“STEP OUT OF YOUR small little self, feel your pulse beat to the rhythm of this world wide and wondrous.” The opening lines of one of Rabindranath Tagore’s famous poems call out to me from afar. Etched on a humble wall piece, under the outline of Tagore’s face, they seem to be describing my state of mind.
I am in Santiniketan on a bright December morning after a long journey that included a flight from Delhi, a layover in Kolkata, and an early morning train to Prantik, a tiny railway station that feeds the town of Santiniketan. My husband and I are the only people to get off at the empty, two-platform station that could very well belong in a Byomkesh Bakshi story. Just like
