India pt.4: Kolkata – A Sign from my Ancestors
When we touched down in Kolkata, the change in climate and ambiance was striking. The humidity and colonial feel of the city was a world apart from what I’d experienced in the more Northern part of the subcontinent. I had loved every moment spent so far on my trip, but this was the part I’d been anxiously awaiting.
I had heard stories about Calcutta* since I was a child and finally, I was here in person to live it firsthand. There’s no doubt that the city has evolved over the years since my parents’ time — in some cases even beyond recognition — yet, I could feel that the essence of the past still quietly lingered in the present, if I could stay still long enough to perceive it.
*I’ll refer to Kolkata using its old name from now on, since this is how my family still speaks of it.
With the upcoming New Year celebrations taking place, our first stop was the Chinese burial ground. It was considered inauspicious to visit the cemetery during this period, which is the reason why our eldest Bak Bak took us to visit my great-grandparents as soon as possible.
Ancestral Energy
The Chinese burial ground in Calcutta is a labyrinth of graves scattered haphazardly, the surrounding overgrowth slowly consuming the concrete slabs of those long forgotten.
Back home in Montreal, as I watch some of the footage taken on this rather cloudy day for the first time, my heart is racing and there are tears in my eyes. It’s difficult to put into words, but I am overwhelmed with a feeling of bewilderment and excitement. What I witness in the video makes the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck stand on end.
Before you watch, let me explain. As I mentioned, there was nothing organized or systematic about how the burial ground was laid out, so upon arrival, both my uncles struggled to recall where my great-grandparents rested.
At the time that the footage was taken, I had no idea where their graves were located or what they looked like. Debating over which corner of the grounds to begin searching, you can see the 4 of us (my uncles, Bethany, and I) scanning our surroundings, as I try to get more details.
Eerily enough, as this is all happening and I’m recording on my phone, Chang great-grandad’s grave comes into the frame several times; so does Chen great-grandad’s (they actually happen to be beside each other — a very unexpected coincidence!).
In fact, as I continue to record, completely unaware, I walk right up to both my great-grandfathers’ graves, while my uncles and Bethany seem to head off in another direction. From where I am, I stop and take a moment to look around, hoping that my intuition will point me the right way — I had a secret wish to be the first to locate the graves as some sort of good omen for the journey I was on. Unbeknown to me, I’m standing right there.
As seen in the video, as I look around me, I then decide to take a few steps forward and I’m met with the most curious sight: Sitting perfectly and staring me straight in the face, a dog. It’s as if it’s been waiting for us this whole time. At that very moment, the video cuts just in time for me to snap a photo.
It’s moments before the dog gets up and turns away, disappearing somewhere between the labyrinth of tombs. Behind me, I hear the voice of one of my uncles calling me over, having finally located my great-grandad’s resting spot. I feel a pang of disappointment that they’ve beat me to it.
Paying Respects
One of the locals working at the burial ground helps clear my Kung Tai‘s (great-grandad’s) grave with his grass broom. The characters on the tombstones are written in black ink, slowly fading away with time. In the middle, my Kung Tai’s name (Tsong Kan Xiong). To the right, his year of death (1955), and to the left, only the names of male offspring and descendants are recorded. The girls and women don’t make the cut.
Not included are his date of birth, nor his age.
My elder Bak Bak lights candles and incense to place at the grave. When it’s ready, he tells my great-grandfather that Bethany and I, the daughters of Yu Hsing and Lou Hsing, have come to pay our respects. Following the custom, incense in hand, we each take turns bowing — 1-2-3 times.
When we arrive at my Poh Tai’s (great-grandmother’s) resting place, we do the same. Her maiden name is Chou. Bak Bak announces to her that we’ve come all the way from Canada. On her tombstone, her year of passing (1972) is recorded, also indicating that she was 84. Similar to what’s written on my Kung Tai‘s grave, only the names of sons and male grandchildren.
Chen great-grandad’s ritual was not nearly as elaborate, but I did take the time to kneel before his grave, as my uncle read out to me what was left of the faded characters (my grandfather’s name, both the names of my mother’s brothers).
The observances complete, there seemed to be a rush to head to Tangra (or Dhapa), my parents’ hometown and also where we would be housed for the duration of our stay. Once again, this sense of urgency I will attribute to short-term time orientation.
What I would have given to be able to hang back and simply be in the present moment. We’d traveled so far to finally come to this place. I wanted time to soak in the significance of our return, but it would have to wait for another occasion.
Neither Bethany nor I ever had the chance to meet our great-grandparents in person. When my dad left India for Canada, he told me that he’d promised his grandmother that he’d return to see her. But he never did make it back. “She was a good grandmother,” he shares with me as he remembers her, eyes reminiscent.
Although I don’t currently have a family portrait including my great-grandfather, my dad jokingly recounts how cheap of a guy he was; always carrying a pouch full of money with him, but never dishing out a cent to his grandkids for ice cream. Maybe that’s where I get it from!!
As a woman, in spite of patriarchal traditions, I’m proud to have been able to represent my father in returning to pay respects to his grandparents, my great-grandparents. They say that in doing so, ancestor worship is meant to bring luck and blessings to the family. By honouring those who came before us, those who nourished, and took care of us, whether directly or indirectly, it’s said to cultivate the Chinese values of filial piety and kinship; values that I simply didn’t understand growing up and that I was looking to reconcile with in order to heal family ties.
