Having grown up in two places — Ghatsila and Chakulia, both in East Singbhum district of Jharkhand — ‘Where is your hometown?’ is a difficult question for me to answer. Naming just one place becomes a task saddled with responsibility. Which place do I acknowledge? Which one place do I name?

My parents worked in a copper company in Ghatsila. The factory is in a place called Moubhandar, where I spent a long part of my life. My family lived in five different quarters — the first three allotted to my father, the last two to my mother — and I have enduring memories of the last three houses we lived in.

My father’s quarter was a two-bedroom flat on the first floor of a two-storeyed block by the Subarnarekha river. That particular stretch of the riverbank was used as a dump for boiler ash from the factory. I still remember women coming in hordes to collect ash to make gool (fuel for clay ovens consisting of cow dung and boiler ash). Dumpers would arrive laden with ash, and as the carriers tilted backwards and unloaded, women would shout and scramble, with their arms open, fighting with one another for their share. Decades later, that sight of women jostling on the bank of the Subarnarekha would find its way into my writing. Now, of course, the company has found other places to dump ash. The dwindling fortune of the company has damaged that particular stretch of road, which is now overgrown with ferns.

I grew as a reader in my mother’s bungalow. I lived there for about 17 years, surrounded by the company’s hospital on one side, the factory on the south, and the huge RC church and a three-storeyed block of flats on the west. Insulated, and with no river to stare at, I spent my time pretending to teach imaginary students, and reading books. It was in this house that I first felt the happiness that comes from having a work published. I was 15, and a junior in school told me my short story had been published in The Asian Age .

My school was in Mosaboni, some eight kilometres to the south-east of Moubhandar. It was in green foothills, and I absolutely loved the rains in Mosaboni. At that time, Mosaboni seemed more evolved and intellectually superior to Moubhandar. Many officers stayed in Mosaboni; there were numerous bungalows with sprawling gardens, murum (gravel) driveways, and French windows; and a number of clubs as well. While travelling to school in the bus, we talked in Hindi; but the moment the bus entered Mosaboni, we switched to English.

The heyday of Mosaboni has vanished. All the mines have shut down and it has become a ghost town, which the copper company has handed over to the government of Jharkhand. The once awe-inspiring bungalows are vacant and broken, or have been taken over by the CRPF. An entire club, including its huge playground and airy halls — where art exhibitions and events of high culture were held — has been turned into a CRPF camp!

I became a writer in my mother’s second house. I lived in this bungalow by the main road in Moubhandar for 10 years. The Mysterious Ailment of Rupi Baskey was written in that house, I signed my contract with Aleph there.

But my novel was inspired by a different place altogether, namely Kishoripur, the village of my ancestors.

Kishoripur is where everyone who came before me was born; where I spent the first three years of my life under the watchful eye of my pishi , who taught me Santhali and raised me with stories, songs and anecdotes. I used to spot constellations with my grandparents during my summer vacations. Kishoripur is where I edited The Mysterious Ailment of Rupi Baskey before sending it out into the world. It was the model for Kadamdihi, where my novel is set.

Having grown up in at least two places, which are about 40km apart, I find it unfair to name only one place as my hometown. Here, the administrative map of Jharkhand helps. Kishoripur, Moubhandar and Mosaboni belong to three different blocks: Chakulia, Ghatsila, and Mosaboni, respectively. All these blocks belong to the same subdivision: Ghatsila. So, whenever I am asked where I am from, I say ‘Ghatsila’, knowing in my heart that when I say Ghatsila I mean the three places where I have grown up.

Talking of homes, for the last three years, I have worked in Pakur — nearly 500 km from Ghatsila, in the Santhal Pargana division of Jharkhand. Somehow, Pakur seems closer to Darjeeling than to Ghatsila! If in Ghatsila I was known because of my parents, in Pakur, far away from my parents and family, I am my only referee. Each home of mine — whether in Kolhan or the Santhal Pargana — has helped me grow as a person. Each home of mine is special to me.

Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar is a medical officer with the government of Jharkhand and the author of 'The Mysterious Ailment of Rupi Baskey'

(In this monthly column, authors chronicle the cities they call home.)

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