Amaaya Dasgupta

When it Rains at Home, a Space of Memory

Constantly existing in two different places at once, my childhood room on the left, the first apartment I lived in alone on my right, and me in the middle; I am the spaces I have lived in, I am my furniture, I am my walls, and these spaces, this furniture, and these walls are me. Both spaces are safe havens, places that hold vulnerability, places that are stained with tears, echo with laughter, and have my markings on the walls. When it rains in Montréal, I remember the rains in Delhi. The smell of wet concrete disrupts temporality and brings to me, across years and seas, my childhood -- settling my dreaming in my home in Delhi. When it Rains at Home, a Space of Memory is a meditation on that.