"Canada might offer Indian food, but could it match my mother's kitchen?"

“Canada might offer Indian food, but could it match my mother’s kitchen?”

Written by Bhannu Arora

Once, the idea of migrating to Canada filled my thoughts. The allure of a new life, a stable job, and world-class amenities seemed too good to pass up. I started envisioning snowy winters and the famed Canadian politeness. Yet as the paperwork began to pile, a different kind of clarity washed over me.

I took a walk along the Indus, its ancient waters a reminder of India’s timeless heritage. I realised that my homeland had everything I needed—modern cities that boasted both advanced technology and rooted traditions. As the setting sun cast its golden glow on the flowing river, I couldn’t ignore the profound connection I felt.

But what tugged at my heart the most were my aging parents. The thought of being miles away from them, unable to share the simple joys and sorrows of everyday life, felt unbearable. No Skype call could ever replace their warm hugs or seeing their eyes light up as we shared family meals.

Sure, Canada might offer Indian food, but could it ever match the original flavours that danced in my mother’s kitchen? The thought of never again savoring her hand-crafted dishes filled me with an inexplicable sadness.

I also pondered the seasons—India’s monsoons, the breezy summers, and even the mildly cold winters. Each season has its own charm here, unlike the perpetual cold that I’d experience in Canada.

So, I declined the migration. Instead, I chose to be where my roots, my family, and my heritage are. I decided to grow where I was originally planted, for the soil was fertile, the love abundant, and the flavours incomparably rich.

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