This op-ed is contributed by Anusuya Datta, a writer and journalist residing in Saskatoon. For further details on op-ed stories, refer to the FAQ.
When we adorned our house with holiday lights in early December in Saskatoon, there was no snowfall. Despite the absence of snow, I couldn’t help but admire our home once again.
I’ve always believed in the saying, “Home is where the heart is.” After three years in Canada, it appears we have finally discovered a place to call our own.
Upon entering the house for the first time during our house-hunting journey, my husband, teenager, and I were captivated by the profusion of windows. Natural light streamed in from all angles, enveloping every room in a warm and welcoming aura, even the basement!
“Mom, this feels like home,” my child remarked.
It had been a while since I had seen that smile on my kid’s face.
“And not like a dentist’s office!”
That was the typical confident teenager speaking, alluding to the several other “perfect” houses we had been viewing.
This house exuded beauty in its simplicity and snugness, featuring an elegant front lawn 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.
Reflecting on Childhood Home Memories
Standing in our backyard with Christmas lights illuminating the scene, surrounded by the greying greenery and leaves covering the ground, memories of my childhood home in India flooded back. That childhood home boasted a similar expanse of nature, with a fragrant jasmine bush and towering sunflower plants in the front lawn. In the backyard, we had Mom’s vegetable garden, which my siblings and I once dug up entirely to install a makeshift canal system for watering the plants automatically. I can still recall Mom’s shock at our inventive plan.
Nostalgia washed over me, and I felt profoundly grateful for the chance to recreate similar memories with my family.
The past few years following our move from Delhi to Saskatoon have been a roller-coaster of uncertainty for my family.
Our previous home in India was our initial investment as a young couple. The notion of ownership provided us with a sense of authority — that we could make this space uniquely ours. It served as a canvas for our dreams and ambitions.
It was vastly different from the home I grew up in. Delhi, like many other Indian metropolises at the time, was expanding vertically, and the only viable options for middle-class individuals like my husband and me were apartments in towering concrete complexes. However, we cherished our apartment. It boasted large windows and sliding doors leading to spacious balconies. Sunlight flooded in almost all day, to the point that we regretted it during scorching summers.
Over the years, we filled it with memories, where every nook held a tale, and the walls reverberated with laughter and tears.
It wasn’t expansive. It wasn’t cramped. It was just right for the two of us, and later, for the three of us when we welcomed our child.
It was our sanctuary.
