The act of leaving home

Home is what you call your roots. The place that shields  you, nurtures you, comforts you – that, my dear, is your root. That is who you are. The place, the people, everyone, and everything around you, make you. So it gets difficult to detach those overt and covert, subtle and obvious strings that you so carefully nourish for a considerable amount of time of your life, when you leave your city. You are probably not intending to detach your ties literally, but the possibility of a physical proximity diminishes. A part of you remains there. A part of yourself is carried to the new place where you plan to settle for the years to come. The new city may welcome you, be all kind to you, but you can never ever call it home. A string constantly tugs you at the heart, to come back.

This city has given me a lot, has taught me things – how to laugh, how to live, how to fight back; this city has always been a comfort zone – a place where I can always lean on when I’m too exhausted, scared or scarred to think of anything else. The nooks and corners of this place has always haunted me. Its old charm, the grandeur, the must, the dust, the heat, the rain clogged streets, the chaos, the colour – I am going to miss it all.

This city knows about my mischiefs, midnight pranks, endless chatter, silences, lonely strolls, guffaws with close ones, sweet nothings, falls, and efforts to rise again. It knows a little too much about me to break its trust.

‘This city knows about all my firsts;

And the more I try to run away from it, it closes in upon me’.


Choluk Kalorab…

So, the wildfire has started…

A “small incident ” turned out to be big! Really big!

It seems like a house of cards; you dare to poke one card, and behold, the entire house turns out to be a devastated heap… It’s like a snowball, rolling and crushing everything on its way!
They are rising…

They marched, they sang, they demonstrated, they organized plays… it’s not anymore a matter of a few. Now it concerns the entire nation.

They are quite ready to take the blows that might cross their path. They are completely armed – with pen, and paint brushes and guitars…

Very rightly they said, “the pen is mightier than the sword”.
Who says students nowadays are not bothered – not concerned about what’s going on around them?

Dear state mechanism, you still need to figure out what lies in store for you!


How can it be my city?

Is it really my city?

Once I grew up, loving this city, immersing myself within it, thinking this is MY space.. a space for US citizens, for US students .. a space which I always knew to be our comfort zone (or maybe I should say ‘was’ our comfort zone).

The nooks and corners of the city has grown dark, the alleys quieter. It doesn’t anymore give that sense of security  that it once used to…
Kolkata.. what have they turned you into!

I can barely contain my angst, my disgust against those inhumans who molested that student within the university campus.. it is almost incredible that the university vice chancellor invited the police to lathi charge on the young mass of protesters in the dead of the night… I can hardly suppress my helplessness that I cannot be a part of the ongoing protests.. 

This is not my city.This can hardly be the city I grew up in…

Do they really think they can get away with it? Do they really believe that the students can’t unite and assert their demands? It’s high time they should reconsider this “small incident “. It only needs a minute spark to start a wildfire….