The past always recedes. Sensible people do not let that be bothersome. The old steps aside for the new and so it should. Yet, looking out the car window driving through India these days, I am stricken by the pace and brutality of this transition. Chowringhee, Calcutta’s once impressive Paris-esque boulevard, is now layered in
My family is old Calcutta. We had rice paddy fields that greened as monsoon washed over them. Heavy-limbed mango orchards bearing the juiciest and most fragrant varietals. Homesteads. A home nestled in my grandfather’s legendary rose garden in the now traumatized Bengal-Bihar border. Our relatives’ houses dotted Calcutta. These old houses in the alleys of
In 1989, I left India with two dream-stuffed suitcases for college in Western Massachusetts. This was long before the wave of Information Technology swept the country, dotting business parks across once ox-plowed fields. My Swiss Air flight roared above Bombay, above the rickshaw traffic and stray cows. Despite the 6000 miles, the 23 hour plane