to call my own

The constant affliction of being "never at ease" (not restless, mind you) stems from both my partitioned selves, of being Punjabi and Bengali, residing uncomfortably within me. Neither Punjabiyat nor Sonar Bangla resonate with me. Such cultural references remains fragmented and distant in my consciousness. There is a pervading lack of rootedness and attachment in who i am. Instead there is a lingering sense of loss, of being a foreigner in one's own skin. In a certain sense, i am a cultural orphan--the freak of history. This is the blackhole of my life. I cannot undo my multicultural personhood but neither am i completely at ease with what it means. If identities are tightropes on which we delicately balance our being, then i am struggling to walk the line. So who am i? where do i belong? The tirade of questioning never ceases to confuse me. If what i identify with is purloined or borrowed, then is my insaniyat cultural theft? In that case, what a wretched fate.