Over the past couple of months, I’ve been re-reading Sunil Gangopadhyay’s two-volume novel, Pratham Alo . This Bangla work of historical fi...
Over the past couple of months, I’ve been re-reading Sunil Gangopadhyay’s two-volume novel, Pratham Alo. This Bangla work of historical fiction, also available in Aruna Chakravarti’s English translation (First Light), offers one of the most intricately researched narratives of the 19th century Bengal Renaissance that I know – one which mingles the lives of well-known public figures with those of delicately imagined fictional characters.
There are many things that I enjoy in this novel – one of them is its intimate representation of the early artistic development of a youthful Rabindranath Tagore. It was reinvigorating to be reminded that in Rabindranath’s genius, performance preceded writing – long before his published work drew attention, the young Robi was a much-coveted singer-songwriter in every kind of family, social and community circle in colonial Calcutta.
I said “reminded” because no one who has grown up within Bengali culture is unaware of the primal performative power of Rabindranath’s oeuvre – the music of his songs, the rhythm of his widely recited poetry, and the staged delight of his innovative plays, all of which pervade our personal and social lives. But sometimes this needs reminding when one’s relationship with Rabindranath happens primarily through the printed word, perhaps wholly so for those who...
