Skip to main content

Remembrance of Kolkata Past

Growing up. I knew Kolkata was "home" though we did not live there. Coming to Howrah Station by train from far flung parts of India is how we got to Kolkata once every couple of years. My Bangla was not upto snuff, my mannerisms were unlike the locals and finally I did not look Bengali. With that trifecta of circumstances, Kolkata was far from a comfort fit as a "home". Yet, I tried hard to make it work. Work on my accent, work on loving what the locals did and work on finding some redeeming quality about this city has a cripplingly depressing affect on me. I saw sad parallels to my own life - much potential but no real achievements to show for. 

In that sense the city is my soul sister. I like to think of Kolkata as a woman - verdant, endlessly forgiving and vilely abused. Each time I returned, I would hope her fate had improved since we last met but the downward spiral continued unabated. My last contact was over fifteen years ago. In the interim, I worked on rehabilitating my life the best I could and rearrange the cards I had been dealt. I learned for instance to become accountable for my circumstances and not ascribe them to "wrongs" done to me. The process is not linear as I found out because identifying a cause (other than myself ) of my problems is like a gateway drug. It leads to feelings of temporary empowerment fueled by misdirected anger. It seems to diminish the pain. But after the "high" wears off the sense of defeat is crushing. From that bad habit stems many others - lack of real introspection, lack of focus in achieving goals for the future and so on. Far too easy to be angry at someone else who supposedly was the cause of my woes.

While I have made somewhat of a recovery, Kolkata has sadly not as I discovered this past summer. The attitudes of people have evolved to where they are all hustling and minding their own business and have little time to meddle in those of others. Privacy and personal space are not real concepts but synthetic byproducts of such hustle driven apathy. The family wedding is not nearly how it used to be. It is hard to tell the guests and the hosts apart as their level of engagement in the event is about same. Everyone is participating but no one owns anything. The generational fractures seem to be have widened since my day. Fluid relationship statuses are becoming acceptable not due to any heightened awareness of the self but  because it allows for complete lack of personal accountability. The state of the city is an overall reflection of the times as it must be. No one appears to be in charge and there is no plan. The city along with its populace hurtles towards an unknown destination that is loosely called the future.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...