Rabindranath Tagore’s most famous poem — Where the mind is without fear...— epitomises his thoughts when he started the school and later university at Shantiniketan, the ashram originally established by his father, Maharshi Debendranath Tagore in 1860.

I had long wanted to visit the place. As an impressionable idealistic young 14 year old, I had dreamed of studying in Santiniketan but I did not even voice my thoughts as I knew that it was too far from home. The secret dream I nourished came true recently and I was lucky to see it through the eyes of my guide who as a young woman had studied there in the 1980s.

It is reached from Calcutta in a four-five hours by road. The last stretch is through the Bolpur forest. It was dark when we passed through it, but it was strangely comforting as the car whistled along the path through the avenues of tall trees, with nary a human being in sight.

There were trees everywhere. In the campus were huge trees with canopying branches so large that students could sit under them. Rabindranath, who started his school with five students, abhorred the restrictive atmosphere of classrooms with walls. So he encouraged classes to be held surrounded by nature.

Sometimes, if the students wanted to climb trees instead of studying he would allow them to. After all, what better way to get acquainted with a tree? By observing, climbing, feeling the footholds with hands and legs, plucking the fruit, eating it, breaking open the seed, replanting it and watching it grow again, one learns so much more.

My guide told me that often they were asked to adopt a tree, replant and observe its growth and write in their journals about their observations. This way they could think their own thoughts, make their own interpretations, and write about their feelings, instead of regurgitating the teacher’s words. It gave children confidence to voice their thoughts, realise that their observations and perceptions were important and get their fledgling lessons in democracy.

I walked through the campus and saw the children seated on the ground under the trees, lovely venerable trees.

My guide told me that during the monsoon, the children would be let off, but lessons would somehow always be made up later. But they learnt to appreciate the rain, and learnt songs about it which they would sing on their walks. There were songs for every season.

Another friend who had studied there 50 years ago recalled the charm of those days. She said music was everywhere. She remembers with nostalgia, that on moonlit nights, they would gather in the open and sing songs relating to the night, the moon and the feelings associated with these forces of nature.

Thus, Tagore incorporated a love of culture, music, dancing and the arts. We walked past the dance classes, where I could hear the ankle bells and the beat of the stick as the master coached his pupils. In the distance I could hear the tap tap of the chisel as youngsters worked on their sculptures. On the ample grounds were statues made of wood, which seemed to emanate from the wood merging with and flowing from it. The boys hostel was called the Black House and had the works of the amateur artists etched on the walls of mud covered over with a thin layer of tar.

Shantiniketan lives on in the evocation of a brilliant idea which took root in a brilliant mind. That it has existed in its oasis of serenity, keeping with the spirit of the place, is a marvel and a tribute to Rabindranath.