Bengalis will never part with their legendary kindness to strangers. We had a chance to experience it first-hand when our car got a puncture and we found ourselves, three English ladies dressed up for a dinner party, waiting on Chowrangee road for reparations. A gentleman in his sixties pulled up in his sky-blue Ambassador and asked us if he could be of help. We looked at each other and could not refuse what we thought was an out-of-the-world kindness. Our driver joined us later, once the car was repaired. The next day we were to visit Rabindranath Tagore’s house in the northern part of the city. The neighbourhood took us back to the early 19th century. We had chai from a street vendor who served it in tiny clay cups to be thrown away after use, in order to be washed away by the next rain, a very ecological and hygienic system. Then we followed our guide, Reika, through the gardens of the 18th-century mansion built by Tagore’s grandfather.

The three of us wanted to come here almost on a pilgrimage, out of sheer admiration for his poetry, which can make even a stone heart melt. Now a museum, the poet’s home with its vast and pleasant galleries, offers a splendid compilation of Tagore’s creations. An accomplished painter and a political activist as well as an educator, the man was truly an accomplished artist. The visit to his house taught us a lot about his life and left us in awe of his accomplishments, so much so that we decided to follow our agent Mr Basu’s advice to travel a hundred miles away to Shantiniketan. The abode of peace, Tagore’s open-air university, is still today, one of the most prestigious centres of learning for Humanities in India. Kala Bhavana, the art college of Shantiniketan, is considered to be one of the best in the world.