Home in the City
In this video essay, Kimberley Rodrigues reflects on feelings of belonging and identity through the acoustic memories, distinct tastes, sight, and smells of C.R. Park, a unique neighborhood in Delhi, India, a place that she calls home.
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An exploration of everyday life, culture, and belongingness through the sounds of Chittaranjan Park (C.R. Park), this video essay drifts through the distinct sensorium of a special neighborhood in Delhi. This is not a park, in fact, but an entire locality allocated to the displaced persons from East Bengal, as well as gainfully employed Bengalis already residing in Delhi at that time of the Partition of India, which has grown into a diverse and thriving space known for its food and markets. In this piece, Kimberley Rodrigues interrogates the feeling of home as she takes us through the histories, sensations, and soundscapes that she and other residents inhabit.

In a quest to explore variations of «belonging», I invite you into a facet of my own identity, a place where I have always felt I belong in terms of geographical location, residence, and neighborhood. A place I will always call home.

Chittaranjan Park qualifies as a truly unique neighborhood in Delhi. I have been privileged to experience its rich culture and history from within, living it every day for 30 years! The prerogative of this audio, visual, and literary presentation is to give you a glimpse into the extent of diversity found in Delhi by focusing on this singular site and neighborhood, also my residence.

When asked the question «Where are you from?», one immediately thinks of their hometown(s), parent’s birthplace, or their own city or state of birth. Our immediate neighborhood or colony might come as a secondary or tertiary thought as an answer to that question. So many of us move within or across cities over just a period of a decade. A colony or neighborhood is arguably the most immediate landmark of an address, bearing an immediate influence on everyday life, followed by town, city, state, and country.

For Abhik Roy Choudhury, Carmaleen Rodrigues, Lily Dessa, Christine Dessa, Rajoli Ghosh, Sukanya Sen, Deepesh Sangtani, and myself, among many others, Chittaranjan Park, also known as C.R. Park, will always qualify as home first, before we extend that courtesy to the state of Delhi. The idea of a region as home sometimes invokes nostalgia for an imaginary other. In the cases of most residents here, it is the nostalgia for their native land – Bengal. For some, it is simply a nostalgia for the olden days or simpler times. I call Chittaranjan Park «home within the city» because it has been created to be so, especially for those it was truly intended. For my respondents, the neighborhood of Chittaranjan Park is analogous to their original home, the home of their ancestors – Bengal.

Chittaranjan Park: The Official E.B.D.P. Colony of Delhi

Led by Chandra Kumar Mukherjee, Subodh Gopal Basumallik, Ashutosh Dutta, Bimal Bhusan Chakraborty, and the Chief Election Commissioner, Shyamaprasanna Senverma, an association was formed in 1954 to lobby for land for the inhabitants of East Bengal who had lost their original homes and been displaced post-Partition of India in 1947. Chittaranjan Park, for the East Pakistan Displaced Persons (E.B.D.P.), was intended as a safe haven to start their lives anew. It was also created for the Bhadralok from East and West Bengal who were «gainfully employed» within Delhi, and thus could apply here for land and build a home, an aashiana, says architect Abhik Roy Choudhury who is also a resident of C.R. Park. In his Bachelor’s dissertation entitled «Chittaranjan Park, New Delhi», Deepesh Sangtani writes:

«The Members of E.P.D.P. were required to provide some documentation of their residential status, and were required to be «already residing and gainfully employed in the capital». Based on this, around 2000 people were given plots of land, which then became the blocks A through K, along with space for Markets and Cultural Centres. During this process many Bengalis from the surrounding areas, who had not been displaced during the partition, migrated to New Delhi» (Sangtani 2016, 3).

«EPDP was first included in the master plan of Delhi and termed an independent colony in 1968. (...) The colony was founded with plots going exclusively to migrants from East Bengal, but over time, the demographics has become a little more pan-Indian, though it continues to attract other Bengalis in general. With an estimated 2800 Bengali families (about 2/3ds), it has emerged as the most important outpost of Bengali culture in the capital. In short, Chittaranjan Park in New Delhi is also termed as the Mini-Kolkata» (ibid., 11/25).

«Although the original inhabitants were moderate to high intellectuals having a normal source of income, i.e., gainfully employed, with an intention to stay peacefully with social activities. But due to the prime location and the systematic planning of the colony, more of the rich class were attracted towards this area, especially real-estate agents like the builders and contractors who turned the lively socio-religio-cultural hub into a concrete jungle» (ibid., 39).

Home: Nostalgia and Food

What is the idea of home? What comes to mind when you think of home? Are cultural symbols really that important to making one feel at home? Or could it be something else even, if one is not able to fully connect with the symbolic environment of their neighborhood? Could it simply be memories of childhood, memories of the most important transitions in life that influence one’s emotions to lead them to call a place home? To what extent does cultural appropriation play a part in inducing feelings of belongingness?

For many people, the idea of home is attached to childhood memories of carefree days and simpler times. To some, in contrast to their own childhood days, it is their children’s childhood and the home they grew up in. Lucky are those who experience two, maybe three generational life transitions in a single home without having to move at all. While we see the number of such ancestral homes serving such memories within the same spaces, most of us now find ourselves in different homes than our grandparents, our parents, and maybe even our own siblings.

Home is imagined to be a space of comfort, growth, and memories. What happens if one is forced to move out of that space? Furthermore, what happens if one cannot even carry objects that remind them of their home in another place? Migration, whether by choice or by force, has been a form of survival and sustenance. One moves if she is forced, due to natural disasters, for a better quality of life, or in this case, for so many refugees in Delhi, due to political events (partition). Building a home becomes a way to continue this fight to survive and belong.

I have been interested in what home means to people and the changing character of what we consider home. Is it structured or is it fluid? It certainly is ever-changing. Through this project, I have found that recipes are immortal and perhaps carry the most importance in their function of rooting one in any new space, simply through associated memories of taste. It is one of the most permanent ways of rooting identity, much more than material, perishable objects. Satya Ranjan Dutta, owner of Maa Tara Restaurant in Market No. 2 in C.R. Park, is a testament to the above claim. Taking little or nothing with him, in around 1964 he had to leave his hometown in Comilla, Bangladesh. He came to Tripura, India as a refugee when he was just a little boy. Forced out of his natal home, many jobs and journeys later, in 1975 he found home again, here in Chittaranjan Park. Through hit and trial, he began serving food in the same market where he owns a restaurant today. The recipes he talks about are reminiscent of his mother’s cooking. Particularly ilish paturi, which you will also see at the end of the above video. His menu boasts recipes passed down through generations of his and his wife’s families, rom humble steamedfish, to the more snazzy Kolkata Bengali cafe culture delights such as fish kabiraji. His chefs, most of whom hail from different parts of Bengal, further confirm knowledge of the same or similar recipes passed down to them from their families.

Similarly, for brothers Subrata and Shyamal from Bengal Snacks in Market No. 1, their father, also from East Bengal, came to Delhi in 1968. He, along with his wife, began Dada-Boudi Hotel, one of the first sit-down-meal hotels in Market No. 1, over 30 years ago! They serve all kinds of Bengali-inspired food, mostly fish, chicken, and mutton items with dal and rice, as well as egg curry. I have known this family since I was a child. Today, Subrata and Shyamal carry forward their parent’s legacy, although they had to switch to street food due to the allocated 10x10 shop space in the newly renovated market. However, they still serve the famous Bengali snack ghugnee, prepared by their mother at home. Thus, food, associated with memories, so closely tied to the Bengali region, is one of the deepest connections that Bengalis here still have to their parents, their natal region, or their parents’ natal region.

The Unique Sounds of C.R. Park

Can you hear food? Can you taste a past experience? When I think about the «sounds of a city», Chittaranjan Park epitomizes a certain diversity that we find in the city of Delhi. Nowadays, it is hard to focus on sounds in the city as our imagination moving through the city is clouded by traffic horns and construction noises from commercial and residential construction projects taking place to such a large degree and pace. However, if we strip those sounds back in our imagination, we can remind ourselves of the sounds that surround us in just our neighborhood. We do not need to go too far to be able to focus on something else other than traffic noises. «Our cars have taken over our lives», says Abhik Roy Choudhury. With less parking, one of the biggest challenges C.R. Park faces is accommodating a rise in the number of cars per family. However, through the serenade of honking and traffic jams, the dhakis play their drums in the main Shiv Mandir and in the little temples in the markets, signaling the evening call to prayer. It is a musical sort of welcoming into the market if you are there at that time for your daily grocery shopping or snacking.

When we think of a place, we identify and associate it with memories of sounds, tastes, sights, smells, and how all of those play out in our senses. A large factor of our association with lived experiences is also influenced by community, home, region, and shared experiences. Imagine a place intended, from its inception, to do just that. The idea of belongingness comes down to common shared experiences, a shared experience of sensory influences. Is it possible that after so many years of displacement, relocation, and settlement, rooting oneself can happen through the replication of not only material objects but also through raw produce, nature, and what we love the most – food?

Can you hear food? Can you taste a past experience? Can you see the chirping of birds? Have you ever wondered if the added masala or spices to your food might also be the sound of a third language and the noise of traffic?

«It’s the earthiness of the kulhad, sitting in that one spot at the adda listening to your friends talk, that makes up the taste of that chai», says Deepesh Sangtani, fellow C.R. Park resident. «It’s taking shelter under the thatch roof of Dadu’s shop in the rain and having pakodas », says Lily. «It’s Raju Dada’s puchkas I try to copy at home», says Kimberley. For Christine, it is a Bengali music teacher, well versed in Rabindra Sangeet, teaching her «Für Elise» on the keyboard. For Carmaleen, it is the many weddings of her family members in their first home and the sound of her daughter in that house. For Rajoli, it is the memories of cycling through the blocks with her friends. For Abhik, it is the sound of listening to the chirping of birds with his wife while sitting on their porch. It is the Shiv Mandir bells that calmed down Sukanya when she was a baby. Most interestingly, «it is the smell in the air before Durga Puja», says Deep. This is a smell hard to describe, but all C.R. Park residents understand this. He probably means the smell of shiuli flowers!

The dhaki, shankh, and mandir bells are all year round and not only during prayers and festivals. Mix them with the sounds of food, a splash of frying, and a dash of the sound of jhalmuri being stirred, color it with the sweetness of the Bengali language, a bit of Hindi and English as well, add a pinch of traffic and construction noise, and flavor those with hundreds of similar stories being experienced on a day to day basis at different points in time constructed by shopkeepers, food vendors, birds, and dhaki players. With the ringing of the mandir bells and the evening shankh during pujas in individual houses, add a hue to the sunset and ring in the night. All of this paints a sensory picture common to almost all residents here, with obviously a little variation. And there you have it: the sounds of this neighborhood in Delhi – the sounds of Chittaranjan Park!

This soundscape, I insist, cannot be complete without the sound of the people who live here. It is imperative to acknowledge that city sounds cannot be complete without voices and the distinction of different languages spoken here. The dynamics of conversation add to the overall dynamic of the sounds of the city for me. This is why I have focused equally on including the authentic voices and conversations of my respondents with me in this video. Each voice that you hear is in sync with the visual experience of that respondent, treating you to a glimpse of their lives and experiences within this neighborhood. Everyone has a different flow to the way they speak, accents differ, and emotions are portrayed differently, whichto me accentuates the sounds of the city. It shows diversity in its truest form. Having Bengali cutlets from Dadu’s cutlet shop is very different from having cutlets, albeit Bengali style, from elsewhere. For me, it is the spoken language associated with the food that makes it sound authentic. That is also what I wish to portray in this video essay.

In a city where most transactions happen only in Hindi and very few in English, we have a third language in this little pocket of the city that takes over and adds to the authenticity of this place. Other than geographical differences and differences in the layout of the place, this for me is one of the unique qualities of C.R. Park. The Bengali language and the food in the markets both define this place. Although, the Bengali language is taken for granted in the most comical way!

I asked all of my respondents the same questions, of which one was: «When you think of C.R. Park, what’s the first thing you hear?» Surprisingly, not a single one of them said «the Bengali language». This phenomenon used to be pretty similar in transactional instances in the markets too. The shopkeepers and some auto wallas here would address you in Bengali, taking for granted you know the language. This is how I began picking up a few words and now can frame a few sentences too. One of my favorites is «Aami Bangla bushte parbo, kintu bhalo kore bolte parbo na» (I can understand Bengali when you speak it, but will not be able to speak it well myself). A smart response taught to me by my childhood friends Rajoli and Christine, also residents of C.R. Park, when we were little, to help me get by whenever addressed in Bengali.

Nowadays, almost all shopkeepers speak in Hindi as they are used to new faces in markets every day, owing to a more pan-Indian demographic among our residents. The bottom line is, even if you are a non-Bengali and you have lived in C.R. Park as long as I have, the Bengali language will become a part of your soundscape, even if you can’t necessarily speak it fluently.

Rooting

It is true that the top two things that distinguish C.R. Park in the city of Delhi are the fish markets and the festival of Durga Puja once a year. However, apart from these obvious two elements that make this little neighborhood popular, as a resident of Chittaranjan Park, I feel the need to highlight the «everydayness» of this place. Why does C.R. Park stand out as a neighborhood in Delhi? What makes it unique, and more importantly, what makes it so special?

Deepesh reiterated the «close-knit» community many times in his interview. And while it is a predominant factor, by no means is being Bengali the only binding factor to these relationships. While the commonality of language, homeland origins, and residential proximity of relatives and friends are some top factors, how would one explain the closeness in relationships of Bengali and non-Bengali children of the community? Through the interviews, it seems that the common points are the sounds of nature, birds, festivals, addas, tea shops, street food, parks, and of course, the fish markets. The affectual relationship of these spaces, products, cuisine, and sounds to our lives is similarly varied and beautiful.

For many of the residents, dreams have been fulfilled in this city rather than in their hometowns. Be it the dream of an art gallery for Sukanya’s family, a restaurant for Dutta, or a snack shop for Subrata and Shyamal from Bengal Snacks, Chittaranjan Park has given residents space and the opportunity to materialize their dreams and keep some of their legacies alive. In no way am I saying that everyone’s experience is the same. That cannot be true in any case study of a neighborhood. However, the experiences of the residents here in these shared spaces are remarkable and enhance the feeling of collective belongingness.

The roots of a few trees here are living metaphors for the rooting of human culture, family, acceptance of space, and thus, relocation. Rajoli’s frangipani tree outside her house, planted by her grandmother, is a story that resonates with many other respondents like Deep, Lily, and even some of my non-respondent, fellow residents I am aware of. For some, like Satya Ranjan Dutta, «home» is still imagined at a distance, ingrained in memory as a true space of comfort. Delhi is still «home», albeit secondary. Primarily a space for work, progress, education, wealth, and perhaps even property accumulation. It is a site of daily life and present meaning. His hometown in Bangladesh, childhood home present or disrupted, is still considered home, regardless of displacement or the need to move. For Lily, Delhi is her hometown while C.R. Park will always remain her home no matter where she relocates. For Abhik, C.R. Park and Kolkata are home equally, as he alternates between the two, without feeling the loss of region or space; for him, C.R. Park replicates the feeling of being in Kolkata. For Carmaleen, having spent most of her life in Delhi, C.R. Park became her home through well-calculated choices, convenience, her familiarity with the Bengali language, and her love for the Bengali culture. For me, Christine, Rajoli, Sukanya, and Deepesh, this neighborhood, Chittaranjan Park, is «home» in Delhi.

The bonds we have formed, our shared spaces, and the «sounds of our neighbors and friends», says Deepesh, «make this our home». We can rely on each other as a community. We have grown up here aware of the nostalgia of the real Bengal that is really the essence of this place. This place has managed to retain its uniqueness and hybridity through the preservation of its Bengaliness to the best of its ability and also through acceptance of the infiltration of other cultures into this original E.B.D.P. colony. It is not a complete imitation of Kolkata, even though it is imperative for C.R. Park to have its connection to Kolkata and Bengal at least through its street food, commodities, fish, and predominantly Bengali residents. Its uniqueness is also in resistance to hyper-commercialization. For example, taking care of the space and businesses of our local vendors running their shops for over two generations. It is also the preservation of long ties of transactional relationships and feelings of trust.

This film/video essay was shot and composed over four months, from April to July 2023, alongside conducting the interviews of residents you hear corresponding to visuals. Archival and ethnographic in nature, this video essay is also my love letter to C.R. Park. The sounds of continual construction, which is now the soundscape of this city, are a cause of mental distress to so many of us now more than ever. I miss the old C.R. Park like most of my correspondents in the videos do. However, despite the incessant construction, dust, congestion, and traffic, this neighborhood still exhales the «Bengaliness» it is known for, and echoes inter-community networks formed over decades that make it what it is today. We have lived our time here lavishly, taking in all the culture, food, sounds of food and spirituality, safety, greenery, and relationships that will last a lifetime.