Tucked away on the South Eastern railway line that extends from Howrah towards Kharagpur and beyond, is a small village called Kulgachia. I'm not too sure why my grandfather decided to make that his home, but he did, and it's been almost seventy years since. Here, my grandparents built their own house, raised six children, lost one, survived a bunch of extremely naughty grandkids, and breathed their last.
Kulgachia, to me, has always been my "desher bari"... of long corridors and paved courtyards, of bathing ponds and mango orchards... and of course, our family Kali Puja. Almost as old as our ancestral house, this annual event is what brings me back to Kulgachia every year. Kali Puja connects me to my roots, ties me up in nostalgia, and for one night, lets me be a child to his Mother.
