In the Hope to Heal

Visiting Calcutta, my hometown, to discover that grief could coexist with joy.

- MALIKA HALDER

Singer Kabir Suman wrote these lines, which loosely translates to This city knows all my firsts/ No matter how much I try to flee, it follows me close behind, way back in 1991. Thirty-three years later, nothing encapsulates my relationship with Calcutta better than these two lines.

On January 7, 2023, I lost my father. Seven days later, I left the city in a blur, overwhelmed by grief. I haven’t gone back to Calcutta since. For the first few months, I told myself that I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t only that I had lost him; I had lost my anchor, my sense of belonging in a city that was once my heartbeat. Staying away since then has been, in part, a way to cope, a way to avoid the reality that his absence has changed my relationship with Calcutta. But now, two years on, I wonder if avoiding it has kept me from the very closure I seek.

There’s a strange intimacy in the way a city cradles you. My first school, first love, first heartbreak, and my first tiny triumph—all linger here in this city I once called home. Calcutta, with its narrow bylanes and humid air, knows all of these. And I can feel its knowing gaze.