IN THE RUSH OF LIFE
A life of contemplation, reclusive and remote, is not for me. I love to be in the midst of all, in the rush of nerves, in the stillness of the soul, in feverish work and in tranquil repose but never relinquishing human company for they are the salt of my very being, my flesh and form and fervent dream. Gregarious am I but gregarious for sure with a difference, for I love to link with the Self in all, in all of my image selves. And so I work on and on, on and on, and on and on till the body drops, never in rust but in loosened limbs that have just worn off but never did quit. Jai Swamiji, for you are the inspiration that even today carries me through the swirl and surge of this momentous life.
Written by Sugata Bose
P.S. : Late realisation. Tagore's 'Bairagya sadhaney mukti shey amar noy...' has been shadowed in this piece unwittingly. An honest confession. This was nowhere in my mind and yet the same line of thinking to a certain extent seems to be here, although, I must state that there is a pronounced difference, for I hold renunciation Krishna-like to be my highest goal and do not shy away from celibate renunciation in principle and will not in practice if ever I gather the strength to do so, unlike Tagore who stood firm with his 'Brahmanishthha' stance, that of the Rishis of yore.
My inspiration springs principally from the great lives of Swami Vivekananda and his preceptor, Sri Ramakrishna, and his holy consort, Sri Sarada Devi. Hence, and otherwise as well, this piece has been strangely similar to the aforementioned Tagore poem that appeared in his book 'Atmaparichay' but is merely by way of coincidence, like thinking with a difference, of course, and the said poem was nowhere in my surface consciousness when the words flowed out, as they always do, for I am a spontaneous recorder of words without so much as any effort-thinking involved.
It therefore is clear that when poets and authors write, they do so from the repository of a vast universal storehouse of knowledge and words, the grand cosmic library, and that is why great men think alike, and sometimes, as in my case, even a small man finds resonance in artistic articulation with a seminal giant of the age. This is my submission by way of ample clarification as to the uncanny similarity of this post with that of Tagore's poem which was much more beautifully penned, we all know.
Written by Sugata Bose
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