I had long wanted to
visit Rabindranath Tagore’s Museum at Mungpoo but was not able to do so. It was
only on my recent third trip to Mungpoo. I could make my way to one of the
historical museums of our hills. We, the staff from Sakyong Chisopani JHS had
gone to attend the funeral of our senior staff, Mrs. Geeta Pradhan’s father to
Mungpoo.
I had in my mind that this time I need to visit the museum; I made my
Headmaster and other staff agree that we should visit the Rabindranath Museum.
It was after the visit to Mrs. Pradhan’s house on our return back to Singtam,
we all made our visit to this museum.
Despite the drizzle, my
enthusiasm to look inside the house was driving me crazy. As we approach the
museum, a locked gate welcomed us; it was enough to give me a setback. A shout
from the gate of the Government Quinine Factory nearby caught our attention and
we were told to stay back. That person gave a call from his mobile and shouted
to us. He had informed the caretaker about our visit and a man in his 40s came
rushing towards us. He was Sisir Rawat, a Nepali caretaker of the museum. I was the first to greet him and in his
Bengali accent, he said, “Bengal time ho, yestai chha”, he was referring
to his absence. He opened the gate and we all entered the premises of the house
that had Rabindranath Tagore, one of the celebrated sons of India stay in his dying
days.
He introduced himself, ‘I
am Sisir, a third-generation caretaker of this museum and I don’t know whether
my son will follow this tradition. In his words I found, he felt it more of pride that he had been following a tradition of his family and he enjoyed doing
it.
We reached the entrance
door; I could read the signboard placed near to the door that say, “Open your
shoes”. I took no time to even take off my socks; I just wanted to feel the aura
of the floor inside the bungalow. Sisir opened the door of the bungalow and the
first thing that we saw was an armchair with Rabindranath Tagore’s photo frame facing
us. Floral design painted on the wooden plank floor and a few flowers offered to
pay respect to the poet.
Sisir, the caretaker
who was an experienced guide told us, it was from the very place, the poet used
to have the view of the place around. Thou on that day, the cold climate and
the fog around kept us away from what Rabindranath Tagore might have come
across that brought him four times to this beautiful locale, far from the
madding crowd of Calcutta, now Kolkata. I
was listening to our guide’s word, he was fluent in his saying, and the way he
was uttering words with his eyes closed, it made me think, apart from
Rabindranath Tagore’s tale he did not had his personal life.
He was speaking without
being interrupted by our staff. He made us enter a small dark room with the hours
of daylight partially entering inside. The atmosphere around was different from
the usual classroom, we teachers face every day; except for a few flashes of the mobile camera to capture the moment around. Out there, we were his students and
we silently listened to him, as we expect our students to do so when we are
narrating something
Rabindranath Tagore
also popular as Gurudev, the first Indian to receive the prestigious Nobel
Prize, in between 1938-40 had visited Mungpoo four times (21st May 1938, 24th
May 1939, 12th Sept. 1939, and 21st August 1940) and on each visit, he had his
stay at the very bungalow where we were standing. Our guide told us he had
stayed there for more than months on each occasion.
Pointing towards the
series of old photographs hung on the wall, our guide was narrating legends
related to it. The photographs seem to weather out, some faded. I was
surprised the museum, one of its kind was losing its charm. With cracks around
not yet filled, no power supply inside the bungalow, pathetic condition of the
valued rare photographs; I did not expect at all.
The bungalow used to be
the official residence of Maitreyi Devi, a famed poet, a close aide of
Rabindranath Tagore, who considered Maitreyi Devi as her daughter. Maitreyi
Devi’s husband Manmohan Sen was then working at Government Quinine Factory.
After the death of Rabindranath Tagore, the bungalow was given heritage
status and his belongings a worldwide property for his admirers.
With his eyes closed,
our guide kept on narrating the stories, which had to be documented, I believe
after him the legend of Rabindranath Tagore and his stay at Mungpoo might be
lost forever. He even recited a few lines of Tagore’s Bengali poem ‘Janmodin’ that
he had written on his 40th birthday at Mungpoo. Pointing at one of
the nearly faded photographs, Sisir said he was the father of Amartya Sen, another
Bengal Nobel laureate. We just said to ourselves. Oh!
A wooden box bed lying
opposite the wall with decorated framed photographs was the actual bed of
Gurudev that he had used during his stay out there. The unusual thing about the
bed was it had back support which is very rarely used even to this day. Our
guide added the bed was made by Tagore’s son. A wrinkled white bed sheet with
a half-bust of Tagore placed on it, I felt petty and at the same time delighted
to touch the bed. I asked Sumit, my colleague, to capture my moment with the
bed. I asked myself, are we allowed elsewhere too close to the object of
historic importance.
Just then, I had a call
from Suni, my wife and I made my way outside the lawn looking for a better
signal. What I missed in between the words of our guide was narration about a
kitchen that used to be outside the bungalow. Through the glass window, he had
shown our staff that vacant place that had to be brought down due to lack of
fund to restore it.
As we enter the room
further we came across, another room with Tagore’s painting (not the original
one but reprinted) hanging on the wall, and to its center inside a glass box
there was a display of letters, the poet had written from Mungpoo and had
received. The wall was covered with laminated rough papers of Tagore that he
had used while writing poems.
To its left, was a bathtub but I found it too small
for the size of Tagore I had seen in photographs. We followed our guide one room
after another; we came across printed paintings of the poet decorating the room
whose fascination towards painting had grown in his later years.
The last part of the
museum, the study room was the biggest highlight of the bungalow. It was an awe-inspiring
feel to imagine that I could someday write down my name at the visitor book of
the museum on the table that was used by Rabindranath Tagore, my way of existence
seems to shy away.