Reflections
Conversations with the sun
I talk to the sun every day. I do so for many reasons and in many different ways. I set out every morning for work only after I see the sun rising in the east. The red orb, peeking above the trees and houses, is my cue to get going. On days when I get up before the sun, I toss and turn in my bed, with many tunes in my head. But the one I sing often is Tagore's keno jagey naa, jagey naa obosh ei poran (O my tired soul! Why dost thou not raise thyself?) The first rays of the sun clear any lingering "oboshota" in me. As soon as I pull out of my driveway and have travelled only a half mile, the sun also becomes my companion. I see the many faces of the rising sun. First, as I am driving on the country road winding through my town, the sun has just topped the low-lying houses and is of a bright red color, it sometimes comes up right in front of me, often almost blinding my eyes. I need to be careful since if I am not, I might be hitting another driver ahead of me, also trying to shield his/her eyes, and might even have slowed down or stopped. Soon, as I take a northward turn, the sun moves to my right and keeps me company as I drive past Stonehill College, and then some open fields to the right. The red floating ball of fire is now picking up momentum and may be a few inches above the horizon, still in its bright red garb, but more golden than red. While I try to keep my eyes on the road, I turn my head for a split second or two to see if the sun is still there, but more to see its color and its majestic face. I talk to the sun frequently as I travel along. First of all, I know that the sun has a long day ahead just as I do. I wish the sun "good luck" in its daily chores, in the hope that it is able to do its job without interruption as it moves from the east to the west. I like to do the same, cover as much and in the orderly fashion the sun does its own. No interruptions or distractions. While clouds sometimes get in the way, it cannot stop the sun. The sun has to cover the distance no matter what gets in its way, rain, storm, earthquake, tsunami, you name it. I might add that I enjoy watching the love-hate relationship between the clouds and the sun. The beauty of the sun is enhanced by the clouds, whether it is the rising sun or the setting sun. The clouds often try to cover the sunand I don't know why--but the sun has its own maneuvers. Truth be told, the sun looks more adorable as it breaks out of the cloud; the rays behind the clouds give it a very ethereal ambience. As Tagore chanted many years ago, "Megher koley rode heshechey" or "aji dhaner shishey rodro chhayar looko churi khela". This triangular love affair between the sun, clouds and the sky is a story of eternal love and passion. The sky loves to have the sun all to itself but the cloud feels left out and covers up the sun. As if it is saying, "O sun, you may be big, and powerful, and have the energy to give life, but I can take you on, one on one, and can even take you away from the earth!". I also say a prayer every morning to the sun. I learned these touching verses when I was very young, and have felt its power day in and day out. It was written by Sukanto, and who said, "Hey suryo, tumi amar". I know its work is still not done, since I read from my folks that people still live in the "shetshetey ghor", and many of the roadside street kids still shiver in the cold on a winter morning. Coming back to my diurnal journey with the sun, the houses and the treetops take on a sheen of gold as it rises--the sun itself changes color from red to orange to gold, as it travels with me. It also seems to be running along with me. As I squint to the right, I can see the sun trying to keep up with me, sprinting from one hiding place to another, hiding for a second, then revealing itself when it can't do so any more. It almost seems to be smiling in defeat, having lost its hiding place. My journey is often interrupted by traffic lights or slowed down by vehicular traffic in front of me. As soon as I hit the brakes, I turn to check if the sun is still with me, and to give it a nod of acknowledgment. As if telling the sun, just because I have my eyes on the road or turning away from you, does not mean I am not paying you attention. I know you are there, travelling with me, keeping me company, shining the path for me and brightening up my morning, making it more colorful. If perchance I turn left, I can see that the western sky is also enjoying the slow rise of the sun on the east. The western sky knows that after the sun has crossed the meridian it will be longing to move to the west --- because it rests in the west. But even in the morning, the sun lends its color to the west. The sky starts with a deep blue wraparound and then changes to a light blue or off-whitish garb. Sometimes, I am busy during the day and don't get a chance to talk to the sun again until the late afternoon or even evening. But I also look forward to that moment when I can sit down, either in my kitchen, or stand at a window in my office, or just steal a moment from work or whatever is my task to take a look at the setting sun. I feel a strong inclination to say goodbye. But, more to just to meditate and enjoy the color. I now understand why all the religions set that as the moment of prayer. To be thankful for what you have. The evening is another time I look out for the sun wherever I am. Sometimes when I am at work and the sun is going down (usually in winter when sunsets occur at 4:30 PM) I would often sneak out of my office in downtown Boston and try to catch a glimpse of the setting sun. The kaleidoscope that a setting sun creates even in an urban setting is majestic, provided you find a location on the top floor or go to a hill to catch the last minutes of this magnificent source of light, color, and life. For me, each sunset has its own personality. One of the most memorable sunsets for me happened on the river Possur in Khulna during a trip to the Sundarbans on a big steam boat. One evening we came back from a walk on the shore, and the sunset from the top deck of the boat was a beauty to behold. It was a clear crisp sky in early January, and the round ball of fire was slowly going down, casting its magical display of color on the water, the sky, and on our small world on the boat. Because we had time on our hands, there was no better use of it than to watch the change of colors and be under the spell of the lights and shadows of the setting sun, the eternal "godhuli logon". I have seen many setting suns, but it had never felt like this before. It may have partly been due to my pride in this land that is my place of birth, and partly the tranquility in these surroundings, and possibly the detachment from all the trappings of modern life. The gently flowing water, the shoreline with the tall trees framing the border between the sky and the water, the gold and then red and magenta paint spilled by the sun as it descended behind the other side of the forest, all made the passing moments so magical, so ethereal. I stood there holding the railing, sometimes leaning forward, sometimes just staring at the sky straining to see if I could see a sliver of the disappearing sun, all the while watching the western canvas as it yielded to the unseen painter's play with colors. The feeling was one of peace, tinged with a little bit of melancholia and reflection the setting sun always brings about in me, the Bengali that I am. But I was also happy that I was in the midst of this unique setting: the short drama that is the "setting sun", one that is always a privilege to witness, and a gift from the sun, when I have the time to savor it and when it happens. A rare moment in life indeed!
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