A Bittersweet Farewell

As I write the following, one would find me sitting at the airport in a city and country that have given me a great deal in so little time.  In the past two weeks, I have not only explored the recesses of two magnificently beautiful cities, but I’ve also been fortunate enough to glimpse inner recesses of my own being, with a perspective I could not have imagined or planned for (nor did I).  When I was informed of the duration of my stay here, I will admit to some initial reservations.  Of course, I do not fault myself for this minor ignorance, as I believe drifting outside one’s comfort zone always produces such reactions.  However, in hindsight, I am convinced that my stay would not have been remotely as exhilarating and inspiring had I not had the opportunity to explore the locations and experience the sights and sounds of the locales.  The following is thus a brief account of my stay in one of the most charming and culturally rich cities I have visited: Montreal (with a brief foray to account for my travels to neighboring Quebec City, as well).

I arrived here on a Sunday evening, and after gathering my luggage and vehicle for the duration of my stay, I set off for my hotel.  Upon arriving, I checked in, ascended to the twelfth floor, and turned the handle, as the key card unlocked the door.  The room was pleasant, but more astounding was the view from the half-circle window, which spanned across one entire wall.  As I stood in the middle of this wall, I was mesmerized by the juxtaposed sight before me: ahead of me, I saw Mont Royal rise above the towering high-rise buildings; to my left was a quaint church, whose exterior radiated a charming, old-world feel; and to my right lay the most spectacular sight I have seen in some time (though, I will provide you a brief preview of accounts to come by saying there were several subsequent locations that provided rivaling views) – the Cathedrale de Marie Reine-du-Monde.  With its circular steeples and stunning architecture, I could only gaze in sheer amazement at its elegance and beauty.  Taking particular note of the serenity of my surroundings, I settled in for the night and prepared for the week of training that lay before me. 

The following week continued to provide me with a sense of personal wonder.  I say this in order to encompass many of the thoughts that whirled through my head in the subsequent days.  Having already been in Montreal for a two-week period earlier in the year, I found myself feeling more settled in the city, which in turn allowed me to better acquaint myself with the beautiful sights and sounds that it had to offer.  The drive to work and back each day, in itself, revived in me a feeling of sheer gratitude and amazement at the position I found myself in each day.  Fine dining and the opportunity to practice my French language skills further added to the delightful experience.

Perhaps the highlight of my entire stay, however, was a brief foray to a neighboring city, about 150 or so odd miles northeast of Montreal, Quebec City.  My desire to visit the city prompted thoughts of my weekend plans even before my departure to our northern neighbor.  Coworkers provided me with brief accounts of their visits, and my decision was finally solidified during the week prior to my trip, after speaking with a native of the city, who provided me with a list of all of the interesting sights to take in. 

Having never taken a solo road-trip in the past, I found myself giddy with excitement as the day approached.  I gathered a few “road-trip-friendly” items early on a Saturday morning and found myself driving northeast by 8a.  After pouring over the numerous printouts that the Quebec City-native I befriended had given me, I decided the night before to travel first to the Montmorency Falls – a beautiful waterfall, just northeast of Quebec City.  After a three-hour drive, I found myself in the parking lot of the Montmorency Falls Park, ready to ascend some thirty odd flights of stairs to arrive at the top of the falls.  The natural beauty was nothing short of spectacular; though, I will admit that traversing the suspension bridge atop it was something short of terrifying!  After satisfying my inner photographer’s quest for the perfect shots, I decided to make my way over the body of water surrounding Quebec City (coincidentally, this is the start of the Atlantic Ocean), towards a small, country island, from where I was able to take in gorgeous views of the Quebec City area. 

With two of the three “must-see-locales” checked off my list, I began the trek to Quebec City.  As I drove through its streets, the city’s architecture and layout exuded a charming, quaint, old-world European vibe; though interestingly juxtaposed with this nostalgic air was the presence of modern stores and eateries.  Arriving at what seemed to be one end of the city, I was welcomed by the towering pillars and castle-like steeples of the Chateau Frontenac, which I learned previously holds the title of the most photographed hotel in the world.  After parking, I ventured through a small, pedestrian walkway, between the cobblestone-like brick sides of two buildings, and began speaking to a man selling cityscape sketches and paintings.  We spoke of my visit to the city, of the artist whose sketches I purchased, and of the title my home has earned (“The Fattest City” – something we are all undoubtedly proud of, I assure you!) – all in French.  It was a brief conversation, but provided me with a sense of pride and accomplishment, as I could visibly see a change in the ease and fluency I possess with the French language.  I continued on, trekking across the city, and down to the waterfront, where I visited a row of antique and souvenir shops.  Eventually, after satisfying my curiosity and adventurous spirit, I decided the time had come to dine and make the drive back towards Montreal.  I found a quaint restaurant, adjacent to the Chateau, where I dined on delicious vegetable soup and an apple-cinnamon crepe.  Satisfied, I strolled back to my car and set off for Montreal.  En route, I recounted the day’s events in my mind and continued on, with a sense too complex and personal to qualify with words.  Suffice it to say, I left Quebec City with a feeling of gratitude for and awe of not only the beauty that surrounded me throughout the day, but also the personal journey I found myself on.  Though the excursion was brief, I traveled on knowing that despite this fact, I was able to sail past my reservations and boundaries, expanding those very limitations I’d previously placed on myself. 

The following day, I visited two churches in Montreal: L’Oratoire de St. Joseph and La Basilique Notre Dame.  The Oratory, which sits atop Mont Royal, provides spectacular views of the Montreal landscapes.  The inner chapel was small, but inviting, drawing images of what I would imagine a European countryside chapel to look.  The Basilica was perhaps the greatest surprise to me, as its modern architecture and simple room décor were quite the stark contrast from the great chapels I’ve seen in the past.  Descending the stairs from the Basilica, to my left I found a Nativity museum, where Nativity scenes from various cultures and regions were arranged together to showcase the very beauty of art and its associated mediums; sculptures of clay, statues of wood, paintings of oil, and figurines of shell, among others, made up the unique displays.  I completed the trip with a visit outside, ascending the Basilica steps, in order to capture fantastic views of the island of Montreal.  Descending the steps of the oratory, thoughts of awe and inspiration spiraled through my mind.  My thoughts rested on the fact that the oratory is a shining example of the power of devotion and passion held by numerous individuals – the very tangible result of the very best in human nature.  I turned and marveled one last time at the beauty of its interior and exterior and ventured across the city towards the Notre Dame Basilica. 

The stone support pillars just outside the front entrance of the Notre Dame Basilica provide the illusion of an invisible barrier, between the relatively harsh city life and the sanctity of the church itself.  Walking through the physical gates, I entered an ornate wooden door, and through to the inner chapel.  What greeted my eyes was nothing short of breathtaking.  Ornate stained glass and intricate wood works were abundant throughout the interior, with a small staircase (with its own elaborate design work) spiraling up the left side to upper levels.  I walked down the center aisle, after snapping several photographs, and gazed in absolute splendor at the sight before me.  A concaved wall of stained glass provided a magnificent backdrop for the altar straight ahead.  Behind me, the largest organ I have ever seen stood perched on the third floor.  After taking a few more photographs, I walked to the back and sat down on a pew.  I reveled in the sheer beauty and was (and still am now, in recounting the experience) rendered speechless: I literally sat transfixed for several moments, unable to capture in words the sheer brilliance of the sight before me.  A short while later, I exited the building, more inspired and amazed at the positive influences of human nature. 

The final week in Montreal passed by as quickly as the first.  I hailed this visit for the numerous “firsts” it provided me: I experienced my first winter snowstorm, my first solitary road trip, and even my very first lonesome dining experience.  What I have gained from the entire experience, I do not believe I could ever properly assign words to, for the faith and focus it has restored to my life cannot truly be qualified in mere words.  I realize these revelations (particularly because I’ve been unable to formulate words to describe them adequately) may not come across as astounding or inspiring as they are felt here in my heart and mind; I hope, however, that through my words and images (which, if you haven’t seen, feel free to ask for), I have been able to convey the very deep meaning this entire journey has had to me.  Though two weeks, in relation to the lifetime one has, seems undeniably short, I’ve realized in that very same amount of time that one is capable of accomplishing more than he or she could ever imagine.  Ultimately, the beauty of human nature, I’ve determined, is the unpredictability that it brings into each of our lives.  Nine months ago, I identified personality traits that begged for attention; six months ago, I realized, though I’d intended to pay particular attention to these points of amelioration, I’d done a seemingly poor job of doing so; three months ago, I came to the conclusion that the detour from the road I’d laid for myself was acceptable; one month ago, I was surprised to see that, although I had veered from the path I’d imagined myself traveling, the one I’d taken ultimately stationed me at the same end point; and now, I sit here knowing that in spite of the six-month detour I eventually found myself having taken, I have grown more than I could have ever imagined.  And it is ultimately with this in mind and heart that I bid Montreal a bittersweet farewell.

Re-Evaluation

It is an interesting experience, revisiting thoughts I've penned in the past, and realizing that they inevitably still hold true today.  In the previous six months, I've traversed an unexpected path that, I admit, has led me a bit astray.  I mean not, in saying this, that I was enticed by sins or committed notable transgressions; instead, I've found myself a bit removed from my initially intended goal of bettering very specific bits and pieces of myself.  This deviation, however, has allowed me to reinforce the notion that all experiences can be deemed learning ones; therefore, I suppose I could argue that not only have I fulfilled this goal of bettering myself, but perhaps even succeeded in ameliorating those aspects I did not even recognize as viable in the past.  In this respect, the 6-month road I've traveled was indeed tangent to the one I'd intended to travel: I've learned valuable lessons regarding several key aspects of life; specifically, however, the ones that have affected me significantly have been those highlighting relationships, human emotion, and the importance of the boundaries that exist in not only defining these relationships, but one could argue, all aspects one's life.  

Inherently, we, as human beings, must be cognizant of the relationships we form, as well as the extent of human emotion and intellect that defines the boundaries that exist in these relationships.  I've found, in the past, this to be a bit of a cloudy area, specifically because I've seen the relationships in my life, as well as the value I place on them, changing significantly over the past several years.  Of course, I note this not as a negative experience; rather, the opposite is true - I've found it to be quite the enlightening journey, tracing from my relative youth, in which I naively sought and categorized relationships, to a turning point (which I define as the moment in time when the realization that I could not create and sustain relationships with every lingering soul in my life set in), to the present, where I consistently struggle to understand and evaluate the rapports, friendships, and connections I make on a day-to-day basis.  I confess that this struggle is far less conflict-ridden than the previous statement may make it seem; nevertheless, I've seen it as a significant source of growth over the years.  

I realize the above may hold quite little value to those of you who are reading.  However, the mere act of penning my thoughts have provided a cathartic release from the journey we call life.  Though I did not envision myself taking this very path over the last six months, I've learned that the end outcome was quite similar to the initial I had imagined.  That, in and of itself, has provided me a sense of relief over the guilt that I've managed to riddle myself with over this same amount of time.  With this realization, I still intend to make concrete this plan to become more like those whom I admire in life; however, I believe I've stumbled across a very tangible example of the prime, oftentimes underestimated, character trait of life: its lack of predictability.  With the end of the year fast approaching, I fully intend to fulfill the promise I made to myself so many months ago, just in time to embark on the path to this subtle, albeit much desired, transformation, with the resolution season in the new year.

The Pre-Plan

Oftentimes, I’ve come to ponder whether I, myself, am far ahead of my time. I do not make such a declaration to imply that I possess brilliant ideas or thoughts that will revolutionize the world (though, I should add here that I indeed would like to revolutionize the world J). Instead, I say this to possibly qualify the experiences I have had in the recent past.

I’ve found that I embody personality traits that are perhaps far from those that characterize one’s typical concept of a 20-something in today’s society: I prefer to stay at home, rather than explore the seemingly unattractive haunts of debauchery. I prefer to nurture the introvert who I have discovered and learned to accept of late, rather than perpetuate a façade of the opposite. I prefer to identify and appreciate the intricacies of my interests and goals, rather than discount them as lofty or unfeasible. Understandably, I do not mean to imply that those of my age and generation are apt to consider such a point of view about their own, as well as others’, ambitions. I do, however, believe such a train of thought is rampant in our society, transgressing all demographical barriers, which lends to latent individuals who drudge about their monotonous lives, without ever striving for their every dream.

I am again swayed to referencing this procession of behavior and thought patterns that I have deemed a personal journey to self-discovery and appreciation. Unfortunately and perhaps thankfully, I am nowhere near being definitively happy with the person I have become and see myself becoming. That is not to say, of course, that I am unhappy. I have found I have surpassed the border of the former (happy) and the latter (unhappy); indeed, I’ve been teetering for many months, perhaps years, to the right of this invisible boundary, approaching the verge of utter bliss, but admittedly falling quite short. I am convinced that this unfortunate gap will be filled in the (hopefully) near future. In all, I suppose I am declaring that I have finally found peace of mind and self-acceptance in understanding that I must embark on this journey to truly appreciate myself as an individual, in a society and age when, on the whole, many possess dismal levels of self-confidence and appreciation. I’ve decided through experiences that this concept is absolutely vital in approaching life with an open mind and heart and building relationships with care and consideration.

I suppose I should verbalize the fear that I’ve spoken these words previously and perhaps my words do not hold true merit, if I do not develop a “game-plan” of sorts, in order to actually embark on this journey I have defined the purpose of for so seemingly long. I am absolutely of the belief that words cannot hold merit until actions can be used to qualify them. Thus, I have decided to develop this actual process further, to offer myself a concrete plan of action that I can pursue further; and I am now determined to present this timeline in my subsequent postings here. Stay tuned J

The Identity...Crisis?

As I mentioned in my previous post, I've had, lately, several thoughts course through the maze in my head. Upon added scrutiny, with a tad bit of introspection on the side, I've determined that I'm currently in the midst of an involved process to understand myself, to essentially clarify my identity at its core.

I entered college some five-odd years ago, a naive and uninformed teenager. In retrospect, I suppose this is a common occurrence amongst those in my then situation, and I do not regret my lack of life experience prior to that point. One often hears others describe college as the "best time of one's life;" I'd beg to differ to a certain extent, but one thing I cannot deny is that the experience has truly shaped me in a profound manner. I deviate from this description of college simply because I've come to believe it's founded on the principles of near-superficiality (at times, not always - I agree) and relationships. Now, please do not confuse my intention in the previous statement - I am not discounting the importance of some degree of superficiality in one's life (I'll readily admit I, myself, have a number of guilty pleasures), nor am I claiming to discredit the significant role that relationships play in our day-to-day affairs. What I am stating, however, is my interpretation of the intent behind this often-uttered cliche. I've found that the so-called "best time of one's life," for me, was not due to the number or quality of the relationships I developed and maintained through my experiences; understand that this does not mean that I de-value these relationships - the contrary is true, I've developed lasting friendships with a number of individuals.

My experiences have dictated a continuous change in the philosophy I utilize in living life. This direct shift has been a relatively moderately-paced process, in that after 5.5 years, I've come many steps closer to understanding and appreciating the, to use an already over-used term, "real me." I am nowhere near having a transparent view into the inter-workings of my mind; however, I can readily recount my likes and dislikes, how I perceive others and how I'd like to be perceived, and the significance of being on this journey, so to speak, at this point in my life. I understand now that there exists not an identity crisis so much as an identification process, the subtle difference being that the latter provides the connotation of an evolution that benefits the individual. I look forward to exploring this primitively-developed idea further in the coming months (perhaps years), and I hope that it urges the emergence of, both internally and externally, a more confident and comfortable person.

More to come, as I gather my thoughts, but I've decided to re-embark on the self-discovery/amelioration journey. There are too many things I'd venture to modify in my behaviors, attitudes, and actions - what better way than to create some mode of accountability, however personal it may be.

A reflection

A little less than one week has passed since I've returned from a greatly life-altering experience. I've come close to expressing such a sentiment in the past; however, in reflection, I'm quite positive that my three weeks in India have opened my eyes to many, many things. Not only am I convinced that we are truly, truly blessed individuals on many accounts, but the desire to connect with my heritage, culture, and history has reinvigorated in me the familiar sense of wonder and excitement in broadening my intellectual horizons.

One of the more pleasant aspects of traveling to India is visiting with my extended family members, all of whom I get to see undesirably infrequently. Surprisingly, most of my maternal grandmother's eight siblings live within the city limits of Kolkata. Her youngest sister resides in one of the most culturally, historically, and most importantly, religiously significant part of the city: Kalighat. Here, locals and foreigners alike flock to catch a glimpse of the Goddess Kali and offer donations of fruit, vegetables, sweets, and money in hopes of atoning for their mortal sins.

One evening, my grandmother and I stepped off a bus and walked through the main street which is forcefully dead-ended at the Kalighat police station, through lines and lines of street vendors, selling items ranging from religious pendants, statues of gods and goddesses, fruits, vegetables, snacks, medicines and associated medical supplies, cosmetics, and nightwear. The noisy hubbub of this free-for-all market was no different than that present in perhaps all of Kolkata.

We slipped into a side street, and took an immediate left into a side alley that transported one to a netherworld so quiet, one would hardly remember the frenzy and chaos he/she left behind. After a few zigs and zags, I found myself waiting at a vendor's stall for my grandmother to purchase some paans, a leaf that is usually filled with tobacco-laced materials or candied fruits and fennel seeds and used as a mouth-freshener (though, paan filled with the former becomes an addictive substance, much like cigarettes and snuff). As I glanced to the left, I realized we were in the ruins of an abandoned building. Darkness had fallen in the last hour, and two vendors sat across from each other atop plastic sheets on risen, brick-laden surfaces, discussing their days' sales and current affairs. Looking above them, I noticed a make-shift plastic ceiling, flopping in the barely-there wind, the clear night sky (a welcome treat after its previously cloudy predecessor) staring back at me. Next to me, in the dim light of a candle, my grandmother carried on a brief conversation with the paan seller, subsequently paid him, and we took off.

These moments provided me with a sort of alternate-reality. Being in the United States, one hardly finds sights like those in foreign lands. Public transportation is favored over private vehicles (though the latter have gained quite the following in India, it seems), and coupled with walking on foot, it provided perspectives of the day-to-day lives of the Indian citizens. On one particular day, my aunt and I boarded a bus, with the intention of visiting New Market, one of the oldest market and theater districts in Kolkata. En route, we came upon a moderately-large lake, over which our bus traveled. Standing in between the crowded seats of the bus, I stole a few glances out of the window. Brick and clay huts lined the banks of this body of water. Clothes flapped freely in neat lines outside each one, hoping the prominently present sun left the fibers and threads of each one dry. As we passed over the bridge and continued on our way to a sprawling market, my thoughts drifted to the occupants of those earthy abodes, their clothes drying so they can be worn for another day of hardships and tribulations that these individuals habitually face. Again, as was all too often throughout my trip, I was left with a familiar sense of helplessness, a feeling that I've routinely encountered here even in the States upon seeing a homeless individual.

I find it interesting and amazing that though my previous trip was four short years ago, and there were no remarkable or eventful differences in the two visits, I've come to appreciate the more recent one in various lights. Perhaps it is due to some personal growth in the more recent years, or perhaps I had merely forgotten how I felt after my previous visit. And here, I have found another useful attribute of my writings; along with providing you with mental photography, I hope it also serves as a personal reminder of the significant experience I've had. I suppose the topics I've outlined below can serve as overarching themes of my writings regarding my visit. And though I have not posted any actual pictures or enough words to correspond to my three-week trip, I suspect I will present to you (and myself) bits and pieces of memories, as they appear in my mind, over the course of the next few weeks.

I'm leaving on a jet plane...

Judging by the previous posts, it seems I've had nothing of value to say since the end of November. Though somewhat true, I suppose it would have been valuable to note the thoughts and feelings of a university graduate. However, given the grief and pain the entire process of getting a bachelor's degree has cost me, I can easily sum up that the life of a university graduate is fabulous, and the transition to the real world (thus far) has only been rewarding. I've managed to travel through the northeastern United States, bum around at home, and venture out half-way across the globe and return all in one piece, with new-found values, ideals, and thoughts that can only be the results of eye-opening experiences.

As I've been quite the unproductive writer, I am now forced to chronicle my journey to my motherland in a few retrospective posts. I apologize for the length (I hesitate to say whether these can be categorized as short or long musings, as they are not proportional to my time in India) in advance. I hope that the brief descriptions I present will provide you with a tapestry of images, as seen through my eyes, for the past three weeks. This has been an experience that has affected me to the very core and has fueled my desire to appreciate every aspect of my life and existence. I should also lastly note that I will likely add to these thoughts in the subsequent days, as I readjust to the time change, the reappearance of television, and sorting through my thoughts and memories.

In the meantime, I suggest beginning with the post entitled "A traveler's prelude" for a synopsis of my trip.

Ruminations

The dreary weather continued for the next day, which in turn caused me to wonder whether I have some unwanted affinity towards unnatural weather conditions (my previous trip was characterized by a lack of precipitation during what is normally the rainy season). That afternoon, my siesta subsequently turned into a full-fledged sleep, which coincided with night time in the States. Still, I happily returned to bed, under a cotton-filled down comforter, and found myself asleep in no time. The following day, I forayed into the city with my grandmother, and it is from this experience that I noted the following:

I miss:
.controlled traffic
.proper (dry) bathrooms
.driving
.my family
.my puppy
.television
.the Internet

Memorable experiences of the day:
.Mosquitoes: It seems these extremely annoying insects whose place in the food chain of living creatures I'll never quite understand are prevalent at all times here. On my second day, I awoke to find evidence of their annoyances on the only exposed areas of my body: my face and hands, a lovely discovery, as these are perhaps the first two places that people place their eyes upon.

.Traffic: My immediate thought upon boarding a bus dealt with discerning how the vehicles are able to cooperate amongst all the chaos. With no clear lane demarcation, the roads are a melee of cars, buses, auto-rickshaws, rickshaws, bicyclists, and pedestrians. Blinkers are carelessly abandoned and adopted instead are the cacophonous horns that blare from every vehicle, regardless of whether there are any obstacles present in their way. Brakes are employed at, what seems to me, the very last moment, forcing the gaps between vehicles to be a mere inches. At several points during my daily outings, I am sure I could have shaken the hands of passengers in neighboring vehicles. Coupled with pedestrians who stroll into the middle of traffic (which seems to be the norm, as well as something I have been guilty of), this erratic, uncontrolled system should, under all laws of logic, fail; but somehow, it succeeds. I hardly doubt that even congested, bustling cities like New York could hold a candle to the frenzy I've witnessed on a daily basis. Let alone that were I even able to, I doubt very much that I'd drive here.

.Cell phones: A very amazing phenomenon presented itself to me in my daily outings: the prevalency of cell phones throughout the city, across all economic levels. It seems the latter are no obstacle in owning this rather convenient device, as I have seen so many individuals with one attached to their ears (even a rickshaw driver, who likely makes the equivalent of a meager $5 daily). Even half-way around the world, some things truly never change!

.Poverty: Riding through the streets of the city provide for a view of the everyday lives of its people. The stark reality of the extreme levels of poverty becomes very apparent through every part of the city; even outside one of the poshest new city malls, beggars sit, hoping for spare change, while food vendors serve their creations to the city's wealthier citizens. Tattered clothes, homes in shambles, barely a shoe on every foot, these individuals are on the streets each day, attempting to earn a living. Whether it's selling food in baskets atop their heads or in street stalls, cleaning and polishing shoes of the passersby on the sidewalks, or working in the homes of the more fortunate, I've found these individuals in possession of an amazing resilience and desire to live their lives as best as they can.
Of course the truly destitute exist, and these individuals rely on others' mercy, begging for just a few rupees. Walking through the streets of one of Kolkata's oldest markets, I came upon a woman who, dressed in a tattered and stained white sari, one end of which she draped over her head, walked around with her arm outstretched. Most everyone ignored her silent please, though a few did meet her appeals. They were rewarded perhaps with personal satisfaction and a gracious nod from the silent woman. Her plight is a common one, not only in Kolkata, but throughout the country of India. I often find myself wondering what deep sin each committed to warrant such a meager existence.

.Stray animals: The neighborhoods of Kolkata are littered with litters of cats and dogs at every turn. To an animal lover, it is especially disheartening to see them in their squalid existences, roaming the streets, in search of scraps of food and companionship, no doubt. On several occasions, I was amazed to see dogs spread across sidewalks, with the bustling world around them, their oblivious nature apparent in their unflinching slumber. Cats roam the streets in equal numbers, though they seem to be more elusive to the eye. Their tales provide a similarly different perspective of the lives of the poor in this country - they cannot find good homes, when their potential owners are forced to live in single-story, one-to-two bedroom brick and mud bungalows, with sheets and tarps for windows. Though sympathetic to their plight, I found myself torn in dividing my sympathies, as it became quite difficult to feel pity for these creatures when men with appendages for limbs sat on the sidewalks of markets asking for spare change, when children tugged on our clothes and pointed to food at a nearby stall, and when women roamed with arms outstretched, all hoping to sustain their lives for one more day.

My journey

My trek here was uneventful, with perhaps the only highlight being a brief and unexpected sighting of George Abbey (former Center Director of the Johnson Space Center) at the Houston airport. A few of you will be excited to hear that the extrovert in me blossomed enough to befriend two strangers throughout my journey, which provided a brief rupture from the usual monotony that accompanies solo-traveling. I should note here that I was duly surprised at the number of foreigners traveling to the City of Joy; though I suspect with its rich culture and historical significance, the city does have a lot to offer its tourists.

Having arrived in Kolkata, I waited for my baggage and wondered, with some apprehension I must confess, about the impending duration of my travels in my motherland. My previous trip was plagued with jet-lag fueled slumber, unimaginable heat, and unwanted boredom, and so I did not know quite what to expect at present. Thankfully, all fears concerning the weather were allayed as I stepped outside and was greeted by a breeze I interpreted as pleasant.

En route to my temporary home at a quarter to two in the morning, I noted the absolute stillness present in the night. The bustling city was at rest, its lights and sounds at a bare minimum, presenting a contrast undoubtedly unseen by even many of its inhabitants. The cool breeze snuck in through the partially open driver's window, and I welcomed it in the midst of the stuffiness that comes with five people in a car with no internal cooling system.

The familiar signs of impending slumber signaled to me that perhaps I would not be plagued with the same jet-lag I experienced during my previous visit. We arrived soon at the home I've known for the better portion of my 23 years. The three-story abode, with its pale yellow exterior and pistachio green metal bars, welcomed me still after so many years. The speckled red marble felt cool to the touch, even through socks, as I parted ways with my shoes on the veranda. Tiny drops of precipitation caused the short walk from the taxi to the door to be colder than I'd expected, though in hindsight I believe the majority of the chill could have been attributed to the nearby open bodies of water. As I stepped through the doorstep, the memories of years past came vividly back: memories of reading on the veranda on hot summer days, memories of my brother's childhood fall on the steps, memories of what I later knew to be the last time I would see my grandfather in this house. Being on the move for a fair portion of my life, I doubt I've ever known the value of memories in a home as I do here. Even now, as I sit here with my pen furiously scribbling on paper, years after his death, I faintly catch the aroma of my grandfather's snuff, a wisp of a sentiment that causes me to pause and smile. The air I breathe here has no distinct aroma to anyone else, but to me, its fragrance brings with it all the reflections of my childhood. With this in mind, I happily unpacked my belongings that night and prepared for bed.

A traveler's prelude

The sun shines on the windowsill, as I gaze out the open door into the tiny field of weeds and wildflowers that inhabit my grandparents' back doorstep, as I reflect on the last 72 hours of my life. My emotions regarding this trip have truthfully been scattered; but sitting in the room I've slept in numerous times in years past, with books strewn and a blanket covering my cold, sock-covered feet, I feel a familiar tug in my heart of the strings that perhaps figuratively control its beats. Last night, as I waited outside to be let in the locked front door, I stole a glance upward towards the clearest sky I've seen in days. There was Mars, staring straight back at me, its orange hue easily discernible amongst the white-colored stars. Even half-way around the world, I stood in awe of the crisp beauty of the night sky. Even here, in a place so vastly different from the haunts I frequent at home, it yields a magnificent view of our planetary neighbor.

After a stolen yet lingered look, I came inside and immediately prepared for a long-awaited, much-needed rest, but not before jotting down a few notes about my day, gallivanting around the streets of Kolkata. It's from these and all subsequent notes that I'll attempt to recount my time here in the city of my birth. I hope that my words are able to create a tapestry of images that reflect my experiences, views, and perspectives here in the next few weeks. You will, however, have to forgive any omissions in this process, as I've come to find my short-term memory failing me these days (a discovery I blame on engineering).