Boris Pasternak PASTERNAK. His name and his novel Dr. Zhivago have leapt to the eyes of the world. This book has won him two things: high appreciation from the world, topped by the Nobel prize; and, as a paradox, stern censure from his own countrymen, those armed with political powers. I am not concerned with the resulting controversy. Something else is my topic. I understand that the word 'Zhivago' is cognate to our jiva (a living being or life itself). 'Doctor Zhivago' may be regarded as embodying and illustrating the life-principle of the author himself – the secret of life, as revealed to him. The raison d'être of his book is the significance of life and its course as disc

Pondicherry SRI Aurobindo came to Pondicherry¹ and took shelter here. We might say of course from another point of view that it was he who gave shelter to Pondicherry within his own consciousness. But why this city in particular? There is indeed the usual view that he retired into French territory to escape the wrath of the British bureaucracy. But actually, all he wanted was to find a quiet spot where he might give himself to his own work undisturbed. The place was so quiet that we can hardly imagine now what it was really like. It was not quiet, it was actually dead; they used to call it a dead city. There was hardly any traffic, particularly in the area where we lived

I Played Football (1) SOME of you have asked to hear about my performance in football. I have already told you something on an earlier occasion. Let us have a little more today. I have dabbled in football almost since my birth or, to be more exact, from the time I barely completed five. My hand was introduced to the pen or chalk and my feet touched the ball practically at one and the same time. Would you believe it, I had my formal initiation into studies, not once but twice, and on both occasions it was performed with due ceremony on a Saraswati Puja day, as has been the custom with us. The first time it took place, I was only four years old and I cannot now

Pondicherry Cyclone I HAVE once spoken to you of an earthquake and a small fire. Today I shall say something about two or three other inclement natural phenomena of which I have had direct personal experience. The first was when I was a child, it has left a clear imprint on my mind. Many of you, no doubt, are familiar with storms and hurricanes. But have you ever seen a whirlwind, what they call a tornado? This word has been rendered by a Pundit into turna-da, a thing that is swift in its flight. I have had a chance to see the thing with my own eyes. Just listen, you will see how terrible a thing it is and how well in keeping with its formidable name. We were at scho

Some Dates 7-7-77 HAVE you noted today's date? My attention has been drawn to it. It is very remarkable: 7.7.77. Four sevens together. Has it any special significance? Yes, Mother herself once gave the meaning of these four sevens – "Manifestation and Realisation". Manifestation means the appearance of the truth, the truth that is hidden behind somewhere, when it comes forward and shows itself, that is manifestation. Realisation means we express this truth that has come forward in our consciousness, make it real on the physical plane, embody it in our external activity: in other words whatever you do you do the truth, whatever you speak you speak the truth; the Truth first appears

Subhash, Oaten: atlas, Russell THE Subhash-Oaten encounter has attained some notoriety, as a number of people have on several occasions given an account of how Subhash Chandra once gave a thrashing with his shoes to one of his British professors, Oaten. But it seems to have almost been forgotten by the general public that this incident was a mere replica or imitation of an earlier and identical performance. Subhash did not institute anything new; he was simply following in the footsteps of eminent and heroic predecessors. Today I propose to give an account of that original performance. It was in the year 1905. The Swadeshi movement was in full tide, flooding the

My Professors (I) My professors at college were giants, Olympian gods all. They are memorable names in the fields of scholarship, learning and teaching. Of these, J. C. Bose, P. C. Ray, Percival, M.Ghose and our Principal P. K. Roy were mature elderly men; among the younger group were Harinath De, Prafulla Ghose, Khagendranath Mitra, and a few others who will appear in this story later. All these men possessed a special gift for which they deserve admiration. Learning and teaching ability are qualities not so rare, many teachers have them. But the quality for which our ancient teachers were known as preceptors, guru, is something unusual: that is the power of influence,

Rabindranath and Modernism (I) BENGALI literature has reached the stage of modernism and even ultra-modernism. This achievement is, we may say point-blank, the contribution of Rabindranath. Not that the movement was totally absent before the advent of Rabindranath. But it is from him that the current has received the high impetus and overflooded the mind and the vital being of the Bengali race. We can recall here the two great artists who commenced modernism – Madhusudan and Bankim. But in their outlook there was still a trace of the past, in their ideas and expressions there was an imprint of the past. The transition from Ishwar Gupta and Dinabandhu to Bankim

Reason and Yoga NOTHING is proved by reason. Reason is only an instrument or a weapon. Any man can use it with the same skill for his own end. Satan, too, has his advocate. According to the demands and needs of our ideals, experience and inner impulses, and in order to furnish them with proofs, we engage reason and its company. Therefore the authority of the proof lies not in any power of reasoning, but in the reality behind the ideal, the secret feeling, the profound impulse and impetus. What is truth is existent; that is, it is true only because it has existence. It is independent of any proof. It has to be seen directly and perceived immediately. The proof of the tre

REMINISCENCES The Initiation of Swadeshi THE Swadeshi Movement of 1905 in India was a most astonishing event, something in the nature of a marvel; one might almost call it a miracle. It was like those great upheavals of Nature, as sudden and irresistible. Earlier preparations and abortive attempts there had been galore, with results that counted for little. This huge mammoth mass of humanity lay inert, like Kumbhakarna of the epic story, for hundreds of years. Here and there once in a while an attempt had been made to pour into its ears fiery words of awakening, like: Who would live a life bereft of all freedom, Who would care so to live? or