This personal account is penned by Anusuya Datta, a writer and journalist residing in Saskatoon. For further insights into personal narratives, check out the FAQ.
When we adorned our Saskatoon home with festive lights in early December, the snow was absent. Despite the absence of snow, I couldn’t help but admire our residence once again.
I have long believed in the saying, “Home is where the heart is.” After three years in Canada, it appears we have discovered our true home.
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 flooded in from all angles, bathing every room in a warm, welcoming glow, including the basement!
“Mom, this feels like home,” my child remarked.
It had been a while since I had seen that smile on my child’s face.
“And not a dental clinic!”
That was our typically confident teenager speaking, referencing the numerous other “ideal” houses we had visited.
This abode exuded beauty in its simplicity and snugness, featuring an elegantly stretching front lawn and a backyard adorned with swaying poplar trees.
And those windows, of course.
It wasn’t extravagant. It wasn’t massive. It wasn’t small. It was just right.
It was love at first sight.
Recollections of Childhood Home
As I gazed at our backyard, surrounded by Christmas lights, the now greying foliage, and the leaf-covered ground, memories of my childhood home in India flooded back, with its comparable expanse of nature. Our front yard boasted a fragrant jasmine bush and towering sunflower plants. The backyard housed Mom’s vegetable garden, which my siblings and I once fully excavated to install a canal system that we thought would automatically water the plants. I can still recall Mom’s shock at our inventive plan.
Nostalgia overwhelmed me, and I felt profoundly grateful for the chance to recreate similar memories with my family.
The past few years since our move 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 — that we could make this space uniquely “ours.” It served as a canvas for our dreams and ambitions.
It differed greatly from the home where I grew up. Delhi, like many other Indian metropolises, was expanding vertically at the time, and the only options for middle-class individuals like my husband and me were apartments in towering concrete complexes. Nevertheless, we adored our apartment. It boasted large windows and sliding doors leading to expansive balconies. Sunlight streamed in throughout the day, to the extent that we found it excessive during scorching summers.
It became a place filled with memories over the years, where each nook held a tale, and the walls reverberated with laughter and tears.
It wasn’t vast. It wasn’t cramped. It was just right for the two of us. Later, for three, once our child arrived.
It was our sanctuary.
