Two people hailing from two different backgrounds come floating straight by two opposite streams, moving at two different velocities, with two different mental stature, to the contact point where both of them take up the same profession having the same point of interest with a great knowledge of the same philosophy, have the same thought processes going to the same direction, being fascinated by the same musical instrument belonging to one single genre of music – the Tabla.
His greatness as an artist is in no way diminished by the fact that he was a rivet in an unbroken chain of aesthetic and intellectual effort that stretches back to the mid-nineteenth century – a chain in which I too am, I hope, a small link, Ray was for me, not just a great artist; he was something even rarer: an artist who had crafted his life so that it could serve as an example to others.
My poems are usually reactionary – meaning I write in response to incidents or scenes, or evens that move me or through me in a way that requires immediate outburst. I edit and re-edit my poems; then try to redesign the scratched-out portions into interesting artwork much like Tagore! My poems are therefore infrequent compared to my artistic pursuits. The creation of a painting or piece of art is a far lengthier process.
A young artist had come here all the way from Bengal, sat with his steaming glass of tea, taking in the serene grandeur around him. He had come to Naggar that very afternoon and was out for a stroll on the roads that snaked their way across the hill town. This is where he met a foreigner who is in quest of Shambhala.
Vidyasagar – the sea of kindness. A noble man once said about Vidyasagar that if his knowledge, intelligence, dedication, ability to establish schools, widow remarriage tradition penchant for education, authorship skills- if all of these were kept aside, except his kindness, that kindness would be enough to make him an indelible legendary figure. This is not even slightly exaggerated.