“The past is the past but sometimes it leaves a fingerprint on the future” – CSI, Felonious Monk
History fascinates me and old cemeteries are on my list of favourite haunts. But it is strange how one can live in a town for years and still not be familiar or aware of its past. When and how do we become immune to and ignorant of our surroundings? Why are we unable to widen our horizons? Why do we always take people, places and things for granted? When does a species or group of people silently disappear…occasionally remembered but generally forgotten, whilst we carry on without a hiccup!
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Recently a local daily ran an intrusion report concerning the Jewish Cemetery in the residential area where I have managed to find a dodgy concrete roof over my head. My ignorance about this cemetery came as a rude surprise to me. When in Baroda (still prefer the old name), I pass-by this place at least twice, daily. Never realised that behind the garbage dumper, sundry hoardings, broken wall, small roadside temple (illegal?), tabela, eatery carts, two-wheeler mechanic workshop, istri shack, Baroda Dairy outlet, rusting shell of a car, housing societies, hoardings and a few trees are the graves of the Bene Israeli community of Baroda.
Edge of a Fringe 