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The letters of Rabindranath Tagore, like a beacon, guide us toward his beliefs, concerns, and expectations. No other genre of his work presents his range of interest in ideas, events, and situations so candidly with such spontaneous wit, humour, and irony. Through his letters this man of so many facets, for instance, expresses to W.B. Yeats his frustrations over the lack of truly intelligent appreciation of his literary works among his general readership, even in Bengal. Another time, he confides to his son Rathindranath his grief and guilt for having arranged his daughter's unhappy marriage. And yet he can poke fun at himself and a young sahib officer who arrives in a storm for a visit that neither host nor guest had intended but that neither could avoid.