A HOME AWAY FROM HOME

A HOME AWAY FROM HOME



Most immigrants coming to Canada try to settle either in Greater Toronto Area (GTA) of Ontario province, or in and around Vancouver, the province of British Columbia. I am no exception and landed in GTA. We have most of our community members (out of the 263 families listed in our KOAC directory) settled in GTA. The first thing I looked for as a new immigrant was any community member and/or any community platform. I was fortunate to find our community like a big extended family ready to help a new immigrant like me at every step of settlement.

I remember a couple of decades back when we were forced out of valley, the rest of India seemed to be an alien place for me. After coming out of Kashmir, I felt as if I was thrown into an abyss of large churning and grinding machine of time where I would get tossed by the huge waves of periodic cultural, climatic and linguistic shocks. Well, definitely the climate, the language, the food, culture etc. were big shocks and put me at odds end in places were I was forced to live my life as a nomad. Although Himachal gave me some solace climatically (I call that place my second home), but it still cannot be anywhere near to Maij Kasheer.

Looking for what we had lost, we tried to put our little community together in Mandi, HP, where we had about 30 KP families living in and around this small town. Late Shri A. K. Dhar and Pandit Romesh Dullo were the pivotal points for the community here. I remember the days when we used to celebrate festivals like Zanga threy and Jesth Ashthami with fervour and get pandit ji for havan and the wazza for cooking of prashad from Jammu. The women folk would clean vegetables, peel potatoes for crispy fries and in the evening we would all sing hymns like “maij sharikay kar daya”; the whole scene would be like a large family getting together for something big. The life was drifting on as we were starting to absorb the pain and trauma from the exodus from valley. The serenity of blue snow-clad mountains, the pine trees dancing to the tune of alpine breeze and the bells from temples were like a balm on our wounds and the life was not as bad, although nowhere to where it was when we were in Kashmir; that was undoubtedly one of the best periods of my life.

The biggest shock for me was my transfer from Himachal to Delhi. I could not see anything in common between Kashmir or even for that matter Himachal and Delhi. The mad rush of people, the harsh summers and devilishly bitter cold winters, a materialistic machine-like life; well all these hallmarks of metro were starting to shrink in as a harsh reality for me and my family. Somehow, I was a misfit and this I suppose was never a place for a person like me to be in. I would dream of Mughal Gardens – Nishat, Shalimar and Parimahal; the green pastures of Gulmarg and Phalgam; mighty and shady chinars at Tullamulla; the crystal clear, cold and refreshing water of Ferozpur stream and most importantly my walnut tree which has grown with me and that small “vaar” in my ancestral village. For me the mantra was “if not Kashmir, then not India”.

I started looking for some other place away from the hustling crowd that would be somewhat akin to Kashmir and finally zeroed in on Canada. So my eyes started dreaming of the freshness of daffodils and tulips, mighty chinar trees, blue fresh water lakes, “shisherganth” and white Christmas. I was not proved wrong this time. Most importantly, the well-knit community of about 263 KP families in Canada made me feel quite at home.

Well they say there is no place on earth like home and truly there is no place on earth like Kashmir. There is no comparison between Canada and Kashmir, but still sometimes I feel quite at home here and in dreams often I think and feel as if I am still in Kashmir. The winter here is harsher than it is in Kashmir, but the sight of that white blanket covering every inch is refreshing to eyes as it reminds me of those days when I used to play hide-and-seek at a playground near my home when I was a kid. While doing this write up, I can see through my window the snow flakes coming dancing down on ground.

For those long chilly winter nights when you are sleeping under a blanket and a thick quilt, you don’t feel like coming out of bed in the morning, especially when you come to know that it is snowing outside; that is when sometimes in my subconscious mind I think I am still sleeping in my bedroom in Srinagar. The similarities are in fact many. The spring declares that the most difficult part of year is gone and brings us joy. You can still feel that nippy fragrant air of spring which of course we used to call “poshi teer” in Kashmir; it reminds me of my days in the valley. Come summer, it looks all the Canadians have been released from prison. The well-manicured lush green parks with mighty maple trees are definitely something that reminds me of Kashmir. Everybody is seen busy either having barbeque parties on weekends or going out for a picnic on the lake shores. Canada has extremely large number of freshwater lakes. Although we do not have shikars or houseboats in big lakes here, but if we do miss Dal Lake, we go to Lake Ontario and have some good time there.

The fall is especially a sight and you can see a riot of colors. The maple trees, which are similar to Chinars of Kashmir start changing their color. You can see all shades of green, yellow and red around, which is quite fascinating. This of course reminds me of polo ground where we used I used to see almost the same scene in my younger days.

I did not disappoint my mother last time she was here. She could still indulge in some Kashmiri delicacies like “bum choonth” the quince apple, good quality nadroo, munja, hak, “alucha chutney” sour cherry chutney, chestnuts and many other heavenly and taste-tingling foods of Kashmir.

To add it all, although I am trying to convince myself to call this place a home, but there is still that “something” which is missing here and for which I do not have any definition or any words. That “something” might have to do with the ground where our ancestors were laid to rest, that apple orchard the trees of which were once touched by my grandfather, who planted them or something else. That halo or emptiness will always be there, even though we are at a home away from home.