Hello there.
Happy Onam!
I know, I'm 83.2% South Indian already. I just need to stop puking at the sight of sambar.
In all seriousness, the continuous ongoing cultural exchange here is a truly delightful thing. Some of my closest friends here speak Malayalam as their mother tongue, and though they come from a different state, and a few others have even lived in a different country, the lives they've lead so far, and the kind of experiences they've had, are not really that different from the one I've lived or had.
This is what binds us together, the Kannadigas, the Malayalis, the Bengalis, the Tamilians, the Assamese, the Hindi speakers and the (sole) Nepali: the universality of the experiences we gather as we grow, the lessons we learn as we walk, the stripes we earn when stumble.
But leaving aside that philosophical crap, hostel life has been a blur so far. The days whiz by without us noticing, and the weekends disappear at the speed of light. We just don't get the time to miss our hometowns and the people we've left behind, that much.
But of course, you always miss it. You miss the sights, smells and sounds of the city you grew up in, the city which knows you as much as you know her. Kolkata, as I type this, is gearing up for the loud, noisy, festive, lively carnival every year, called Durga Puja, and I miss every bit of it.
I miss my family, of course, but at least I get to hear their voice whenever I want to. How do you listen to the sound of your home? How do you bottle up a city's humming spirit and it's thrum of life, and carry it with you to listen to, when you miss it too much?
But it's alright. In a different place, you learn to appreciate your own language, and your own culture a lot more than you did in your own place. You learn that diversity IS truly beautiful and that you are a part of that diversity, and you are contributing to its beauty.
On that note, I leave you.
See you next time!
