I said before that to come back to things that never change give me a feeling of reassurance that I am home. Like, I know exactly which angle the orange sun beams would enter my room at 6:30 in the morning. I know how much of the tree would be visible if I sit as my study table. These are little things that make up the whole big situation. These are the things that bring me home.
Home isn't in the suburbs where the house (my in-laws house) is like visiting relatives. I never know that place. I can't walk down the stairs blindfold. I don't know the neighborhood. I can't tell the books in the book shelf by looking at just their spines. I don't know the neighbors. 3 days a year for 6 years only amounts to 18 days. That can't be compared to 23 years at a stretch and a month each year after that of living in my own house.
In the villages of Bengal, I am a complete stranger. However much I may like the glimpse of the rice fields or wonder at the experience of walking on the narrow divides through those fields at dusk when the cows return to their sheds, I don't belong there. I am a tourist who is seeking a new experience, who asks questions and takes photos.
I belong to Calcutta.
I belong to the place where there is noisy traffic, where the typical sound of banging on the sides of the buses and the conductor yelling "Howrah Howrah Howrah, Howrah jabe, khali bus" (empty bus, going to Howrah) wakes me up in the morning. Where Eden Gardens has a soft spot in my heart and I can't pass by the stadium without imagining the cricket shots being played there and the loud cheers that roll. How well we know where would be a good spot to sit in the stands where the Sun won't blaze throughout the day. We know that H block gives the best view and K block only gets the morning Sun and a little afternoon Sun. I belong to the afternoon walks to Lake and to Lake Market to buy little fancy things or eat from the road side vendors. And idle walk at Deshapriya Park while eating Jhaal-Muri and pointing out to Arnab where the cricket pitch is and telling him about the eternal rivalry between the two clubs there - Milan Samiti and DKS brings me back to home. I can see the spot where the big ferris wheel called Giant Wheel used to be placed at the Durga Pujo fair and where I shot balloons with an air rifle. I can see teenaged boys practicing their cricket shots and remembered my friends Sayan and Biswadeep as eighth graders right there. I belong to the crowds of Gariahat where vendors still cry - "Didi edike", "Didi ki lagbe?" (what can I get for you? Didi, come here) with an irritating yet friendly way. Even though I am familiar with many a shiny shopping mall, the colorful clothes and bright imitation jewelry never fail to attract me at Gariahat. There is a typical girly craving to buy everything accompanied by shiny eyes and a quick dig in the wallet.
Home is in eating the sharp spicy and tangy Phuchka dipped in tamarind water and in Kwality ice cream. It is in the smell of flowers of Lake Market on a sultry summer afternoon when the southern breeze starts blowing, in the sweetness of sandesh made with notun-gur and in the feeling that I am surrounded with lots of laughter and fun and people whom I love.
All thanks to Job Charnock for deciding to stop at this place for his mid-day break.
Home isn't in the suburbs where the house (my in-laws house) is like visiting relatives. I never know that place. I can't walk down the stairs blindfold. I don't know the neighborhood. I can't tell the books in the book shelf by looking at just their spines. I don't know the neighbors. 3 days a year for 6 years only amounts to 18 days. That can't be compared to 23 years at a stretch and a month each year after that of living in my own house.
In the villages of Bengal, I am a complete stranger. However much I may like the glimpse of the rice fields or wonder at the experience of walking on the narrow divides through those fields at dusk when the cows return to their sheds, I don't belong there. I am a tourist who is seeking a new experience, who asks questions and takes photos.
I belong to Calcutta.
I belong to the place where there is noisy traffic, where the typical sound of banging on the sides of the buses and the conductor yelling "Howrah Howrah Howrah, Howrah jabe, khali bus" (empty bus, going to Howrah) wakes me up in the morning. Where Eden Gardens has a soft spot in my heart and I can't pass by the stadium without imagining the cricket shots being played there and the loud cheers that roll. How well we know where would be a good spot to sit in the stands where the Sun won't blaze throughout the day. We know that H block gives the best view and K block only gets the morning Sun and a little afternoon Sun. I belong to the afternoon walks to Lake and to Lake Market to buy little fancy things or eat from the road side vendors. And idle walk at Deshapriya Park while eating Jhaal-Muri and pointing out to Arnab where the cricket pitch is and telling him about the eternal rivalry between the two clubs there - Milan Samiti and DKS brings me back to home. I can see the spot where the big ferris wheel called Giant Wheel used to be placed at the Durga Pujo fair and where I shot balloons with an air rifle. I can see teenaged boys practicing their cricket shots and remembered my friends Sayan and Biswadeep as eighth graders right there. I belong to the crowds of Gariahat where vendors still cry - "Didi edike", "Didi ki lagbe?" (what can I get for you? Didi, come here) with an irritating yet friendly way. Even though I am familiar with many a shiny shopping mall, the colorful clothes and bright imitation jewelry never fail to attract me at Gariahat. There is a typical girly craving to buy everything accompanied by shiny eyes and a quick dig in the wallet.
Home is in eating the sharp spicy and tangy Phuchka dipped in tamarind water and in Kwality ice cream. It is in the smell of flowers of Lake Market on a sultry summer afternoon when the southern breeze starts blowing, in the sweetness of sandesh made with notun-gur and in the feeling that I am surrounded with lots of laughter and fun and people whom I love.
All thanks to Job Charnock for deciding to stop at this place for his mid-day break.
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