Down the Dark Lane: The Girl On The Train by Paula Hawkins

It’s not a thriller if it doesn’t keep you up all night. The Girl On The Train passes that test well. Paula Hawkins uses the same little trick so successfully utilized in The Hangover series: getting drunk and waking up the next day without the faintest knowledge of what mayhem you might have unleashed. Just bits and pieces that surface here and there, aiming clever little punches at your gut, turning you crazy with their cryptic revelations.

Except, the important distinguishing factor here is that the protagonist is an incurable alcoholic, whose life is marred by such blind spots of the memory. The black outs are the thread that strings the entire mystery together. And the execution is almost perfect. Everything is revealed bit by bit, in a strangely hypnotising backward-forward rhythm. Hawkins certainly deserves credit for the setting and the introduction to the story. Particularly the opening scene with the faded, discarded clothes lying by the railway track. In accordance with the title, Rachel commutes to office everyday on the same train, and as coincidences go, the train stops for a few minutes every day on the same broken signal, in front of the very same house. As is wont for unhappy people, Rachel sketches a fictional, happily-married existence for the couple whose everyday life she glimpses from the train window-- like a movie on a screen. And then one day, she has a fleeting glimpse of something that enrages her, unravelling the happy narrative in her mind, creating a pitiful parallel with her own broken existence. This house whose story she becomes entangled with is just four doors away from her ex-husband’s house: the house that used to be hers. Little does she know how deeply she is connected with this ‘on-screen’ couple, how her life’s edges would unravel in the desire to unravel another person’s mysterious disappearance.

The plot and the pace keep you hooked. Hawkins’ style is clear and crisp, vividly descriptive and moving between the consciousness of Rachel, the protagonist, Megan—the woman from the house by the tracks and Anna—current wife of Rachel’s ex-husband. But here’s the thing—the whole novel is too dark. Rachel is a perennially unhappy woman, obsessed with her ex-husband, unable to emerge from the quagmire of alcohol, unable to get a hold onto her life. You can pity her, but how do you sympathise with her? You don’t see her growing or evolving over the course of the story—until the very end when it all comes back to her. And her constant break downs do drag occasionally. Megan is perhaps the one you can sympathise with, because she at least found the courage to stand up to something in life.

The motherhood instinct is a strong undercurrent to the story, with the three women somehow connected through it. One woman with a child she tries fiercely to protect, the second whose unfulfilled longing for motherhood pushes her over the edge, and the third who, devastatingly, loses a child through her own fault. The three women are also connected in other, more sinister ways, but I’d be giving away too much if I told you what. As far as mystery and curiosity go, Hawkins knows her stuff, for sure. The twists and turns are dexterously executed. to say the least, and the snatches of memory grasped at and slipping again make for riveting reading. This isn’t a happy read, though—looking inside the minds of so many disturbed human beings. It remains bleak and desolate to the end—like a chilly grey winter morn that sends shiver after shiver down your spine.

On militant Buddhism and speaking for the voiceless: Samanth Subramanian

My interview with Romesh had spilled over, above the stipulated time. Samanth, who was next, came up to him and said-"Hey, if you say everything about Sri Lanka, what will I talk about?" At which point I couldnt help but cut in--"Don't worry, I'll have a whole new set of questions to ask you."

Journalist turned author Samanth Subramanian talks at the Jaipur Literary Festival about his book on Sri Lanka, This Divided Island, and what he calls the ‘fiendishly tough’ experience of gathering stories in this exclusive interview with Zehra Naqvi:

Me:Your book contains a multitude of stories chased across the globe. What was the experience like?

Samanth: The war ended in 2009 so going there in 2011 was dangerous because it was a time of great flux, the government was not willing to open itself to the scrutiny of journalists and human rights activists and so I had to go there under false pretenses. There were various reasons why people wouldn’t or couldn’t talk to me. They were cautious about what will happen if they are outspoken or honest. I was told that my phone was being tapped and it was—but I was more concerned about the safety of the people talking to me, their lives were in much more peril.

Me:Would you say that your Tamil roots prompted you to write this book?

Samanth: Yes, it has a little to do with my roots as I knew a lot about the war. But it was primarily the curiosity of the journalist. When the war ended my first thought was—maybe an opportunistic one –that it’s a great time to do stories.

Me: Is it possible for people living in Sri Lanka to do a direct, open book like this?

Samanth: I can’t think of a Sri Lanka living in Sri lanka who has written non-fiction like this. It’s difficult to do newspaper articles even—journalists are abducted and arrested … so a book… almost out of the question.

Me:Your book ends with an image of a soldier with a dove perched on his gun. What are your thoughts on the future of Sri lanka?

Samanth:Till last year I would’ve been very pessimistic but now after the elections I am less so. The new President is not as much of a tyrant as the last one. But then he too has similar allegiances to Buddhist right wing groups. Still, its heartening that Rajapaksa lost and also cleanly departed.

Me: Rajapaksa was a hero of sorts in Sri Lanka.

Samanth: Was. Not any more. He did a lot of abuses of power in the last five years and turned increasingly authoritarian, several human rights problems emerged—not just towards Tamils but also Sinhalese and the Muslims. There was a whole climate of uncertainty. He isn't the hero he was considered.

Me:What about the common people. Is there better integration among them now?

Samanth: Colombo was always cosmopolitan city even at the peak of the war, and that hasn’t changed. There is more interaction now in terms of Siunhalese people travelling from the south to the north, areas they never visited for the last three decades. But then that’s also a bad sort of integration. There are stories of how Sinahlese people have been given incentives to travel to the north and set up farms. So the next time a Sinhalese person stands for election in the north, he has a better chance of winning, because of the changed demographic. That kind of integration isn’t good for anybody because it builds resentment.

Me: Do you think that conflict is inevitable in multicultural, multireligion societies?

Samanth: Well, no. India has survived fairly well. I mean we’ve had riots and problems of intolerance but at least not full scale civil war. When I went to Sri lanka I thought you have just two languages it’s so easy to solve! India’s an example right here! 

Me:Perhaps just two adversaries fight harder…rather than multiple groups fighting!

Samanth: Absolutely, this is what I figured out later, theorized on my own. In India there is a certain balance. No single group is predominant.

Me: You’ve said that Indians wear their problems on their sleeve but with Sri Lanka you need to peel off the “beautiful polished skin to find the toxic bloodstream within”. What do you mean by that?

Samanth:India’s problems are out there in the open. We debate about religious tolerance, freedom of expression, there’s a certain messy openness to India. In Sri Lanka this isn’t there. On the surface it seems extremely peaceful. Nobody talks about the problems. They fester under the surface, simmering. And then all of a sudden it explodes. (Pauses) I’m thinking on my feet now…Perhaps its because Sri Lanka has always been presented to the world as this beautiful Island nation… they feel the pressure to keep up that image of beauty and serenity… but under the surface all sorts of tension boil.

Me:Your book talks about militant Buddhism—militant monks even—which is a surprising image. Could you talk more about that?

Samanth: The clergy has always been influential in Sri Lanka, and they were empowered by the war. In fact there was this very rabid monk who you read about in the late 19^th century whose writings are still studied by right wing Buddhist monks… about a pure Buddhist nation. And now there are a number of right wing groups that you could call the equivalent of RSS or the Bajrang Dal. They have money and muscle power and connections to government and make life miserable for the minorities.

Me: Your book seems to have more Tamil voices than Sinhala ones. Is that deliberate?

Samanth: Sure. The job of a writer such as myself is to give voice to the people that don’t have a voice. And that is always the minorities. The Sinhalese by virtue ofbeing majority have always spoken out.

 There’s very little room for the Tamils to express themselves even now. But do note that the Tamils don’t talk about sufferings at the hands of the Sinhalese only, but also at the hands of the Tigers. The Muslims too have suffered  at the hands of both. But I was careful to include the Sinhalese voices because it’s interesting for me to see what their rationale is, behind their actions.

The Songbird in Spring

Spring is the season that makes poets out of ordinary people. There’s something about the breezy, blooming abundance around you that makes you light hearted and romantic, dreamy even. Just like Love. The way the winter frost gives way to warm sunshine and chilly gusts make way for a benign, luscious breeze is so much akin to the pure bliss of being in love! It melts the gloom around the heart, making you smile for no reason at all.

Nature is a giant magnetic force, pulling the soul toward itself, compelling poets like Wordsworth, Shelley, Tagore to pay homage to the pure joy that bubbles forth in its presence. The British summer has a presence that’s a lot like the spring here. It’s what prompted Shakespeare to compare his love to a ‘summer’s day’, but then quickly elevate the muse higher by proclaiming: “Thou art more lovely and more temperate”. Perhaps, then, he ought to have witnessed the Indian Spring.

The abundance of birdsong brings to mind a beautiful line from Star Signs, the more esoteric and metaphysical of Linda Goodman’s books. “It would be a sad and quiet, lonely forest if no bird sang except the nightingale.” It’s a profound statement that ought to be the mantra of life, because it expresses the fullness and complexity of the universe so simply. The Nightingale, like the ubiquitous Koel in India, is the bird whose song is rivalled by none. But for a moment, close your eyes and imagine a world with all other birds falling silent—no twitters, no clucks, no cooing, screeching, or throated warbling… Mornings would be lonely and evenings desolate.

The symphony of the world depends on every little bird chipping in with its unique voice, no matter if it’s not the best singer around. Pretty much the same way that the brilliance of the universe depends on the variety of its creatures—the variety of humankind, too.  Just because the nightingale is the reigning queen of birdsong, the other birds don’t feel threatened; they’re not hesitant to pour forth their own melodies. It is us, humans, who feel threatened by the abilities of others, ever comparing them to our own selves and feeling insufficient. The universe would be a dark place if only the brightest light were allowed to shine. Every little lantern is important to the world. It doesn’t matter that there are people whose abilities outshine your own; you must not be hesitant to put your offerings before the world. It might not be life-altering or earthshaking, but it is important nonetheless.

Each one of us was born to fulfill a distinct purpose. It might not be a seemingly grand one like running the country or a global corporation. The bee is one of the most humble creatures in the world, but who could imagine its immense importance in keeping the world teeming with life? The BBC website puts them “top of the list as far as important species go”. It explains that “they pollinate 70 of the around 100 crop species that feed 90% of the world.” Without bees, there’d be no pollination and very soon the animals that feed on those crops and even the human race would be gasping their last. They’re not magnificent or beautiful or adorable. But their importance to the universe is undeniable.

In much the same way, each of us brings a unique enhancement to the universe. Let us take pride and pleasure in putting it forth.

Be the songbird in the spring of life. 

Romesh Gunasekera: Using windows doesn't mean you have to love Bill Gates

There’s a beguiling magic in having an excerpt from your current favorite novel read out to you by its equally beguiling author. Especially when that author is Romesh Gunasekera.  His voice, the perfect read-aloud one—soothingly gentle and just the right intonations— belies the dramatic, intense persona he assumes on stage. People, winds, oceans, all come to life as the author strides theatrically on stage in a dramatic rendering of his own words. You realise there’s a lot more to this man than what meets the eye.

Alice In Wonderland

At the Jaipur Literature Festival this past week, I caught up with the Sri Lankan author--whose book Reef has been on the booker shortlist and who's been a judge for several literary prizes--for a heart to heart talk on writing, languages, his book Noon Tide Toll and all things Sri Lankan. His session, like all others that day, had been reduced to half on account of the mayhem created by rain. “But we can rebel!” Gunasekera had suggested, giving you a glimpse of the man behind that placid exterior.

As the two of us sit atop the terrace at the Diggi Palace, he answers all questions patiently and smilingly. Yet, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that even as he spoke, there were thoughts beyond your reach ‘neath that silvery mop of hair:

Me- Let’s talk about your book, Noon Tide Toll. The myriad stories you created in there—all of Sri Lanka from North to South— were they real life stories? What kind of research/journey did you have to undertake to write them?

Romesh -  Well, it isn’t a reportage book so it’s not that I went on any journey to write that book. Whatever I write is out of my imagination. They are fictional journeys. And they are all about the reality that I live in. If I want to write a story set in Jaipur, I could write a story set in Jaipur. I can stay in my room and write about Moscow if I want.  But they do have a basis in something that’s true. The fort in Jaffna is destroyed; the library was burnt down in1981 and renovated later. I have been to all the places that I wrote about.

Me-What about the story ‘Scrap’ where you show us big ‘dumpyards’ of confiscated vehicles from the LTTE… that you compared to ‘frozen pandemonium’? What impression did that create on you?

Romesh- Well, yes, three years ago, you would have found big dumping yards of trucks and bicycles…  the thoughts that came to my mind were the ones that you could hear from Vasantha (the van driver in his book). I have been to other places where they had wars… you look at these places, the relics of the past… you look at the ruined tombs in Delhi and you understand they aren’t naturally this way…something happened here. You go to London and see the places bombed in the second world war. They all create an indelible impression on the mind. I had never been to Northen Sri Lanka before so it was quite a shock to see the scale of the war.

Me- The stories in Noon Tide Toll all have a dark subtext but the way you go about writing them isn’t dark. It’s hopeful, happy even. Is that a deliberately created contrast?

Romesh-Yes, I think it is a deliberate mixture of both things because it’s not a book looking at the immediate results of a war. It’s more of posing a question… all the characters in this book are trying to understand how to carry on with their lives, given what has happened in the past, given what might happen in the future. If it was going to be entirely dark then, you know, everyone would have to commit suicide!

Me- Is there a predominant message that you wish to convey through your writing?

Romesh-  I don’t think fiction can convey messages really. All fiction can do is present you with something for you to understand. To some extent you could say that a novel like this is presenting a set of mirrors. If you look at it you will see yourself and your own reactions. If you’re a Sri Lankan Reading it you will have certain sorts of reactions, if you’re not a Sri Lankan you will have different reactions, expectations. The only message in my books would be that reading fiction is something worth doing.

Me- Though you are a Sri Lankan, you don’t live in Sri Lanka (He lives in the UK at present). What is the image of the country that you carry with you?

Romesh- The image I carry is the one I do convey in the books a lot. It’s all probably not very different from the image of someone living there. You’re not from Jaipur. But you have an image of Jaipur, and its valid and true to what you know of it. It probably shares something with what people who actually live here also have of it. There will be differences and there will be some similarity.

Me- There’s been a lot of Sri Lankan literature coming through in the past one year. Is there a particular reason for Sri Lankan writing coming more into focus now?

Romesh- It’s a growing phenomenon. Sri Lankan writing isn’t new, it has the same vintage as in India – writing in different languages as well as writing in English. Sri Lankan writing in English goes back to the early 1800s—same as in India. In fact a lot of editors from India have been editors in Sri lanka, a lot of Sri Lankan editors have been editors in India of major newspapers. So the history is not that different. Writing Fiction in English also has quite a long tradition. The earliest novels in English would have been written around the1930s but what the difference has been in the later period  of the20thcent— the 60s 70s and even 80s— there was more writing in English in India generally, though still a very small proportion. In the80s you wouldn’t be able to do this (gestures around him indicating the thronging crowds at the fest). It’s the same process in Sri Lanka. But because of the war there hasn’t been a lot of writing in Sri Lanka—writing has been curtailed and publishing isn’t as big, but now maybe in the last 5-6 years there’s been a lot more international writing. There’s a very big Sri Lankan diaspora around the world that’s also writing, so I would expect to see a lot more.

Me- You’ve talked about your upbringing being chiefly English-language-centred in a country that was increasingly shunning that language. Language is, I believe, a sore issue in Sri Lanka. So how would you view the role of language in the politics and integration of a nation?

Romesh-It has a big role to play and one of the big divisions in Sri Lanka has been because of the language policy— fundamentally, I believe a mistaken language policy. But it’s an understandable mistake. They wanted to reverse the neglect of particularly Sinhala during the colonial period and that led to, understandably again, in the 50s lots of talk of nationalism—and therefore a boost given to Sinhala, but at the expense of the other languages. It’s  true that your identity’s link to your language is very, very strong but the mistake was to keep it in compartments . What they should have done, and which I think in India they did do, to some extent, is to dwell much more on bilingualism or trilingualism. To make sure that children in school didn’t just study one language, they studied two or three. Unfortunately that didn’t happen there. For several generations, you were schooled in the language of your community. And that just reinforced the separation. The justification given was that we can’t teach everybody in English because that’s a foreign language. But that was because people only thought in terms of one language. Had they looked around the world they could have seen that it was entirely possible to have an educational system that encouraged two or three languages. And they’re beginning to understand that now, all over the world.

Me-So multilingualism could, possibly, be a good way to integrate a country’s citizens better…

Romesh-Yes, it’s very simple… you know if we didn’t have English you and I couldn’t even speak right now… we’d have to have a translator and we wouldn’t know what they were interpreting! English shouldn’t be problematic! India managed quite well… though people get quite worked up still. I had a big argument the other day when someone was complaining about the English language a great deal… and he was actually a teacher of English language in India! So it’s a bit ironic. I could say that my first language is English…and the language I’m comfortable with is English. The thing is, I don’t think it ought to be a national issue. You know, just because I use Microsoft Windows doesn’t mean I have to fall in love with Bill Gates!

Q-Writing tends to become more and more political in places that face these problems. Would you call yourself a political writer?

Romesh- I don’t see myself as a political writer. But I do not exclude politics. I do think it’s important. My books are appreciated by people who may not have any interest in the political dimension. A novel has to work beyond politics, but I don’t think it can ever exclude politics. It’s very much a part of all our lives.

Me-What are the books that you like to read?

Romesh- There’s quite a wide range. I was involved in picking out the best of British novelists two years ago. That’s a very famous list now, of young  British novelists. There’re 20 people we’ve picked and they’re all very different. Some of them are quite surrealistic, some are experimental writers, some write very traditional novels and some are very political. For me to like a novel, I have to feel that the writer is interested in using language to its full potential.

Me-And what would be your favorite kind of reader?

Romesh-There’s two ways of answering that. Obviously my favourite readers are the ones that like my books! But then, the ideal reader for me is somebody who has an open mind, a sense of humour and a little bit of imagination.

Me-I think that description would apply to a good writer too!

Romesh-Yes, any good writer should have a sense of humour. I mean there are some who are very… serious. I admire them, but they’re not my favourite kind of writers! But when I say humour, then for instance Dostoyevsky had a fantastic sense of humour, but you think of him as a very serious writer!

Q-Writing is a journey of discovery. What has been your greatest discovery so far?

A-My greatest discovery was the fact that I was able to write a book to begin with! I didn’t think I could. But beyond that, the greatest discovery is probably that there are readers! It is very heartening to know that there are people interested in reading in the world as it is now. Readers are a very special group of people. I know when you are in Jaipur and you say there are 300,000 people here… even among those not all are readers. And the people who like reading fiction are actually a very small group in the world. So the greatest discovery is that there are people who like to read. And eventually a good book gains those readers. Not immediately, but eventually it will.

Me-Would you say that literature serves to set the agenda for discourse?

Romesh-It does . It allows space and scope for discussion to take place. And discussion on literature is a very good area where issues come up but that’s a different thing from saying when you’re writing a book should you be setting the agenda for whatever… that’s not the way it works. It would be nice that my book had some effect on how people were thinking in the presidential election— I doubt it very much— but it might have had one or two people think something new is possible. What literature does do is to give a sense of what’s happening globally. All these writers who have come here to India will go back with a different view of the world, and particularly the realization that reading and literature seems to be very important in India. I am sure a lot of writers who have come here don’t realise that. You have crowds of people coming here like this…you don’t get that in most parts of the world. 

(This last

line caught me by surprise. Didn't it surprise you, too?)

Eimear McBride: It's loaded being inside a woman's mind !

Being in the midst of  real,live authors that you only ever knew through their books is an unforgettable experience for a bibliophile! Here I am with Eimear McBride. Here's the story:

It’s ironic to hear the author of A Girl Is A Half-Formed Thing and winner of five awards, including the Baileys Prize 2014 and the Goldsmith Prize 2013, talk about feeling like a failure. But that’s what Eimear McBride had to go through when her book—written in just six months— waited nine years to get published, eventually emerging  into the sunshine with the help of a small publishing company, Galley Beggar Press. 

Me:How does it feel to have your book rejected for nine years and then suddenly receive all these awards?

Eimear: Wonderful ! (Laughs) It’s wonderful to not feel like a failure anymore. With all the previous rejections, I understood that the book might never be published but I was still a writer. My duty was to keep on writing. It was very hard to keep on, despite thinking I was writing another book for the drawer. I feel insulated by my failure. This session (which she addressed along with Eleanor Catton) talked of ‘early triumphs’ but it was no early triumph for me! I feel incredibly old! (grins mischievously)

Me: How did you come to choose the unusual ‘stream of consciousness’ style for writing your book?

Eimear: I was very interested in it for historical reasons, you know, James Joyce’s Ulysses was written in the same style, and there are a lot of historic examples. But most of all, this book is about a woman’s mind. It’s very loaded being inside the mind of a woman. A woman should be able to speak her mind. And that’s what I wanted—to lay bare the mind of a woman.

Me: Is this book autobiographical in nature? Does it have some elements from your own life?

Eimear: Well, I lost a brother that way. Quite early… to illness. So in a way that loss is reflected in the A Girl Is A Half-Formed Thing. But the boy in the book is not my brother, I haven’t modelled him after my brother, and the girl is not me either. The book isn’t really autobiographical. Just this one thing.

Me: There’s a lot of controversy around the Baileys Women’s prize—people question the need to have a women’s-only award at all. What is your take on this?

Eimear: I think we do need a women’s award. Sexism still exists. A women’s prize needs to be there until sexism has been stumped out. Because people talk about books on a common platform—they don’t really talk about what women are writing, what they are speaking out about. So yes, we definitely need a women’s award, because there needs to be something to level the playing field. 

(From Jaipur Literature Festival 2015)

Eleanor Catton: All Great Stories Are Love Stories!

Catching Catton

Eleanor Catton looks stunning up close. The blonde hair and the blue eyes (well they looked blue to me)... I could probably gaze at her for a long time, and I am neither a man nor a lesbian! However, I had very little time to gaze at her as I spoke, because the PR people at the Jaipur Literature Fest had expressly stated--"No interviews with Catton." Case closed. 

Really?I don't think so. I was there to talk to her, and talk to her I would.

Eleanor stepped down from the stage as her session ended. I probably galloped like a horse to the front of the crowds, and hooked her interest with a question that made her think. Those precious 5 minutes with her led to this story: (Published In Financial Chronicle, January 22, 2015)

Star attraction at the Jaipur Literature Fest 2015, winner of 2014 Man Booker Prize Eleanor Catton wishes it were easier to portray the female perspective as ‘default’ and not ‘alternative’. At the sidelines of her session, she had an informal chat with Zehra Naqvi about her discovery through writing:

Me: Writing is a journey of discovery. What has been your greatest discovery so far?

Eleanor : My greatest discovery has been the realization of the importance of a love story. All great stories are, in the end, great love stories. That’s what I have learned.

Me: What kind of effort goes into creating a mammoth work of historical fiction like The Luminaries?

Eleanor: Reading is 90 per cent of a writer’s work. I read lots and lots about the gold rush period in New Zealand to find out about life in that age. Well, actually, all I wanted to do was write a murder mystery! But in the end, all novels always speak to the time in which they are written. A historical novel does not make a statement about the past. They are talking to the age they are in.

Me: You’ve talked about your desire to balance ornate structure with an active plot, as you have done perfectly in your book. How does one achieve that kind of balance?

Eleanor: It’s very important in a book for the form to match the content. As for this book, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to write such a book again! (Laughs)You can’t separate the two and look at it –you can’t separate what someone is saying from how they’re saying it. The two go together. Structure and form can’t be different.

Me: You’ve said the writing of your book changed you. In what way?

Eleanor: Each new book teaches you to write all over again. This one was so different from my first book. With each new work, you find a whole new way of writing.

Me: This is your first visit to India. How has the experience been so far? Would you think of writing a book set in India?

Eleanor: The experience has been delightful! But I’d have to live here for a long time to be able to write a book set here—take in the life, the people… everything…and there’s a lot to take in!

(From Jaipur Literature Fest 2015)

Nature Worship: Wordsworth and Tagore

(First published in Financial Chronicle on March 12, 2010)

March is the month when nature unveils her warm charms, bringing a sigh of relief to the cold-weary masses. It's a time when you would want to stop and smell the flowers, or maybe experience the rumblings of poetry within the depths of your soul.

There's nothing quite like poetry for singing a paean to nature. Among the many celebrated nature poets, William Wordsworth is probably the most famous. What sets his work apart from others is that his poetry was, in fact, an act of nature-worship. Wordsworth perceived the presence of divinity and healing in nature, the presence of a higher spirit that he considered a `balm' to weary souls.

His poem, Tintern Abbey, depicts with much lucidity the unity that he found in all animate and inanimate objects -"A presence that disturbs me with the joy...a sense sublime / Of something far more deeply interfused," the peace that they bring to him -"To them I may have owed another gift...that blessed mood...In which the heavy and the weary weight, Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened" and his confession to his worship--"I, so long a worshipper of Nature, hither came / Unwearied in that service with far deeper zeal / Of holier love". This act of worship was not confined to Wordsworth alone, though. Another poet who excelled in the linking of divinity to nature was Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore. His words work with much greater subtlety, like the `gentle breeze', which he is so fond of mentioning. "The world speaks to me in pictures, my soul answers in music."

Tagore defines nature as the thread of communion between the human and the divine, a bond of tenderness. His most famous work Gitanjali is full of songs to the higher spirit, with nature as a messenger. "The sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched and stands at my door the livelong day to carry back to thy feet clouds made of my tears and sighs and songs."

You can identify more shades of this bond in Crossing: "Rebelliously I put out the light in my house and your sky surprised me with its stars". To him, nature holds the secrets to a higher truth and has lessons to teach us -"The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies," and "Tiny grass, your steps are small but you possess the earth under your tread."

For Tagore, the physical union too is an act of spirituality, and this again he finds in nature --"I feel thy beauty, dark night, like that of the loved woman when she has put out the lamp", and "The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth". He makes it the channel for attainment of enlightenment, not in the manner of the sage who renounces life for wilderness, but in the manner of the lover who embraces the pulsating life around him.

Food for the senses becomes food for the soul, as in these lines from Gitanjali --"Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight...No, I will never shut the doors of my senses. The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight."

Sensual delights abound in the season around us now; maybe a little poetry might lead us to the doors of enlightenment.