Listening to songs of Rabindranath Tagore was as common an
activity as eating or sleeping in most middle-class Bengali households in my childhood. We didn't have a tape recorder and radio was
the main medium through which I had the first experience of those songs, the memories of which will stay with me throughout my life.
My sisters and mom used to listen to radio programmes everyday and debate endlessly about the singing styles of noted
Rabindrasangeet exponents of that time. But whenever I recollect those days, I remember the voice of an unknown street singer. His name was
Gurupada Biswas.
Carrying a harmonium tied with a thick cloth string and wearing a clean shirt and dhoti, Mr. Biswas, a
middle-aged man, used to come to our housing society and go from one flat to another, singing Tagore songs. He would sit on the
window-shelf between our door and that of our neighbour and his deep voice will echo in the stairs. I will tell my mom "siri gayak
esechhe" (the staircase singer has come) and run to open the door. Mom
will request him to sing her favourite songs. He will sing them most of
the times but will refuse if he was not sure about the words of a particular song. "One should be very careful about the lyrics of
Rabindrasangeet," he will say. Mom will give him some money afterwards,
while the neighbours will offer a bowl of uncooked rice. This was
a regular occurrence for years, till the day he suddenly stopped coming.
I don't know whether Mr. Biswas is still alive. If I see and
hear him again someday, I will record a video of him and upload in Facebook and he will be an instant internet sensation. Or maybe not.
Maybe he will just say: "ami je gaan geyechhilem, mone rekho"
(remember the song I had sung)
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