In Search of a Home: What Do I Say When They Ask Me Where I'm Actually From?

My family migrated from Bangladesh to Assam years ago, but even now, I feel like an outsider.

Photo used for representational purposes. 

(Photo: The Quint)

"Your language is different. You speak neither Assamese nor Bengali. Where are you actually from?"

Time and again, this question makes me put on my convenience hat and slide from being an Assamese to a Bengali as the situation demands.

This question makes me anxious, wonder where my roots are. Many a time, I have swayed to either side to fit in, or even to the opposite side on the pretense of conforming to being a non-conformist. These experiences have not only contributed to my "identity crisis" but also caused a deep sense of numbness because I no longer know where I belong to or what to call home.

White lies became a part of my life story whenever I was asked, "Where are you from?"

'Home Is My People'

I would narrate a story of my family’s migration from Bangladesh to India and their settlement in Assam, or I would simply tell them the name of the closest famous place to my hometown to avoid further conversation. I would also just tell them that "I do not feel belonged anywhere. Home is my people."

But I feel like an outsider, wanting to belong, wanting to call a place "home." Every time this question pops up, I feel like I am obliged to explain myself, my home, and my origin.

My family migrated from Bangladesh to Assam (India) during the India-Bangladesh crisis. There were thousands of families like mine, who migrated during that time and settled in Bark Valley, the southern part of Assam.

They found a home away from home where they could cook the super smelly dry fish and speak "Sylheti" and "Dhakaia" without fear of judgement. But things started changing as my generation started moving out of our respective hometowns in pursuit of better life opportunities.

After high school, I moved across India – for education and career aspirations. During this time, I met friends who are from the states of West Bengal and Assam.

I realised that I neither spoke the Bengali that my friends from West Bengal spoke nor danced to Bihu songs like my Assamese friends.

I was born in Assam, but do not look Assamese – but saying I am a Bengali feels strange because I don't speak the conventional Bengali dialect. So, I don't feel very Bengali either.

'An Outsider in My Own Hometown'

I visit my hometown in Assam once in six months and feel the nostalgia spurred by the sense of familiarity of the place. But now, when I am in my hometown, I feel like an outsider; nothing feels familiar – the people, the place, and even the food.

I have spent a huge chunk of my life trying to find and build a "home." Still, I am unsure of where my home actually is. Identity brings in a feeling of belongingness, but I never really feel at home wherever I go.

Currently, I live in Delhi. I have tried building my own home in rented apartments in Delhi, but every sixth month, I feel that I need to move.

It is very frustrating at times when I have to give long answers to the simplest of questions and do not have a lot of people to share mutual feelings with.

Having said that, being in the midst of this identity crisis has also given me the wings to craft my own stories.

And what an amazing feeling it is to be able to experience multiple cultures while hopping through life in search of a home. Swinging between being at home and nowhere is a part of me now.

The possibilities of becoming who I want to be is limitless. Now, I am the experiences that I have curated over the years, probably the best ones to present to the world. I try to tell myself that maybe my home is not any place or culture, but many.

(The writer is a Masters' student in JNU, New Delhi. This is an opinion piece and the views expressed are the author's own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)