I was watching a Hindi movie on Netflix last night, Metro In Dino by Anurag Basu. The locales were different metropolitan cities in India – Delhi, Pune, Mumbai, and finally Kolkata. In the movie, some characters (or a character, I don’t remember) drives through the street in front of Victoria Memorial in Kolkata. And the camera zooms in to a smoggy silhouette of the iconic Victoria Memorial built by the British to honor their queen Victoria, our colonizer. No matter the history of the building, it is undeniable that Victoria Memorial along with the Howrah Bridge are quintessential landmarks to the skyline of the city.
As the silhouette of the building came up on the screen, I felt a jolt in my heart. A wistfulness. I would call it a pain even. It is hard to describe. I think I have been inside the building just once or twice in my entire life. The grounds, however, are a different story. We found ourselves on the grounds of Victoria Memorial for every school picnic since we were very young. We would all board the school buses, ready with our picnic lunches, badminton rackets, board games, and other picnic related fun things and head to Victoria Memorial in the winter. As I write this, I can still smell the oranges that were inevitably packed in everyone’s picnic lunches. We would put our things together on the grass, bask under the sweet, winter sun all bundled up in our sweaters and mufflers. We were out of the closed confines of the classrooms for one day and we made the most of it. We laughed, shouted, played, ran (although not too far from the group). The teachers also got a break as they kept an eye on us, letting us be carefree little girls, as they talked among themselves. I believe there was some kind of teaching involved about the colonial rule of the British over India but the warmth of the sun and friendship are what I remember.
I went there with family too for picnics. We Bengalis are foodies so even our picnic lunches were elaborate. Luchi, alu r dom, cakes, oranges, and for some reason, boiled eggs.
And then I went there as a young woman with my boyfriend, now my husband. When Sean and I fell in love, Kolkata did not have a lot of places for couples to go to. The gardens of Victoria Memorial were a popular spot for young lovers to snatch some private moments far away from the prying eyes of friends and family. Kolkata was very parochial. Acquaintances seemed to be everywhere, coming out the woodwork. Sneaking away with your significant other far from the madding crowd was no easy feat. Since I was from Kolkata and Sean was not, it fell upon me to find secluded spots. But Kolkata is a congested city, so seclusion in my mind was simply avoiding relatives and prying eyes so word did not get back to my parents. Once I held hands with Sean as we walked the streets of Kolkata and a family member saw us. She promptly reported back to my parents about my public display of affection. An unmarried young woman was holding hands with a man, a foreigner at that! The scandal!. As expected, I got in big trouble for it. I laugh as I write this. How different were those days! Anyway, I digress. Back to me romancing Sean in Victoria Memorial. There were some beautifully lit dancing fountains on the grounds of the memorial. They played Rabindrasangeet (Tagore’s songs) as the water danced. A wisp of a memory has stayed in my mind. We sat in front of the fountain, mesmerized, holding hands (after making sure no relatives were hiding behind the bushes spying on me) as I sang for him. He did not understand a single word but he listened. We both were lit up by the lights that were lighting the fountains. Music played softly around us and perhaps, within us too. The beautiful marble of Victoria Memorial shone brightly in the moonlight. And then……
“Get out of here. Go! Out!” A police constable harshly interrupted our romantic moment. What? Why?
“Victoria Memorial closes at 7 pm. Leave. Now!” The constable must have kicked out lovers in scores every evening. And from his expression, I can safely deduce he had some fun doing it too. He gleefully interrupted us, thwacking his baton menacingly against his hand. Our perfect moment was shattered as we got up and made our way out of the gates with other disgruntled pairs of men and women. As the impressive gates of the Victoria Memorial shut with a clunk behind us, we were ejected into the chaos of the city and to reality – finding Sean’s car, navigating traffic, going home, lying to my parents about having double shifts at work.
Smoggy view of Victoria Memorial brought up all these memories. It evoked a feeling that is hard to explain. There was the feeling of loss yet there was also the happiness of my childhood and youth. I realize again and again as I get older that the sadness, the loss, the hurt, as well as the joys, the happiness, the memories of days past are all weaved within the tapestry of my life. I am who I am because I lived every one of those moments.
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