This personal account is penned by Anusuya Datta, a writer and journalist residing in Saskatoon. For further insights into personal narratives, refer to the FAQ section.
When we decorated 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 spending three years in Canada, it appears we have finally discovered a place to truly call our own.
As my husband, teenage child, and I first entered this house during our search, we were immediately struck by the abundance of windows. Natural light flooded in from every angle, filling every room with a welcoming warmth, even the basement!
“Mom, this feels like home,” my child remarked.
That genuine smile had been missing from my child’s face for a while.
“And not like a dentist’s waiting room!”
This was the typical confident teenager speaking, comparing it to the numerous other “perfect” houses we had viewed.
This dwelling exuded beauty in its simplicity and snugness, boasting a front yard that extended gracefully and a backyard with swaying poplar trees.
And those windows, of course.
It wasn’t a lavish mansion, nor was it too small. It was just right.
It was love at first sight.
Recollections of Home from Childhood
Standing amidst the Christmas lights in our backyard, surrounded by the now-fading greenery and leaf-covered ground, I was transported back to my childhood home in India, which shared a similar vast expanse of nature.
That childhood abode in India had a fragrant jasmine bush in the front yard and towering sunflower plants. The backyard housed my mom’s vegetable garden, which my siblings and I once completely dug up to install a makeshift irrigation system that we believed would automatically water the plants. I still recall my mom’s shock at our innovative plan.
Nostalgia washed over me, and I felt profoundly 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 whirlwind of uncertainty for my family.
Our previous home in India was our initial investment as a young couple. The idea of ownership gave us a sense of authority — the ability to make this space uniquely ours. It served as a canvas for our dreams and ambitions.
It was distinct from the home of my upbringing. Delhi, like many other Indian metropolises, was expanding vertically during that period, and the only viable options for middle-class individuals like my husband and me were apartments in towering concrete complexes. Nonetheless, we cherished our apartment. It boasted large windows and sliding doors leading to expansive balconies. Sunlight streamed in almost all day, to the extent that we regretted it during scorching summers.
It became a place brimming with memories over time, where every nook held a tale, and the walls reverberated with joy and sorrow.
It wasn’t overly spacious, nor was it cramped. It was just right for the two of us, and later, for the three of us when our child arrived.
It was our sanctuary.
