I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down
the air to race with my boats!
When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that my
paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.
— Rabindranath Tagore
Trapped inside the cage, I look up at the sky and am, somehow, by cultural memory reminded of the above lines of the Immortal Bard who guides me on in this astral voyage of recovery of the self and the dim pathways, out there, now visible again, modes, perceptions leading directly to the realities of the heavens and the heavenly songs, in our midst. Gurudev! Pronam! You restore — in the post-modern, post-industrial, consuming unit, recipient — a sense of the lost grandeur, wonder, joy; a promise of an uplifting presence around and, of the missing bliss that flows from ordinary moments of the enraptured gazing at the stars from a locked-down home’s barred windows, thereby, that very moment, feeling reassured of that playmate for me, us, in a single instant of reading, viewing, experiencing mystical reconnections with an original vision, heritage, roots, idiom of the lived lives, profound civilizational truths in these cynical times!