fifteen. We had fifteen acres more,” Gopal said, “but we sold it to fund the construction.”
He pointed to a small array of lights towards the eastern wall of the floodlit campus. “Right there, see. There is a mall coming up.”
“Every Indian city is building malls now,” I said.
“India shining, Chetan-ji,” he said and clinked his glass with mine.
Gopal drank more than four times my pace. I hadn’t finished my first when he poured his fifth.
“You big-city types. Drinking for style,” he teased when I refused a refill.
“I don’t drink much. Really,” I said. I checked the time; 10:00 p.m.
“When do you eat dinner?” he asked.
“Up to you,” I said, though I wished he’d decide to eat right away.
“What is the big hurry? Two men, one educated, one uneducated. Having a good time,” Gopal said and raised his glass in the air.
I nodded out of courtesy. My stomach rumbled for food. We came downstairs to sit down in the living room again.
“Did you really go to the professor’s daughter’s house?” Gopal said.
I smiled. “Love makes us do stupid things.”
Gopal laughed out loud. He chugged his drink bottoms-up, then grabbed the half-empty bottle to make his sixth tipple.
“Love? Forget stupid things. Love fucks you,” Gopal said.
“That’s harsh,” I said. “Is that why there is no Mrs Director yet?”
Gopal’s hand trembled as he continued to pour his drink. I wondered if I should stop him from drinking more.
“Mrs Director!” Gopal smirked. He gripped the whiskey bottle tight.
“Easy, Gopal, you are drinking too fast. It’s dangerous.”
Gopal plonked the bottle on the coffee table. “Why dangerous? Who is going to fucking cry for me? If I live, I want to enjoy. If I die, who cares?”
“Your parents?”
Gopal shook his head.
“Friends?”
“Successful people don’t have friends,” Gopal demurred. “It’s true, no?”
His lavish house felt cold and isolated. I took the whiskey bottle and placed it back in the bar.
“Pessimist, eh?” I said. “Surprising, given you are doing so well.”
“What well, Chetan-ji?” Gopal said, now completely drunk and, presumably, completely honest.
He pointed to the huge TV, stereo system and the silk carpet under our feet in quick succession.
“What does all this mean? I’ve lived with nothing…”
Our conversation had become serious. I patted his back to cheer him up. “So you read about my girlfriend in the book. How about you? You ever had one?”
Gopal didn’t respond, but looked distraught. He placed his glass on the coffee table. Touchy topic, I figured too late. He retched.
“Are you okay?” I said.
He ran to the restroom. I heard him throw up. I browsed the display shelves to pass time. I saw framed news stories about GangaTech, trophies, pictures of Gopal with guests who had visited the college. I wondered if my picture would also be there soon. When he hadn’t returned in twenty minutes I called for the maid. She took me to the bathroom. I knocked at the door. No answer. I banged my fists on the door. Nothing.
“Looks like we have to break the door,” the maid said.
I wondered how I, who had come as a chief guest for a college orientation programme, became involved with forcing open random toilets in Varanasi....

To read ahead you will have to grab your own copy...Do share your views about the book once you get over with it.

Kamala Das' THE RAIN

Rain

The Rain

We left that old ungainly house

When my dog died there, after

The burial, after the rose

Flowered twice, pulling it by its

Roots and carting it with our books,
Clothes and chairs in a hurry.

We live in a new house now,

And, the roofs do not leak, but, when

It rains here, I see the rain drench

That empty house, I hear it fall

Where my puppy now lies,

Alone..

(From ‘Only The Soul Knows How To Sing’)

The famous poet Kamala Das’ first death anniversary falls on 31 May. She died at the age of 75. Here I am presenting one of her poems as a tribute to this legendary Indian English writer. I found this poem very thoughtful and full of emotions. That is why I am sharing it here.

The last word of the poem ‘Alone...’ says it all. This is the most brilliant aspect of poetry...one word is so powerful that it alone says more than a complete sentence. Let's all enjoy the beauty of this verse as a tribute to the poetess.

Historical Background of Indian Writing in English

When under the foreign rule, every aspect of life in India was influenced by the British dominion – be it political, economic, social or cultural. Inspite of all other things the introduction of English language has been t he most enduring influences. The issue of language arose because of necessity of communication between the natives of Europe and the Indian inhabitants.
The mastery of the colonizer’s language by the Indians was one important consequence of the change taking place in India due to colonialism. By the 1820s they began to adopt English as their medium of expression. Another important consequence has been the influence of English language in bringing about a transformation in Indian English literature. Among the early influences had been the introduction of the medium of prose, a medium somewhat unknown to them. In the coming years there ensued a battle over the preference of language.
The first Indian novel showed up in 1864. It was Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyaya’s ‘Rajmohan’s Wife’, which was serialized in ‘The Indian Field’.
Mulk Raj Anand wrote ‘Untouchable’ in 1935 after having been influenced by Gandhi’s description of his encounter with a sweeper boy in ‘Young India’.
Ever since those times before independence, there has been no looking back till the time of R.P. Jhabwala’s ‘Heat and Dust’ winning Booker Prize in 1975 and Arundhati Roy’s success with the Booker Prize winning ‘God of Small Things’ (1990).

Tagore and his 'Gitanjali'

Rabindra Nath Tagore (1861 - 1941), the celebrated poet, story writer and dramatist was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913 (in the words of the Nobel Prize Committee) “because of his profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse, by which, with consummate skill, he has made his poetic thought, expressed in his own English words, a part of the literature of the West".
His most famous poem ‘Gitanjali’ was originally written in Bengali language. Tagore was born in Bengal in 1861. He writings tasted initial success as a writer in his native Bengal.
‘Gitanjali’ (‘song offerings’), is a collection of 103 poems. Originally written in Bengali, they were translated in English by Tagore himself. The characteristic feature of the collection is that the Introduction to Gitanjali was written by W.B.Yeats. Tagore had translated these songs from Bengali into English before his visit to England in 1912. His poems were well received in England.
‘Gitanjali’ begins with: “Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.”
In one of the songs ‘Where mind is without fear’ Tagore has dreamed of a utopian land, a land of his dreams, a perfect place to live in.


“Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.”

These are the vices present around us even today. The lines are as valid today as they might have been then. If we sketch a place in our minds according to the lines of this song, it would be like a heaven on this earth. May his dreams and wishes be fulfilled! This world would be a much better place to live in with only a fraction of those things coming true. Let’s pledge to add a bit towards it on our part. Remember every drop counts!

Rohinton Mistry's 'A Fine Balance'

I just finished reading Rohinton Mistry's 'A Fine Balance'. I have here attempted to present my views about the novel. It is a heart-rending account of the suffering of the poor at the hands of the so-called upper-caste people and those who had the power. The condition of the slum-dwellers is pitiable – the conditions in which they live, the way they are treated. Life takes a turn for the worse for the two tailors, Ishvar and Om, when they are taken away by the officials to a work site mistaking them to be beggars. Even earlier they had suffered too much. First in the village because they belonged to a lower caste; then their struggle in the city. But the torture they have to undergo towards the end of the novel, in the name of the Family Planning Programme, is more than a human can bear. One doesn’t expect them to be alive till the end of the novel. But they are fighters just like their former employee, Dina Dalal. Both Ishvar and Om take to begging as their profession.
Even Dina Dalal’s character is that of a strong lady, given the tragedies she has faced in her life – especially after the death of her mother. Then there is the character called Maneck. A very finely carved and polished character, very sensitive one. One is very shocked when he dies suddenly.
Each character in the novel has suffering of his own but nobody knows how and where to pour out their grief. I was reminded of the line from Anton Chekhov’s story ‘Grief’: “To whom shall I tell my grief.”
There are deaths of Om’s family (burnt alive by the upper caste people of their village), his father (killed by the upper caste earlier), Shankar (the beggar), Avinash (Maneck’s friend), Avinash’s three sisters, and finally that of Maneck. Each death has a long tale of suffering behind it.
What I believe is that all human beings are born equal. God doesn’t differentiate because of caste, colour or creed. Who are we to do so? Life is very short-lived. We shouldn’t waste time over frivolous things and petty fights. After all, “Life is a tale told by and idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing” (Shakespeare in ‘Macbeth’).

Feeling of Alienation in 'The Namesake'

Jhumpa Lahiri's 'The Namesake' is a story of Indian immigrants in the United States the effect the immigration has on their offsprings. There is a feeling of alienation, a feeling of being lonely in the crowd all through the novel. Only once does Ashima Ganguli, Gogol mother, feel attached to America because of the memories of her husband after his death. She doesn't want that the house should be altered after it is sold to someone else. Her husband had made his living in this country.
The situation of Gogol is no better. He is a child who is born to Indian parents but is brought up in America. He is neither able to become an American at heart nor remains an Indian. He does not fully belong to anywhere. He is a 'nowhere man'.He tries to break away from the Indian traditions followed by his family. Once he had resented the trips made of Calcutta but finally he comes to wonder 'how his parents had done it ...All those trips...how could they have been enough?' This was the realization that dawned upon him after he lost his father.

Child Psychology in 'The Namesake'

Jhumpa Lahiri, the celebrated author of 'The Interpretor of Maladies'(a collection of short stories) also penned down the Pulitzer Prize winner 'The Namesake'. The theme of cultural alienation dominates the whole novel. But what I am going to discuss here is the psychological insights provided into the working of a child's mind by the author. When Gogol, the main character of the novel, is young he responds only to that name. Even in school he refuses to accept 'Nikhil' as his school name. He doesn't respond when he's called Nikhil. It is but natural for a child to do so. Nikhil is not known to him. He only knows Gogol.
But he grows conscious about his name later on till a time comes when he finally declares he hates the name 'Gogol' and formally changes it to 'Nikhil'. But for the whole of his life he is unable to detach himself from his former name. The name 'Gogol' keeps propping up at different times.
Again after his father's death he feels guilty about the change in his name, now that he knows the background of his name.
The tale of the names reminds us of Shakespeare's saying "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." But here we see what difference a name can make. Of course, as a person he will remain the same called by any name. Nevertheless, names have a psychological impact too over the personality of a person.

"In real life, unlike in Shakespeare, the sweetness of the rose depends upon the name it bears. Things are not only what they are. They are, in very important respects, what they seem to be."
-- Hubert H. Humphrey (38th Vice President of United States).

Characters of R.K. Narayan

The novel 'The English Teacher' by R.K.Narayan is autobiographical. The protagonist of this novel Krishna is a lecturer in English at the Albert Mission college. Earlier he had enjoyed many years of bachelorhood but later his wife and child move in with him. Later one day his wife, Susila is taken ill with typhoid and dies from it. Same was the reason of death of Narayan's wife, Rajam.

The death of Krishna's wife in the novel 'The English Teacher', just as Raju's meeting with Rosie and his subsequent term in jail in 'The Guide'(another novel by Narayan), in the most important event in the protagonist's life that changes his perspective about life forever. In most of his novels, through various characters, Narayan has tried to depict the vision of life, how we look at life, how the events of life influence us no end.

Narayan has in his novels depicted his characters in different circumstances as a common man. The character of Raju in 'The Guide', Savitri in 'The Dark Room', the headmaster in 'The English Teacher' and Jagan in 'The Vendor of Sweets' all are justifications of this concept.

R.K. Narayan

R.K. Narayan, one of the most celebrated Indo-English writers, was born in 1906 in Madras. He graduated from Maharaja College, Mysore in 1930. His father was a humble school teacher and had a large family to support, so Narayan had to contribute to the family income soon after his graduation. He tried several jobs but his ambition was to become a writer.
After about a month he left the job and devoted his time totallyto writing. He created the imaginary town of Malgudi, where realistic characters in a typically Indian setting lived amid unpredictable events.
He married in 1935 but his marital bliss was short-lived. His beloved wife died of typhoid fever in 1939, after barely four years of marriage. After this incident he achieved inner enlightenment which increased his knowledge of life. He did not write a novel for six years after this personal loss. His earlier novels were: 'Swami and Friends' (1935), 'The Bachelor of Arts' (1937), and 'The Dark Room' (1938).

After the death of his wife, his first novel published in 1945 was 'The English Teacher'.Among his other famous novels are: 'The Financial Expert'(1952), 'Waiting for the Mahatma'(1955), 'The Guide'(1958), 'The Vendor of Sweets'(1967).

P.S. Next post will be about his characters.

Rabindra Nath Tagore

We have all read Rabindra Nath Tagore at least once. He was a writer par excellence, a lierary seer, and a very important milestone of English literature. His most memorable work was 'Gitanjali'. We all know he was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1913. He was knighted in 1915. But did you know - after the massacre of 1919 he gave up his knighthood. He experienced a short spell of fame in the West. Later his English writings were veiled under a cover of obscurity.
Recently some editors and tranlators have realized that Tagore is also a modernist in a sense although he was previously criticized of being one of the sentimentalist or mystical Edwardian camp. Amit Chaudhri (editor of 'The Picador Book of Modern English Literature') calls him "probably one of the first modernists of the Victorian age."

Here's a song he wished to be sung after his death. Let's comprehend it as a tribute to the great soul:

"The ocean of peace lies ahead of me
Sail the boat, O pilot
You are my constant companion now
Take me in your lap.
Along our journey to the infinite
The pole star alone will shine.
Giver of freedom
Set me free
May your forgiveness and compassion
Be my eternal resources for the journey -
May the mortal ties fall away,
May the vast universe
Hold me in embrace,
And with an undaunted heart
May I come to know the Great Unknown."

(composed in December 1939)