Written by Anusuya Datta, a writer and journalist residing in Saskatoon. For additional details on First Person 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 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.
The instant my husband, teenager, and I entered the house for the first time while house-hunting, we were captivated by the numerous windows. Natural light streamed in from all angles, filling every room with a cozy and welcoming radiance, even the basement!
“Mom, this feels like home,” remarked my child.
That smile on my child’s face had been absent for a long time.
“And not a dentist’s office!” quipped the usual confident teenager, alluding to the several other “perfect” houses we had visited.
This house exuded beauty in its simplicity and warmth, featuring an elegant front lawn and a backyard with swaying poplar trees.
And those windows, of course.
Not extravagant. Not large. Not small. Just perfect.
It was love at first sight.
Recollections of Home from Childhood
Standing in our backyard surrounded by Christmas lights, observing the greying greenery and the leaf-covered ground, memories of my childhood home in India flooded back. That home in India had a similar vast expanse of nature, with a fragrant jasmine bush and towering sunflower plants in the front lawn. The backyard was where Mom cultivated her kitchen garden, which we, siblings, once dug up entirely to implement a canal system that we believed would automatically water the plants. I can still vividly recall Mom’s shock at our inventive plan.
Nostalgia overwhelmed me, and I felt deeply grateful for the chance to recreate similar experiences with my family.
The past few years since our move from Delhi to Saskatoon have been a tumultuous journey for my family.
Our former home in India was our initial investment as a young couple. The idea of ownership provided us with a sense of authority — the belief that we could truly make this space our own. It served as a canvas for our dreams and ambitions.
It was vastly different from the home where I grew up. Delhi, like many other Indian metropolises, was expanding vertically during that period, and the only affordable options for middle-class individuals like my husband and me were apartments in tall concrete complexes. Nevertheless, we adored our apartment. It boasted large windows and sliding doors that led to expansive balconies. Sunlight flooded in almost all day, to the extent that we regretted it during scorching summers.
It became a place filled with memories over time, where every nook held a story, and the walls resonated with laughter and tears.
Not too big. Not too small. Just perfect for the two of us, and later, the three of us with the arrival of our child.
It was our sanctuary.
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