Poet Boudhayan Mukherjee writes a poem for Outlook.
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America or Europe had nobody comparable with Tagore in the holistic completeness of multivarious art forms. Tagore had said if not for anything else, his songs will be everlasting. His ideas are universally-accepted. They never dwell on conflict but on harmony and the unending, sheer drama of creation.
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The author recalls memories from a 'pointless and meaningless trip in the garb of a mountain expedition in this story.
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In 2010, the ruling leftist Inquilabi party was in power in Bengal. At that time Gobria forest of Ayodhya Hills in the Purulia district, was a sanctuary for militant guerrillas.
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So many years have I left behind, the times of hardship and grind. I have no words to aptly describe, how my fruits of labour turned ripe.
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A journey into the north of Namibia and West Africa in search of the antique Damara tribe.
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Every poet has his own father-mother-ideal land. Here poet gives his motherland a tongue, and she says, 'Personal memories? Dust./ Dust my body, a pain killing/ My comforts.'
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A tale of salt and its impoverished minors from West Africa,
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The writer takes us on a surreal adventure through friendship, monsoon, and rogue sea waves over-running the shore and the encroached casuarina forest.
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