This is a book I have been reading from here and there, once every few nights just before I sleep… Tagore’s writing is a soporific to the wakeful and disquiet soul.
Tagore was great with words and he weaved them masterfully into the most metaphorically beautiful phrases that one can savour with a deep-hearted delight. The one below describes how he is swamped post Nobel Prize in 1913.
“My destiny is furiously amusing herself showering upon me dry leaves of correspondence thick and fast – and when, hidden among them, come down by a chance a few stray flowers of friendship, I have very little breath left to receive them with any show of welcome.”
I am inspired to write about Tagore thanks to a friend I made during my MBTI course last week. We recited Tagore’s poems to each other during the breaks. I have met a kindred spirit.