what a city does
May. 1st, 2026 06:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
virgomoon I am 26 now, and here's a quick table of all the places I've lived in since I was born,
Today I dropped my mother at the beautiful, gargantuan, maddening Howrah Railway Station and with that, for the first time in my life, my parents willingly left me alone in a house that I have full access over. I do not have to pay rent yet, but support in utilities, food, upkeep, all that other jazz. I wonder if I will ever be able to afford rent.
The sky had been dark, foreboding, and a lovely wind with a smell upon it. I remember my tenth (or was it my ninth?) birthday when I was returning home in a school bus and it was similarly dark and fragrant. The clouds were gorgeously laced with shades of grey and blinding white, so I was and I used to consider grey my favorite color, besides green. That still remains true.
I was 9 when a thunderbolt struck down a brick-and-mortar wall near our apartment. It was a testament to the power of the sky, of nature, of things beyond your control. I remember this very well because we were huddled together in my parents' room, all four of us, like a family. It felt exceedingly rare for that to occur. I remember desperately committing everything to memory, even the color of the walls in the room.
I grew up in school buses and with my mother's relatives, whizzing from one place to the next. The school that has given me the most number of friends is also the one that I frequented the most, but in the most bizarre timeline. I was there when we were all pre-pre-teens, the loveliest of times, 7 to 10 years, barely formed, Hannah Montana-weaned, Love Story-humming, everything becoming a lifelong memory. Rock On, Om Shanti Om, Billu Barber, Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na, all had released in the years I was there for. My closest friend right now introduced me to the internet then. So much memory, so much life. Yet the years after, I was absent for, when you get to know each other and suffer the injustices of childhood that bond you for life. I still have friends from that school, somehow. I survived, subliminal.
I went away to another city, beautiful in its own right, but kept clamoring to come back. Verbally, slyly, I fought, and made my way back. But I remained unmoored for a long, long time after.
What really made me fight to be back in Kolkata? There's no wonder or disbelief in it---its crystal clear. Kolkata felt like freedom to me. In as many ways as its made me feel stuck and woebegone and as if we're all paleolithic creatures here, its opened up just that many ways for me. The depth of thought and emotion I've found myself accruing for myself is owed in spades to this place. The schools. The people.
I really thought I wouldn't openly romanticize this place so much but it's a subtle, strange thing. The moment I left my mother at the railway station I suddenly thought to myself how this place is home after all. Maybe I thought I'd want to run away to Kochi. Escape immediately to foreign shores. All that I still want, I suppose. But it's crazy. Kolkata is my home and not just a place I'm visiting. I finally felt this way after 15 years.
Ownership is a tough word and a pretty heavy one at that. I finally felt responsible, for this place, and my existence in it. Like a real person. It's so hard to inculcate that awareness and to feel as if things are real, and you keep feeling like a sum of your mistakes, your non-nons. You're not an early riser, you're not a swanky commerce type, you're not earning enough, you don't have health insurance, you can't afford to pay rent, you can't write for beans, you can't read enough books in time, you've not done xyz and so on it goes.
But I think of all this and I also think I've managed to survive till now after all, have a job of a kind, carve a niche of some middling manner, and at least thrust myself in the general area of the things I want to do. I've travelled so much, experienced so much, met so many blinding brilliant people. It's time to be kind to myself and feel real, be real, act real.
Time suddenly has weight now, but its like a feather.
Today I dropped my mother at the beautiful, gargantuan, maddening Howrah Railway Station and with that, for the first time in my life, my parents willingly left me alone in a house that I have full access over. I do not have to pay rent yet, but support in utilities, food, upkeep, all that other jazz. I wonder if I will ever be able to afford rent.
The sky had been dark, foreboding, and a lovely wind with a smell upon it. I remember my tenth (or was it my ninth?) birthday when I was returning home in a school bus and it was similarly dark and fragrant. The clouds were gorgeously laced with shades of grey and blinding white, so I was and I used to consider grey my favorite color, besides green. That still remains true.
I was 9 when a thunderbolt struck down a brick-and-mortar wall near our apartment. It was a testament to the power of the sky, of nature, of things beyond your control. I remember this very well because we were huddled together in my parents' room, all four of us, like a family. It felt exceedingly rare for that to occur. I remember desperately committing everything to memory, even the color of the walls in the room.
I grew up in school buses and with my mother's relatives, whizzing from one place to the next. The school that has given me the most number of friends is also the one that I frequented the most, but in the most bizarre timeline. I was there when we were all pre-pre-teens, the loveliest of times, 7 to 10 years, barely formed, Hannah Montana-weaned, Love Story-humming, everything becoming a lifelong memory. Rock On, Om Shanti Om, Billu Barber, Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na, all had released in the years I was there for. My closest friend right now introduced me to the internet then. So much memory, so much life. Yet the years after, I was absent for, when you get to know each other and suffer the injustices of childhood that bond you for life. I still have friends from that school, somehow. I survived, subliminal.
I went away to another city, beautiful in its own right, but kept clamoring to come back. Verbally, slyly, I fought, and made my way back. But I remained unmoored for a long, long time after.
What really made me fight to be back in Kolkata? There's no wonder or disbelief in it---its crystal clear. Kolkata felt like freedom to me. In as many ways as its made me feel stuck and woebegone and as if we're all paleolithic creatures here, its opened up just that many ways for me. The depth of thought and emotion I've found myself accruing for myself is owed in spades to this place. The schools. The people.
I really thought I wouldn't openly romanticize this place so much but it's a subtle, strange thing. The moment I left my mother at the railway station I suddenly thought to myself how this place is home after all. Maybe I thought I'd want to run away to Kochi. Escape immediately to foreign shores. All that I still want, I suppose. But it's crazy. Kolkata is my home and not just a place I'm visiting. I finally felt this way after 15 years.
Ownership is a tough word and a pretty heavy one at that. I finally felt responsible, for this place, and my existence in it. Like a real person. It's so hard to inculcate that awareness and to feel as if things are real, and you keep feeling like a sum of your mistakes, your non-nons. You're not an early riser, you're not a swanky commerce type, you're not earning enough, you don't have health insurance, you can't afford to pay rent, you can't write for beans, you can't read enough books in time, you've not done xyz and so on it goes.
But I think of all this and I also think I've managed to survive till now after all, have a job of a kind, carve a niche of some middling manner, and at least thrust myself in the general area of the things I want to do. I've travelled so much, experienced so much, met so many blinding brilliant people. It's time to be kind to myself and feel real, be real, act real.
Time suddenly has weight now, but its like a feather.
