T is a neighbor of my parents. He is a doctor and an amateur stage actor. The wife and daughter are semi-professional vocalists. Having the family over for dinner naturally occasioned impromptu performances by all three of them. It was an absolute treat. T and family are not the only ones that can burst into song and poetry with no preparation when they come by to my parents' house. In the few days that I have been here a dozen neighbors have come by from the surrounding apartments and just about everyone of them can sing, dance, perform in some way. There are a couple of water colorists, a handicrafts person, a photographer and an eight year old video editor who had taught himself editing software to do what he loves.
All this in an very unremarkable neighborhood of Kolkata beset with the problems of unplanned construction, roads unable to support the traffic, no infrastructure, deplorable quality of services and many other malaises that are the hallmark of this city. Yet in my parents' living room when these people get together and put on a show in a minute's notice, it is easy to forget all that is broken and lost in Bengal. This is the culture I loved and grew up in. Everyone has their favorite songs of Tagore and Nazrul, poems that spoke to their heart and soul. I have heard Jibananda Das, Sankha Ghosh, Shakti Chattopadhyay and ofcourse Tagore recited by family and friends when I was growing up. It was a real home-coming to dip into that experience again.
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