By: Purabi Das

 

 

My Canadian pen-pal wanted me to attend her school as an exchange student. I was over the moon and started making grandiose plans. The only hitch – Sherri lived in Ottawa while my home was in a small town in India. We were twelve at the time. Off I went looking for Baba, rehearsing glib explanations in my head and if all else failed determined to burst into tears. Turned out none of my carefully planned histrionics was needed. After hearing me out, Baba simply said he will think about it. I understood. Any time we were told by Baba he will think about something it meant he was not willing to permit us to continue with another one of our foolhardy plans.

Years passed, I grew up and met a man and we both knew from the beginning we were meant for each other. But there was a tiny wrinkle. He was soon to immigrate to Canada. I couldn’t accompany him at the time since he needed to first find a job then save up to get a place of his own. And, there was the other challenge. Would my mother allow me to marry someone living so far from home, in another country, that is? Baba had passed away by then so mother and I lived alone in the family home. Somehow things worked out and soon the day arrived when I boarded a plane for Canada, via Athens and Rome. Never having travelled alone my greatest fear was boarding the wrong plane. I can laugh now. But it was scary, back then. The airports I had passed through were enormous, their bright lights and chrome fixtures making my head ache. However, I had not felt afraid to leave India. Fresh out of my comfort zone I found myself calmly explaining to curious passengers I had left my country for good and travelling to join my husband. I believe I grew up, then. Was it daunting? Truthfully, no. I felt completely comfortable in a new environment from the very first day.

So, here I am living in Canada. Sometimes it feels strange to have grown and matured in a country I was not born in.

My daughter vows never to leave her home in Toronto. She asks, weren’t you afraid? I answer, youth and naiveté were on my side.

A full year has passed since giving up my job and doing what I had always wanted to do – that of finishing the novel I started writing in bits and pieces during my daily commute. Ever since I can remember I have wanted to be a writer. Yes, we can have our dreams and live them out.

I recently took a break from the Canadian cold by visiting some hot places in South America. And, did not pack my laptop…just carried a notebook to write in. But there was hardly any time to write so I felt terribly guilty at first. Until, I realized that the amount of interaction I was having with strangers actually meant absorbing their culture, relaxing in their company, keeping quiet letting my eyes travel over vistas of breathtaking beauty not just in the mountains and rivers but also in everyday life. The Tango dance we chanced upon in the city square in Buenos Aires was a gift I accepted and couldn’t get enough of – chatting with one of the dancers I discovered she had been to Toronto to perform. Small world!

As a writer I work in solitude so I need to love my own company. But during my travels I took great joy in crowds, making eye contact with perfect strangers and exchanging greetings. At the Plataforma in Rio watching an entrancing Samba performance I struck up conversation with an Argentinian couple. Sure language was a barrier. But I did manage to understand they have a married daughter living in Toronto. At the Sambodromo where the Carnival started with each Samba school comprising at least a thousand performers (and there were 6 schools) you can imagine the crowd. We had tickets to the lounge that afforded us front line view of the floats as each school paraded down the avenue. But I, due to my small height, started to somehow get lost until some folks invited me to their spot. They spoke Portuguese and I English and some Spanish and French. But we got along hugely enjoying the spirit of Carnival.

I would return to the hotel hot, tired and dusty…but elated. These interactions became a sort of spiritual meal for me. After all, we have all been created by the same hand into different shapes and with different endowments. At one point I even stopped using the camera…for I wanted to pay full attention to my surroundings so that later I would be able to draw pictures through the written word, for my readers of this column.

How well we can get along in spite of different language, customs and cultures. Surely then, we have hope for peace and good times.

When I was in India recently, it was especially hot in Mumbai. As if to compensate nature provided us with an abundance of fruits and vegetables that I could not find here. One of my best experiences, standing by the kitchen window waiting for the fruit seller. He always arrived on a bike, a basket and 2 bags full of fresh produce. I beckoned, asked for pomegranates, papayas, sometimes oranges….and always a bunch of bananas. He placed them in my hand, accepted payment, then with a smile and promise to come again, he was gone.

Happiness through small things….found on both continents.