Index: Here and There - The Diaspora Universe
Posts from the ‘Issue 8/Here and There: The diaspora universe’ Category
By Bhaswati Ghosh
I inherited diasporic sensibilities even before I would experience living in a diaspora environment myself. In the latter, I am a greenhorn; I have lived outside my home country for only the last five years. Yet, I can already sense the agony of the longing my grandmother must have felt in her new surroundings.
By Sumana Roy
Our apartment, this new sealed airtight-container life, where my hair and skin became as crisp as potato wafers inside a packet, eventually pushed me out into the cold. I cannot exactly say whether I found it or it found me. I was, by this time, homesick, but also full of the reserve of – how does one say it without sentimentality – a tree that knows it will survive winter.
By Sweta Srivastava Vikram
The way handbags are to New York women, cars to Los Angelenos, wine to the French, and pasta to the Italians, the relevance of a name is to an Indian. Depending on the part of India you are from, the religious faith you are born into, and the caste you belong to, the ritual of the naming convention might differ. But the core never changes—your name is your statement you make to the world.
By C. J. Peiffer
I taught with only a small blackboard and worksheets made on the priest’s typewriter, duplicated with carbon paper. I learned how to use an important Peace Corps concept: flexibility. I gave up the comforts of home in exchange for what I gained, for I acquired so much more than I was able to give.
By Pritha Lal
The first memory is that of a beautiful Egyptian woman named Aazza. As our neighbor in Kuwait, she was kind enough to take me under her wings and get me up to speed on my Arabic. Being in grade 6, I was required to have elementary knowledge of Arabic. This lovely woman took it upon herself to teach me the language—not just what the books said, but a little bit more.
By Debolina Dey
The diasporic foodie, straddling the worlds between nostalgia and a newfound adventure for taste, a newer palette, and newer flavours— does just that. Every dish stands in between a memory of tastes filtered through longing, and ingredients at hand.
By Lopa Banerjee
At home, ten thousand miles away from my verdant memories, I cook, water plants, feed, write and rewrite as I wander aimlessly in crinkled corners of my girlhood. I collide with the shadows of my past, both staying our separate, ubiquitous selves. Together, we wake to the early morning frost and the sullen smoke drifting to the far-flung corners of the sky.
By Achyut Dutt
She was cold, real cold and as I held her, she shivered uncontrollably. I sat her down and brought in the spare hooded parka from the employees’ closet and draped it round her. She smelt awful but I somehow managed to hold her tight allowing her body to get warm. Gradually the shivering passed.
By Sudeshna Sengupta
While I was exhausted after a long plane ride — I decided to capture this very intense experience by writing, sketching, and documenting it in whatever ways I could during the sleepless jet-lagged nights, sometimes sitting inside the mosquito net — sometimes staring out the window at night from a 4th floor apartment.