We were standing in the recreation room of International center, as we looked over, there was this shanty built at the dead end with broken bricks and available wood, the other corner was an open washing area where dishes and clothes were washed, the water from this was let out into the open side walk that was not cemented, the water went right into a pumpkin patch and thatch of corn.
The wooden staves were designed to create a unique quite interesting shoe rack.
In this shanty lives a Pahadi family of eight and two dogs.
Are we looking at illegal occupancy, or the nascent beginning of a slum I do not know, however I am impressed by the enterprise and recreation of the open expanses from these people come.
In way it is strange, unexpected things come together and abracadabra we have a new ethos.
I think of people who move to distance lands trying to hang on to a memory of hometown left behind. Imagine leaving a place where you were born, lived in, loved and all your memories are bounded. There is no way one can really leave it. most of us just sit back and yearn for it, while some recreate it in the best possible way. interestingly the graft of the transplanted culture in a new land brings in a third story all together.
Newer cuisine, new flavours emerge, be it the Chinese of Calcutta or the Parsi’s settlers of Gujarat and sindh, we could be talking of the Indian indentured labourers in Southern America or Africa there is a transplantation of culture the songs and stories emerge into a new voice