Ever since I was little, I was conscious of my half-Bengali identity; my mother made sure of it. As I got lost in trying to navigate life after college in 2019, I found myself getting completely caught up in it. I experienced a reluctance to lose momentum in my professional growth and subconsciously distanced myself from my family, especially my roots in Bengal. Many years have passed since I last visited. In the videos and pictures I have received from my mother in that time, I have witnessed through a screen the diminishing of my grandparents and the eventual loss of my grandfather. 

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In August 2024, while pursuing my MA in London, I heard an old Bengali song on social media—a song I would often sing with my grandparents and had forgotten about. It jerked open a floodgate of emotions along with the awareness of just how much of Bengal I had subconsciously sentenced to the recesses of my memory. As a bicultural individual in the West, my identity is often flattened and simplified into that of Indian, with even my preferred language becoming English. Although transformative, this experience has made me conscious of this. My stuttering Bengali makes me wonder—if I forget the little I remember of my roots, who will I become in the future? Moreover, what does this mean for others like me? 

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As I recall memories of Bengal in the context of my present, I provide them form through the materiality of my mediums, such as the fluid nature of ink and the inherent gravity of charcoal. Through the use of language and the self-assured stamp of letterpress, I find meaning.

 

I preserve the fading parts of myself in this work, assuming a critical stance to observe in my own experience, the formidable brunt of homogenisation, capitalism and cultural loss. 

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The work was exhibited at the graduate showcase in December 2024 at the London College of Communication, University of the Arts, London. 

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