Day 15: All the Warmth in England

Family

The "young people"

As I sat on the carpet of my uncle’s living room floor, looking at all the family photographs on the wall, I felt an unexpected ease and familiarity there. This was the first time I had come to my uncle’s house in England. The gloomy grey had followed me from Islington, but somehow, right now amongst the porcelain statues on the shelves, the mischievous cat scratching at the sofa, and the background noise of a ridiculous game show on called “Take Me Out” streaming from the other room, I felt at peace.

My uncle's house

My father had known my uncle long before my sisters or I were born. Both were young physicians in London in the late 60’s just starting off their careers. Now both my dad and uncle had daughters who were physicians. The torch had been passed, but the flame of stories and memories as medical students, and young doctors, had never gone out.   I can remember so many of the stories my parents would tell me about their time in London, of spur of the moment “cook-ups,” of nights out on the town, of trying to find Indian ingredients in a less than tolerant British society in those days, where the cold shoulder of prejudice and discrimination was all too common, but never got in the way of their dreams.

Lunch at the Calcutta Club

Hearing my uncles and aunts speak of my parents, here, away from them in England, made me curious to know more, and nostalgic for home. They spoke tenderly of the past, of my mom’s incomparable cooking, of my dad’s sense of humor, of my older sister’s incessant crying. They spoke of crazy times in the hospital and how bitterly cold England seemed to them coming from Calcutta. 

Telling me stories about my dad

They spoke of the past in such detail, it was like it just happened. It was a trip down memory lane I was all too happy to take with them. 
In the backyard, the pool was tightly covered, awaiting the summer for its next unveiling. The leafless pear and apple trees stood still in rows courting spring for their next performance. 

Army of ash trees

Cows grazed beyond the next field. The flat pastoral landscape in the distance was abruptly contrasted by the tall forest of stark, naked ash trees from next door. Growing like an army out of the ground, they looked like soldiers straight at attention. I was mesmerized by them. It was too cold to stand outside for much longer, so I took a few photographs and retreated indoors.

Uncle poured me a glass of champagne, no special occasion, just for the celebration of family and for togetherness. From sitting around a table at the Calcutta Club, eating the warm and spicy offerings off the Indian buffet of naan and fish curry, to the mandatory chai and shandesh that followed when we returned home, everything was as familiar as if I had done It a hundred times before.

All the warmth in England

The “young people” took a ride over to Bluewater Mall. We had had our fill of the requisite interrogation on why we were not married yet. We looked around John Lewis, imaging interior design schemes, talking about lifestyle and inflation, about new movies and music. We talked about Audi models and the price of gas, about ridiculous commutes and the pluses and minuses of our current career choices. We talked about the things that mattered most, and those that mattered least. I was across the Atlantic, in a first-time unfamiliar part of England, on a freezing cold evening, with no clue how I had gotten here, but I might as well have been right at home. Here, today, I felt a transcendent ease that surpassed all lines of space and time and citizenship. There was the natural comfort of a commonplace Sunday. An effortlessness that this had happened a hundred times before and would happen a hundred times again. This was family and as far away as I was, this was home.

The backyard orchard

Hearing my uncle speak in Bengali as he poured me another glass of champagne, while my aunt spoke of the upcoming royal wedding throwing cat treats on the carpet for Minxy to catch, hearing the “young people” roll out their running commentary on the crazy television show we were watching, seeing them all together here, I realized, I didn’t need a scarf or a hat or a wool coat, I didn’t even need that portable furnace I kept joking about to carry with me. 

My uncle

Here, in my uncle’s house, sitting in the middle of the floor on one of the coldest nights since my arrival, I realized, I had found all the warmth in England I would ever need.