Unfinished Conversations

The events in this story date back 72 years. It is the story of my journey from Barisal (now Bangladesh) to Kolkata. This story does not talk about any bloodshed or violence seen but it is about the pain of leaving one's homeland. This is my story.

The year was 1947 and I was fifteen years old then. The British had just announced that they will leave India in a month's time and that the country was to be divided, a new country was to be formed - Pakistan. It was decided that parts of Punjab and West Bengal were to be divided to make way for the new country.

We had come down to Calcutta (now Kolkata) in late July 1947 for a family get-together to celebrate Independence Day. The thought that Barisal could go to the other country never crossed our minds.

Only on 16th August 1947, we came to know that our Barisal had become a foreign land. Due to widespread violence that was reported we never even attempted to go back. Such was the irony that a relatively foreign land had become our home and our actual home became foreign land.

My father who was working with the Railways pre Partition had managed to get a posting in Kolkata. We were spared of the horrors that other people had witnessed during the migration. Gradually we settled down in Kolkata but it always felt like a piece of us had been left behind in Barisal.

One of my biggest regrets was not saying goodbye to my friends. On the morning before we left for Kolkata I had a fight with my best friend Aslam during a cricket match. We did not talk that day. We had after all fought before also on small stuff but after a few days fight used to be forgotten and things used to be back to normal. But not this time. It has now been a 72-year-old wait and I have to leave with this pain for the remainder of my life. There had been other friends also who I could never say goodbye too. Not a single day passes without me thinking about them.

I still remember our house in Barisal. It was a two-storeyed bungalow with the kitchen, a guest room and living room on the ground floor and two rooms on the top floor. Even now when you ask me to imagine how a home looks like it is that house in Barisal that comes to my mind.

My school Barisal High School or BHS for short was the place where I had the best memories of my life. From playing pranks to bunking classes to getting punished. How I miss them all? It was such a magical time, a time where religion was never a factor in friendships.

For all Bengalis, Durga Puja is a big event, it used to be for me also. I and my friends in Barisal used to actively participate in all events related to it. Be it collecting donations, sponsorships, setting up the pandal, cultural programs, immersions we used to be there in all. But not anymore. Durga Puja now reminded me of all my friends who I can never see again. I consider myself to be a social person, but after coming to Kolkata I have made lots of acquaintances but never any friend. It's not that I did not like the people here. It is just the fear of losing them once you have made friends. Partition has taken away a lot of my friends and I just cannot go through the entire experience again. It is too painful.

Today I am 87 years old, I have had a decent life and the only thing I look forward to is meeting Aslam and the others on the other side of life and finish our unfinished conversations...