Nothing like the home that is Punjab
My husband and I hail from Jalandhar and Chandigarh, respectively, though we have lived most of our adult lives outside these cities and to a large extent, outside the country. As the saying goes, you never realise the value of what you have until you lose it. The rigmarole of life in big cities sucks you into its vortex so rapidly, that you are a small-town native living the big city life and have succumbed to its nuances before you even realise it.
I never thought I would miss the small city life much when I first moved to Delhi as a student fresh out of high school. With dreams in our eyes and excitement in our veins we embarked on the journey of the unknown, hoping to pave our own roads and find our own people along the way.
I remember the culture shock I felt during those first three years in Delhi. It wasn’t at all what I had hoped it would be. As the harsh realities of the big city and its people bore down on me, I remember wanting to catch a train back home to Chandigarh every weekend. I saw the family often enough so it wasn’t just about that. There is an inherent calming effect in our small home towns in Punjab. It could perhaps be merited to the intoxicating effect that the hand of the Punjabi cook has on you – the Sarson Ka Saag, gajar ka halwa that can hold you captive for hours in a state of comatose, or perhaps even the home-grown massages that can put any big city spa establishment to shame. Or it could just be the warmth and large-heartedness of its people.
From Delhi our busy lives took us to Munich and Abu Dhabi after that, both two-year stints with great experiences and travel diaries to write home about. From global food, friends, cultures, adventures and achievements, we had the privilege to experience it all. But we would still start the countdown a month in advance when a trip back home to Punjab was planned.
We have just moved to Kuwait a month ago – the next destination in our travel roster awaits. Incidentally, it was during our last few months in Abu Dhabi that we found out we were expecting our first child. While there is no dearth of good healthcare in any of these places, the Punjabi heart wanted what it wanted. The decision to have the baby at home in Chandigarh had been an easy one.
As I sit here in the winter sun, soaking in the greenery, finishing the last of the gajar ka halwa and reflecting on the milestones we have achieved in life and how many new countries and people it took to get us there, the roots of the giant mango tree in my parents’ back lawn stared back at me, firmer and larger than ever, showing off its ample branches and lush leaves.
As if trying to remind me that it all started here. That the roots of my story are still here, stronger than ever, never to be forgotten but to be celebrated. A legacy of sorts to be passed on to the next generation.
THE ROOTS OF MY STORY ARE STILL HERE, STRONGER THAN EVER, NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN BUT TO BE CELEBRATED