Dear Kolkata, I have a lot of thoughts to express, but I can hardly ever find the right words for you. I love you — I’d be lying if I said I didn’t — but God, do I resent you for what you’ve become. Maybe you were never what I thought you were to begin with. Maybe I was just too young to notice the cracks, too infatuated with the idea of you to question what lay beneath. But now I see you more clearly, and the clarity hurts. It always does when nostalgia begins to rot. I agree that I’ve changed too. And perhaps that is why I judge you so harshly now. Maybe I see in you the same disillusionment I fear in myself. We were simpler once, weren’t we? I remember the lanes I used to walk through without thinking. Now, I trace those same paths like a stranger, unsure of where I’m going, unsure of what I’m even looking for. It's strange — you still look the same, but you've stopped feeling like home. I love the memories I have with you; I know I hold onto them far too dearly — so much so that I would rather live those moments again than spend time with you now. I retreat into them like old songs I refuse to let go of. They don’t fit this version of you, and maybe they don’t fit this version of me either. But I hoard them anyway. I fold them into little corners of my mind and pull them out when I feel most lost. I fear the threads of the memories I have with you are deeply entwined with who I’ve become, and it aches my heart. It aches because you’ve left me behind. You’ve grown faster, louder, bolder — and I’ve stayed back, holding onto what you used to be when you were softer, quieter, more tender. We have grown apart, and I now belong to a time you do not seem to remember as fondly as I do. You’re chapters ahead now, and I’m still rereading a paragraph I can’t seem to get past. I miss you when I’m away, in a way that is almost embarrassing to admit. But God knows I can’t wait to leave when we’re together. It puts me in a strange predicament, loving you from a distance, and resenting you up close. When I’m with you, I am every self I’ve ever been — every version, every failure, every heartbreak. I walk past ghosts of myself and smile at strangers who look like old friends. And somehow, I’m a nobody still. A nomad, wandering your streets, looking for the pieces that were left behind, in the hopes of feeling whole. There is something unforgiving about the way you move on, Kolkata. You do not wait for anyone. You let the trams grow slower, the buildings older, but you — you race ahead. I used to find comfort in your chaos, but now it exhausts me. I used to romanticise your decay, your politics, your people. Now, I find myself overwhelmed by the noise, disconnected from the rhythm I once danced to. You’ve stopped speaking my language, and I’m too stubborn to learn yours again. But even now, you show me glimpses of who you used to be, in a cup of chai by a roadside stall, in the faint echo of a street performer’s song, in the way the sun hits the waters by the ghat just right on certain evenings. I catch my breath, I dare to hope, and then, like always, the moment slips away. Kolkata, I live a thousand lives simultaneously when I’m with you. Some filled with warmth, others with longing, most with confusion. I cannot let go of you, even though you’ve long since let go of me. And maybe that’s what love looks like sometimes: unreciprocated, unresolved, but persistent. Maybe someday, I’ll learn how to love you without the ache. Maybe someday, you’ll find your way back to the person I remember. Or maybe, and this is the hardest truth of all, you were never meant to stay the way I needed you to. Still, I write to you. Still, I stay. Yours forever, Aashir Platforms:🌐 ngoaquaterra.com | shikshaq.in📲 Instagram: @ngo.aquaterra | @roots.aquaterra | @ventures.aquaterra | @shikshaq.in💼 LinkedIn: NGO AquaTerra