Barun Roy: Tagore's memorial is alive, not his memory

ASIA FILE

Visva-Bharati fails to inspire visitors or provide a living experience of Tagore's various contributions.

Once again, on a recent trip to Santiniketan, it became amply clear why building a memorial matters so much more to us than keeping alive a tradition. A memorial involves no obligation, yet keeps our conscience clear. Living a tradition means upholding it at all times as a way of life.

Today's Visva-Bharati is just that, a memorial, not a living tradition anymore. The theft of Tagore's Nobel medallion provides the perfect excuse to give his spirit a cold burial. At the Uttarayan complex, where Tagore lived and worked, the perimeter fences are tall and topped with barbed wire, and most doors and windows remain shuttered. Sombre-looking security guards watch out from all possible corners. The main gate remains closed, except to official cars. Visitors enter through a side gate and take a monitored walk to Rabindra Bhavan, where a so-called museum is housed.

Inside, they pass through a gloomy-looking foyer where second-rate prints of Tagore's paintings are displayed for sale. A gloomier-looking woman sits behind a tall, empty reception desk with nothing to offer, not even a smile. The galleries are located on the first floor. "Temporarily," a notice informs. "They will be moved to the ground floor eventually", it adds, regretting the inconvenience.

Upstairs or downstairs, would it make any difference? All one gets to see are faded old photographs, documents, letters, covers of books, and write-ups, mostly photocopies, telling the story of the Tagores down the generations, much like exhibits that government publicity departments organise, or schools to mark their annual events. It's words, words, and words, that too in types so small that one has to lean forward to read them clearly. Few visitors take the trouble. Most of them just glance and pass by. To make matters worse, captions are printed in even smaller types and pasted directly on the photographs, often ruining them.

Yes, the exhibits also include some Tagore memorabilia, such as his slippers, paintbrushes, gowns, bowls, dishes, and gifts the poet received on his visits abroad. But these are held in cabinets placed so low on the floor that one has to stoop to see them and kneel to read the captions. And honestly, while fetishes do have an attraction for people, is this how Tagore should be remembered in the very place where his ideals are supposed to reside?

The ticket that allows visitors access to the museum also allows them to see Tagore's various residences in the Uttarayan complex. But Udayan, his main residence, is off limits and can be seen only from outside. At Konark, a few ground floor rooms are open, where photographs of old Santiniketan are shown on shoddy display stands. Shyamali, the earth house that Tagore was so fond of, is no different. There's no way of knowing the significance of these buildings or who their architects were. One can't even take photographs, lest security be breached. A few sculptures adorn the spacious front yard. I know these are by Ramkinkar Baij. But would everybody? They just stand there, unknown and unidentified. And the gardens of Uttarayan? The famous rose garden and arbours? How many would know that Tagore's son, Rathindranath, had a lot to do with their design and landscaping? That Tagore's visit to the famous Sankeien Garden in Yokohama had left its influence, too? There's nobody to explain and inform, not even any printed material one could carry.

Tagore's memory doesn't even tiptoe in today's Visva-Bharati. It's as dead as the leather on his slippers exhibited in the museum. What we see is nothing better than a mausoleum, a site for the passing tourist, protected by barbed wires and gun-wielding guards. Neglect is everywhere. Nobody knows when the compounds of Sangeet Bhavan and Kala Bhavan last had a trim. All the Ramkinkar sculptures that these grounds contain are in a terrible state of decay. And some dullard has come up with the idea of putting up tin sheds above a couple of them, supposedly to protect them from the elements. It seems, from today's Visva-Bharati, even the sense of beauty is missing.

In its present state, there's no difference between the Uttarayan museum and a jewellery showroom. What's the point of a Tagore museum if it fails to inspire a visitor and provide a living experience of his contributions as a poet, painter, thinker, and social reformer, through photos, films, lectures, songs, and readings? We learn nothing about the idea behind his founding of Visva-Bharati, the cultural openness he sought, the barriers of thinking he wanted to overcome, and the band of eminent people who rallied around him to carry his work forward. One wouldn't lose anything if this so-called and worthless museum were to be shut down. At least, we'll have that much less to worry about the security situation at Visva-Bharati.