En Route to Bohemia

It was the summer of 2015 and I was at the watershed of my life. It wasn't long before the sultry days that the melancholy of leaving my city, Kolkata took over my mind. The application process, which was almost a year-long by then, all seemed mechanical, a task undergone without any emotional attachment whatsoever. The feeling back then was a mixture of happiness of experiencing a new land, far from home and fear of being gradually disowned by my city.

As they say, you can never wash your hands twice in the same water of a flowing stream. Nostalgia, by the same logic is the process of reliving a memory within, which is impossible to relive in reality any more. And, that impossibility makes nostalgia a very special word. Kolkata has been the rendezvous of all my firsts, the source of memories.

What remains of the memories of my ever-ever land are of the great times I have spent there, of religious festivities and of comradeship, of political affiliations which has ignited the urge to know more about my land and of relationships, of family who have been a constant source of support. Among all these experiences, my city has never failed to amaze me with her richness of culture and deep-rooted philosophy of acceptance, contrary to tolerance, which the rest of my country is skeptic about even today. I have experienced religiousness which is secular in the broadest sense of term. The city has never been a melting pot, it has been an Indian thali comprising of several preparations, absence of any one of them can affect its sumptuousness to a great extent.