From Cocoon to Fire

Places have changed around me, vegetation patterns have varied, the traffic has become busier, noisier or lighter and quieter, the markets I visit have gotten distant and fancier or welcoming with the smell of the Earth, the names of the people I want to call friends have changed.

As I make this well vested effort to deep-diving self- introspection while “Leaving on a jet plane”, I only have to shut my eye lids to see my father, anxious yet happy, bravely proud while letting the fear of his little daughter cross boundaries go – boundaries of the city, of the country, of everything she had known all her life, until this day that she chose to fly across oceans of dreams and aspirations. That “little girl”, yes that’s me, can still hear those same words that father told me 5 years back every time I leave for a new journey – “Be safe, be careful and stay well”.

In due course of time, the little girl has grown; at least I hope she has, into an acceptable human being. I would always fight my parents for stopping me from venturing into the world, I always complained for their being overprotective of me and now, the reality is, I have only become overprotective of myself. No, not in the fear of a “harmful” world, but in the fear of constraining myself to the known rights, the familiar wrongs, the recognizable expressions of love and hatred, the well-advertised  faiths and beliefs.  I bow down before the Almighty each day so may I learn all the ways in which I can say “I am here for you” for anyone who might need me, may my eyes be open and my heart continue to beat to bring little joys to the lovely people I meet.

It is only natural as human beings to belong to a “Culture”, and to me my culture is no more than a habit, the habit of having rice in a certain way, of drinking tea in a cup and not a mug, the habit of being coerced to have Payesh on birthdays, the habit of running up the stairs to terrace and rescue the Kite lost by some proud owner, the habit of getting drenched on the first day of monsoon, the habit of licking fingers everytime Maa made Murighonto, the habit of lighting incense sticks in my Recollection room every evening …And such habits I fear envelope us in such tight seal to often silently suffocate us.

While it is the right thing to uphold one’s culture, it is only more right to accept another!

Maa unfortunately does not get the chance to make Murighonto for me so often nowadays, but I do lick up the hot sauce from the aptly named “Nuclear” chicken wings; while I could not give up the serene essence of sandalwood incense sticks, I do seek warmth  from cinnamon candle lights every time I pray; cheesecakes have been replacing Payesh on birthdays; the romance of monsoon will get a good fight from the first day of snow on a clear night; there is no Monkey paint draped on Holi but there is the craziness and creepynss of Halloween; there are no hidden diaries but there is a secret blog; there has been no Chaitra Sale for me for the last five years, but there has been Black Fridays and a dozens of more days to celebrate and share joy. Being a Bengali, being an Indian is as much my habit as is being an American. If I see raised eyebrows at this the least do I care – I will not give up any reason that multiplies my days to celebrate, my culture is not limited by the boundaries of my birthplace but is only expanded by my actions each moment of every day. I am thankful to my father for letting me take that first flight so I can protect myself in the flights from cocoon to fire the rest of my life!