This hardcover book is a 55 y.o. anthology of Tagore’s.
Somwhere in Jharkhand. Beautiful forest.
I don’t know how to end this article, maybe I’ll like to leave it in the middle, like all our lives are right now.
I have read so many authors since my childhood, seen so many movies of the last one century, came across so many art works as a student of Humanities but never ever I had this extent of admiration for any artist.
Did it ‘hurl headlong’? Milton? I peep in, it’s a deep pit, never ending and there they are, walking in Circles. Dante?
It feels like a process which has been going on much before my birth. This imbalanced development of the concrete.
I question myself if the concept of Bangles is Binding. And the answer, I guess is very complicated.
Take a look at the pictures of the North-Indian festival Chhath from the ghats of the holy Ganga at Varanasi.
“You don’t have to cry”, not to me, she told herself.
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