This opinion piece is contributed by Anusuya Datta, a writer and journalist residing in Saskatoon. To know more about personal narratives like this, refer to the FAQ section.
When we adorned our house with festive lights in early December in Saskatoon, there was no snowfall to complement the scene. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but gaze affectionately at our home once again.
I have always believed in the saying, “Home is where the heart is.” After three years in Canada, it appears that we have finally discovered a place to call our own.
Upon entering the house with my husband and teenager for the first time during our house-hunting expedition, we were immediately struck by the profusion of windows. Sunlight streamed in from all angles, filling every corner with a cozy, welcoming radiance, including the basement!
“Ma, this feels like home,” my child remarked.
I hadn’t seen that smile on my child’s face in a long while.
“And not a dentist’s office!”
That was the usual confident teenager speaking, alluding to the numerous other “perfect” houses we had been viewing.
This house exuded beauty through its simplicity and snugness, featuring a front yard that extended gracefully and a backyard adorned with swaying poplar trees.
And those windows, of course.
It wasn’t extravagant. It wasn’t spacious. It wasn’t cramped. It was just right.
It was love at first sight.
Recollections of Home from Childhood
Standing in our backyard, surrounded by Christmas lights, amidst the greying greenery and leaves covering the ground, memories of my childhood home in India flooded back to me. The front yard there hosted a fragrant jasmine bush and towering sunflower plants. The backyard was where Mom’s vegetable garden thrived, which my siblings and I once dug up entirely to install a makeshift irrigation system that we believed would automatically water the plants. I can still recall Mom’s dismay at our inventive scheme.
A wave of nostalgia washed over me, and I felt deeply grateful for the chance to recreate similar memories with my own family.
The past few years following our relocation from Delhi to Saskatoon have been a roller-coaster of uncertainties for my family.
Our previous home in India was our initial joint investment as a young couple. The idea of ownership gave us a sense of authority — that we could mold this space uniquely as “ours.” It served as a canvas for our dreams and ambitions.
It stood in stark contrast to the home I grew up in. Delhi, like many other Indian metropolises, was expanding vertically at the time, and the only housing options for middle-class individuals like my husband and me were apartments within towering concrete complexes. Nevertheless, we cherished our apartment. It boasted large windows and sliding doors leading to expansive balconies. Sunlight flooded the space almost all day, to the extent that we lamented it during scorching summers.
It became a place brimming with memories over the years, where every nook held a tale, and the walls resonated with joy and sorrow.
It wasn’t vast. It wasn’t cramped. It was just right for the two of us, and eventually three when our child arrived.
It was our sanctuary.
