Nostalgia: Dirt Cheap, Emotionally Expensive

The Midwest thunderstorm — a fast lane to Bengal.

At this point in my life, I’ve lived longer in the U.S. than I ever did in India. Yet, there’s a special tie — maybe an umbilical one — that binds us to the places where we’re born.

Don’t you think? No matter how far we travel, something about where we begin quietly tugs at us in unexpected moments.

My favorite color has always been that vibrant yellow-green of a freshly unfurled banana leaf — a quiet nod to Kolkata. And the green of Bengal, especially after monsoon rains? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it. You’d think the Midwest, with its tender blades of grass poking through after winter, might come close. It’s magical, yes — but it’s not the same.

And dirt. Who knew I’d get nostalgic over dirt? The first thunderstorm of spring in the Midwest hits, the rain soaks in, and that earthy smell rises up — like the ground just exhaled. It takes me right back to my birthplace.

Not the city exactly, but the outskirts — where open fields stretch out, and the ground holds a different kind of memory. After a heavy rain, the air there carries something else: deeper, richer, almost sweet. Maybe it’s from the mangoes, kala jaam, lychee, or jamrul knocked off trees in the storm, split open on the ground, quietly joining the mud and monsoon.

Sometimes, when I stand in my backyard in Milwaukee, watching the tall weeds sway in the runoff pond at the edge of my yard, I’m reminded of the gentle undulations of paddy fields back home.

There’s a comforting rhythm in these repeated themes — quiet ponds, swaying grasses, reflections held just so. And fireflies — those flickering little lanterns that dotted my childhood evenings in Kolkata now drift lazily through my Milwaukee backyard too. Maybe they’re the same ones, just older, wiser, and slightly better traveled.

Let’s be clear: the bunnies in real life never look this composed. But the fireflies? They really do flicker like that — in Kolkata, in Milwaukee, and maybe in memories too.

San Diego may boast the Pacific Ocean and endless sun (and boy, do I miss that in winter), but here in Milwaukee, we have Lake Michigan and sunsets so glorious it feels like God painted them just for us. Different landscapes, same soul.

Same mother earth, I guess — just dressed in different avatars.

শকল দেশের রাণী সেজে—আমার জন্মভূমি।
Clad as the queen of all lands — my birthplace.

As for Delhi… that’s a harder one to pin down. Maybe because Delhi doesn’t live in colors or smells for me — it pulses with energy. The buzz, the arguments, the laughter, the echo of a thousand conversations happening at once.

I don’t think I miss Delhi so much as I carry it around — like static in the background that rises when I need it. But every now and then, I remember the quiet pockets too — like Lodi Garden at dawn, before the city fully wakes — or the peacock mid-display, its wings fanned wide like a secret the city forgot to keep. Honestly, males showing off — whether in feathers or otherwise — is truly a universal comedy.

(Also, yes, I miss golgappas. And papdi chaat. But that’s a different post.)

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So here’s to the places that shape us — near or far, seen or unseen, always part of our story.