How a Rabindranath Tagore melody became my timeless lullaby

The song was slowly taking its toll on me, the rhythm lulling me into a state where sleep could come at any moment. The boat rocked gently with the current beneath us. Was I dreaming? What is the exact moment when sleep overtakes wakefulness? The vast sky above glowed with a red hue, and from miles below, the croaks of frogs and the rhythmic "crick-crick" of crickets echoed. The large, ethereal banyan trees seemed to hiss in the distance. I tried to soak in the rare beauty of this night, a night I seldom encountered: "Majhe majhe tobo dekha pai, Chirodin keno pai na."

Lullabies, those songs meant to soothe babies and children to sleep, are often thought to be a specific set of songs. "Ghum Parani Mashi Pishi" is undoubtedly a classic, a true "successful" lullaby. But, when you think about it, any song that is soft, soothing, and rhythmic could be considered a lullaby.

I had my share of traditional lullabies, and I loved them. But strangely, my favorite lullaby is a Tagore song. My first encounter with Rabindranath’s music was on a boat during a monsoon many years ago. It's one of my earliest memories, and though I remember it only in fragments, those fragments are enough to make me realize that it was one of the most magical nights of my life.

My head rested on my mother’s shoulder as we traveled through Bikrampur, my village home. My family was on its way to our ancestral home after a dinner at a relative’s house. How do you travel through a village in the rainy season? The answer is simple: by boat. As the boat gently rocked, my mother began singing Majhe Majhe Tobo Dekha Pai to help me drift off to sleep.

The pitch darkness surrounded us, with the only light coming from the kerosene lamps on the boats and hand torches guiding the way. Yet, above, the sky glowed red. As a five-year-old, I was both astonished and puzzled by this strange sight. A storm was brewing in the distance, but I was already half-asleep, my eyelids heavy. In the midst of it all, I could still hear my mother’s reassuring and comforting voice:

"Keno megh ashe hridoyo akashe,
Tomare dekhite dae na,
Moho meghete tomare dekhite dey na,
Moho meghete tomare...
Ondho kore rakhe,
Tomare dekhite dey na."

That night, the song took on a special meaning for me—naive and perhaps even a bit absurd. It made me picture the thick, swirling clouds, the redness of the sky on a monsoon night, and the elusive moon that peeked through only for a brief moment before vanishing behind the dark mass of clouds.

When it comes to lullabies, I believe the tone often matters more than the lyrics themselves. In fact, studies suggest that it is the love in a parent’s voice that makes lullabies so sweet. One study recorded mothers singing the same lullabies to their babies and later, to an empty room pretending to hold their babies. The difference in the recordings was evident.

Children are conditioned to the lullabies their parents sing to them night after night. Over time, these songs become triggers, stimuli that help them drift off to sleep. The brain learns to associate the sound with relaxation. Even now, if I hear those same lullabies, I can feel myself becoming sleepy once again.

Regardless of the scientific explanation, we all have sweet, fond memories tied to lullabies. Since they are part of our earliest experiences, the images we associate with them are often faint and hazy.

I believe that no memory is ever truly lost; every memory is stored somewhere in our minds. Sometimes, all it takes is the right trigger for a long-forgotten experience to resurface, vivid and clear.

The song playing on the radio was slowly lulling me to sleep. The boat rocked gently with the current beneath me. But I was lying in my bed now. Was I dreaming? What is the exact moment when sleep overtakes us? The vivid memories returned: the vast sky glowing red above me, the croaking frogs far below, the crickets chirping, the ghostly banyan trees rustling. I was trying to capture the rare beauty of a night I rarely encountered:

"Majhe majhe tobo dekha pai,

Chirodin keno pai na."