The Farewell
Returning to my hometown, I didn’t notice how time had shifted the cityscape or how the air was filled with something more than usual the festive anticipation was right there, just around the corner, waiting for my attention. As the cab maneuvered through the familiar streets, I couldn’t help but wonder why Kolkata was so heavily adorned. “Dada! Pujo asche,” the driver said, chuckling. It hit me then. I had been so wrapped up in my own world that I’d forgotten the pulse of the city beats to the rhythm of Puja.
For a moment, nostalgia took over. The sights of the city dressed in vibrant lights, the faint echoes of Dhak reverberating somewhere in the distance, families milling about, all of it brought back a flood of memories. Memories of laughter, of friends drifting from one pandal to another with not a single care about time. But the city felt different now - distant, as if I were a stranger in my own memories.
The same week I came back, my childhood friend was preparing to leave. His departure was something we had all known was inevitable, yet there’s something about reality setting in that makes it harder to accept. I volunteered to accompany him to the airport, our conversation filled with the kind of small talk that covers up the emotions underneath. I joked about how he’d be able to escape the chaos of Puja this year, and he laughed, though both of us were keenly aware that this might be our last moment together, at least for a while.
The cab ride to the airport felt heavier with each passing minute, the silence between us more profound than any words could have been. Just before we reached the drop-off point, he took out his phone and played See You Again. We sat there, letting the song fill the car, knowing it expressed the bittersweet feeling we couldn’t articulate. We kept the mood light, pretending we weren’t feeling the weight of goodbye.
“Stay in touch,” he said, gripping my shoulder a little too tightly. “Of course,” I replied, trying to sound casual as I returned the gesture.
As I watched him walk through the gates, I realized how strange and abrupt this whole growing-up thing was how suddenly people, places, and moments were slipping away like sand through my fingers. I knew that in just a few days, I’d be on my own journey, leaving this city behind once again. But watching him leave was like watching a piece of my own youth fade out of sight.
On my way back, the city lights and Puja decorations felt more vivid, almost surreal, and yet they seemed to highlight the growing distance between my past and present. Kolkata wasn’t just a place anymore
it was a memory I was leaving behind. Growing up, I realized, isn’t just about moving forward; it’s about knowing that pieces of who you were will stay back, tied to people and places you may never return to in the same way.