Memories come rushing in, when I try to write something from memory. Each one says, ​‘Write about me, write about me!’ Time passes by, choosing which one to write about and which one to keep only for myself. Still, given the request, I have to write something. 

Growing up in Santiniketan for the first 22 years of my life and staying in close contact for another 40 years is not a short time. My first regular step outside home was to go to Ananda Pathshala (roughly, School of Joy). You might call it a nursery school, but for us it was the Pathshala of Anandam. That’s where I started to get to know Rabindranath, although this institution was born 16 – 17 years after his death. I can’t say I got to know him at the age of four. Much later, I realised that the relationship between Anandam and Pathshala is inherently Tagorean (Rabindrik). At that age, though, I understood that trees, flowers, animals, birds, and insects were growing companions of our lives. So, I, like many others, started liking the shades of the trees to sleep under, their branches to climb, the chirping of birds to copy, the colours and fragrance of flowers to feel, and the little world of the insects to enjoy. On the contrary, sitting on the veranda of the Dehali building, and trying to learn the alphabet, my mind would get restless, thinking that the squirrel must have run away, or the plants must be thirsty. Keeping calm if a butterfly flew by was certainly difficult!

I must have learnt something about alphabets and reading at Ananda Pathshala, but my sincere interest in nature was born there. Seeing nature as one’s own is probably Tagore’s first contribution to my upbringing. After two years, I got admission to class II in Patha Bhavan. I had a few books and a small mattress to sit on the ground. My father bought them from the Visva-Bharati Cooperative. This cooperative was established in 1915. It is probably the only university in India that has its own marketing cooperative. Visva-Bharati also has its cooperative bank. Established in 1927, it is still alive and kicking. Rabindranath himself was the initiator of these cooperatives. The university had not been born yet. There was a school and an ashram. The idea of ​​cooperatives arose so that the residents could get essential household items at a fair price. Around the same time, the work of forming cooperatives also started in the villages around Santiniketan. When I was admitted to school in 1962, the cooperative was starting again, which, after Rabindranath’s death, had been closed for some time due to financial reasons. Needless to say, I did not know the value of cooperatives then. Later, when I came to know about it, I read about Rabindranath’s ideas and work on cooperatives. I read the pioneering book written by him, The Co-operative Principles (1928).

This school was 61 years old at that time. Classes were still held under tree’s shade. Girls and boys used to sit in an arc. In the middle of the circle sat the teacher, whom we used to call Dada or Didi.  The words ​“Sir” or ​“Ma’am” were alien to us. There was no first bench, no last bench, good students in front, bad students in the back – none of these. The school had no school uniform. The usual practice was to sit on our knees on the mattress, keeping our notebooks on the ground, moving from one tree’s shade to another. From Niranjan-da’s bedi to Nandita-di’s bedi. As I grew up, I could understand that this way of addressing the teachers or the class arrangement was part of an attempt to create an educational culture different from the etiquette of modern schools created by the British. Our Vice-Chancellor of the university at that time was Sudhiranjan Das. We called him ​“Sudhi Dadu”. The famous philosopher Kalidas Bhattacharya became the Vice-Chancellor in 1966. We called him ​“Kalidasada”.

Under the shade of many huge trees, there were spaces for classes made with morum and brick borders, a slightly high altar in the middle, and a blackboard on a wooden stand next to it. I had classes under these trees throughout my school life. During rains, classes were held on the verandas of some houses. Our punishment was having to go into a room – was to go to the science laboratory in later years or to study in the library.  Music class was mandatory up until we finished school in class XI. Sitting under a tree, we would sing Tagore songs in unison in Shitangshu-da’s music class. We must have sung a few dozen songs during the ten years of music classes. It was a Bengali-medium school, so there was a special emphasis on Bangla literature. We had to read many of Tagore’s writings — both prose and poetry. I read his Jibansmriti (1911, My Reminiscences 1917) while I was in school.

I experienced Rabindranath in many ways during my school life. From morning prayers, evening literary meetings, forming groups to stage Rabindranath’s plays Mukut (1908), Dakghar (1912, The Post Office 1914), and others. There was a lot more. Rabindra Sangeet was a part of our lives. I remember a song taught by the music teacher Shitanshu-da — Kanta Bono Biharini – which none of us believed to be a song written by Rabindranath. The song was a satire about a group of singers who could not sing. When I got home, I opened the Geet Bitaan (Collection of Tagore’s songs) and found out if the song was really in it!

The class on nature studies was a special attraction. Our teacher Barin-Da, used to say that there is a lot to learn from nature, and ​“remember that we exist because nature exists”. He would form us into groups and take us on trips in different directions. We learned the names of plants, learned to understand insects and spiders, and learned to observe the movements of various animals and birds. We were very fond of an insect called the velvet insect. We would take it in our palms and release it again. Barin-da would get very angry if we imprisoned any insect in a box – he would say that they too have a free life like us.

Santiniketan had many festivals during our time. Rabindranath’s birthday was celebrated on the first day of Baisakh. This tradition has been going on since the time of Rabindranath. The summer was intensely hot, and wells ran dry, leading to a water shortage, so the summer vacation would begin on 1^st May, and therefore his birthday used to be celebrated on 14^th or 15^th April, the first day of Baisakh. Apart from that, there were Basant Utsav, Barsha Mangal, Sharadotsav, Brikshoropon, Maghotsav, Paush Mela, etc.

These were all part of the ashram life. Rabindranath thought that a person’s life is of two kinds – one is life lived for a living, which she needs to eat, study, and work; another is to live life in full, for which she sings, paints, dances, acts, and fills her life with joy. Both are needed to fulfil life. So, just as there was education in our lives, ours was a childhood full of joy and celebration, and adolescence. A joyful life filled with songs, dramas, acting, writing, recitations, and literary meetings.

Along with joy, there was also responsibility. We were involved in organising events at various festivals. Organising literary meetings was our job. We would arrange the venue, convince the president, and decide who would read, recite, and sing. We would try to ensure that there was no shortage of audience. The students’ magazine Amader Lekha (Our Writings) was published every year. I was involved in organising that magazine while in the senior class.

When I was in the eighth grade, my father was transferred to Sriniketan. Sriniketan was established in 1922, about four kilometres west of Santiniketan. It was very different. If Santiniketan was a pursuit of culture, then Sriniketan could be called a pursuit of the future of the country. This is where the Dairy, Agricultural College, Rural Reconstruction Department, Palli Charcha Kendra (Vocational training Centre), Shilpa Sadan (Handicrafts and handlooms training and marketing outlet) and Rabindranath’s second school, Siksha Satra, were established. We stayed in Sriniketan for four years. That’s when I met a different Rabindranath. 

The university was working on rural development in 39 villages, with which my father was associated. Siksha Satra was established as a village school, where the curriculum was organised around the needs of village life. A separate vocational training centre was established to train youth, including girls, in meaningful vocations. Shilpa Sadan was a handloom and crafts centre with a marketing outlet. The agricultural college was located next to where we lived. Farmers’ training was part of the rural reconstruction work in Tagore’s time, from which a full-fledged agricultural college was born. 

Much of this started in 1922 on the initiative of Rabindranath himself. Sriniketan had its own festivals, the Halakarshan and the Sriniketan Mela. The Halakarshan was the beginning of the monsoon cultivation held in August, and the Sriniketan Mela was held in February, when the crops were harvested. I can’t say I understood Tagore’s Sriniketan experiment fully while in school. But I did understand something. The Naxalbari Movement was rising in West Bengal, and by 1970, it had reached Santiniketan and Sriniketan. The Naxalites attacked everyone from Rabindranath to Ram Mohan Roy and Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar. Its impact also affected us. At that time, speakers at several events spoke about the transformative thoughts in Rabindranath’s rural philosophy. Even though I did not understand everything, I could vaguely feel the conflict between the two ideologies. Much later, it became clear to me that Sriniketan was built to pursue the dream of making the village stand on its own feet, along with urban civilisation. Those who are aware know that after 1924, Rabindranath also paid special attention to Sriniketan. He thought that if we were to build a future India, its foundation had to be built in the villages. 

We returned to Santiniketan in 1971. I spent the next six years finishing school and college. At that time, I had the opportunity to understand Rabindranath a little better. I had been watching the play Chandalika Chitrangada (1892, Chitra 1914) since I was a child, but the deep social message against the caste system and patriarchy became clear only then. The performance of the play Raktakarabi (1924, Red Oleanders) moved me greatly. That was the first time I got to see the nature of dictatorship. Around the same time, I had the opportunity to read two novels of Rabindranath, Gora (1910) and Ghore Baire (1916, The Home and the World), and some short stories. Both novels were written around the Swadeshi idea. At the same time, I first heard about the ideological conflict between Gandhi and Rabindranath. Much later, The Mahatma and the Poet (1997), the book written by Sabyasachi Da (Sabyasachi Bhattacharya), sheds extensive light on this subject.

In 1977, I left Santiniketan for higher education, but I did not lose contact with Rabindranath. Tagore’s songs would spring first if I had to sing. Rabindranath returned again and again in my teaching, while talking about cooperatives, rural development, or the ideas of an alternative educational programme. Rabindranath’s warning against nationalism, written in 1916, still acts as my guide. And of course, the awareness to save the environment owes its birth to Rabindranath. The secular festivals of Basant Utsav, Barsha Mangal, Sharadotsav, etc., speak loudly against the current distorted form of religious culture. Needless to say, amidst the overall crisis in education, I only feel how lucky we were to have the opportunity to live and study in Santiniketan-Sriniketan.

About the author:

Ashok Sircar grew up in Santiniketan in the 1960s and 70s, studying there from early childhood to college. For the next 40 years, he remained in close touch with the place where his parents had lived for nearly 70 years. Ashok has been a faculty member at Azim Premji University for 14 years. His co-authored book Kabir Pathshala: Patha Bhavan O Siksha Satrer Itihas (2015), and its English translation, The Poet’s School: A History of Patha-Bhavana and Siksha-Satra (2021), provide an institutional history of these two great alternative educational institutions.