It’s raining like anything.
Down the memory lane, half-forgotten tunes are streaming in through the bars of everyday indifference, and wonder of wonders! I never realised that Bengali modern songs have such an influence over me, that I am such a hopeless prisoner of Rabindranath, Salil Chowdhury and Suman.
The brilliant sanchari of "chaaya ghonaichhe bawne bawne" is beyond words. I see innumerable arrows of sharp waterdrops upon the musical plane. A sense of deprived longing hovers over the entirety of existence.
And, then, the miracle happens. A voice, resembling the monsoon sky, moist with tender pain, bewitches us with its deep resonance. "Rabindranath brithai bhejen, brithai bhejaan"! All these words absorb your graceful lies, they penetrate the deepest truth that there is. It has always been there, even before the stars were born, even before the idea of a Godhead was conceived.
Down the memory lane, half-forgotten tunes are streaming in through the bars of everyday indifference, and wonder of wonders! I never realised that Bengali modern songs have such an influence over me, that I am such a hopeless prisoner of Rabindranath, Salil Chowdhury and Suman.
The brilliant sanchari of "chaaya ghonaichhe bawne bawne" is beyond words. I see innumerable arrows of sharp waterdrops upon the musical plane. A sense of deprived longing hovers over the entirety of existence.
And, then, the miracle happens. A voice, resembling the monsoon sky, moist with tender pain, bewitches us with its deep resonance. "Rabindranath brithai bhejen, brithai bhejaan"! All these words absorb your graceful lies, they penetrate the deepest truth that there is. It has always been there, even before the stars were born, even before the idea of a Godhead was conceived.
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