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Working and writing don’t ideally go together. Writing for a magazine seems to be the best possible solution. I’m doing just that. 

I’ve missed blogging, and my little space I’ve created just for me and I feel I should get back to it. 

The purpose of the blog was to document my time, like a diary, I suppose in Calcutta. I was going to tell you about my time and experiences in the city. I was going to tell you about how the city and I interacted and got on, but since starting work here, I’ve lost myself a little. 

Not entirely lost..more dissolved. I have dissolved into the world which I was once so distinctly separate from. 

It’s been interesting to witness the transition, I think, from being completely exasperated with the city, to falling in love with it, to taking it for granted, to finding fault and laying blame. It’s a strange sort of love story, I suppose, but quite typical in its way. 

Perhaps I should point out why I’m writing today. Today, I’m in a private hospital, in one of the older parts of the city. It’s a newish building equipped with all the latest equipment. I’m waiting for my husband to wake up from the anaesthesia(nothing too serious, wisdom tooth extraction) and I’m too distracted to read. 

But the general staff speak to me as if i belong, in a tongue reserved for locals, in Bengali. They expect nothing foreign from me, I am just another relative of a patient. I’m not huffing and puffing with the bureaucracy and the inefficiency and the inequality, I take it all in my stride, I expect it and note that I’ve seen much worse. I oblige them with details and I nod my head at their instructions. I am acclimatised. 

Oh well…guess that’s it then. Next time I’ll write about owning a dog in Calcutta.