(Let me be clear at the outset that I have not visited Yukon and don't plan to. It's just too cold and I have not intentions of bearing a chill, sneezing my heart out and running around protecting my existence from wild animals. But this is a Calvinistic Fantasy and, absent any alliterative Canadian inspirations, makes for a great title....)
It was pitch dark and the she was serving some food. I had lost all sense of day and night. It was always day outside. A day of clouds beneath my feet. Some of them pretty literally. The Brussels sky was covered with clouds, white sheets. The giant wings of the A380 partly shut of the view from the glass-covered window.
It felt great when I finally landed, after 20 hours, 4 meals and an endless day travelling with an entire Punjabi village. The Pearson International airport was gigantic. Beyond my dreams. We came down the elevators, walking across Shilpa Shetty, Sameera Reddy, Shekhar Kapoor, Satish Kaushik, Tanuja Chandra and god knows who else. It felt good that I never ever saw them in Mumbai and no one knows them in Canada. So there were no impromptu stampedes or special arrangements. I tried the wireless but it was paid, same as in Brussels. After spending a few nostalgic moments remembering socialist India with free wi-fi; our feet and a few directions from a helpful counter-lady took us to the ground floor towards the groundways transit. A free transit had been arranged towards McMaster University.
We were going to stay in Hamilton, often called the 'Steel City' or the 'armpit of Canada' if you want to be particularly uncharitable. The groundways transit clerk mispronounced our names . It was the first time but not, unfortunately, not the last. The driver of the car was pretty friendly, he tried some jokes. That was the first time I realized the meaning of culture. All attempts at conversation were doomed to an eerie I-don't-understand-what-the-hell-are-you-saying hell. He did not get our accent and we did not get his jokes. At the end however, he got one message across, there are no good strip clubs in Hamilton.
As we got around from Toronto to Hamilton, one thing started becoming clear. The Canadians might lack some people and some warm climate but they had land to throw away. Right through the window of your car. As we drove past vast tracks of trees, parking lots, wide two storey behemoths of Supply Chain corporations, big discount stores and still bigger parking lots, this fact was continuously rubbed in.
As we entered Hamilton, I felt happy that most Canadians have not visited Mumbai. If this was called the armpit, Mumbai would be designated by an more anatomically colourful term. The houses were dreamlike. They were individual and sloping roof, indicating it rained here. The cottages with parking lots, porches, clean roads and little chimneys looked right out of a movie. I was difficult to shake off the feeling that I am in a real country. As we arrived, the rains did too. Not the torrential Mumbai rains. It was similar to the light Lucknowi showers. The landlady was not home and we waited on the porch. So that was my arrival in Canada; Lucknowi showers, maple trees, clean roads, careful drivers, movie studio like student houses and two wet bags on the front porch.
It was pitch dark and the she was serving some food. I had lost all sense of day and night. It was always day outside. A day of clouds beneath my feet. Some of them pretty literally. The Brussels sky was covered with clouds, white sheets. The giant wings of the A380 partly shut of the view from the glass-covered window.
It felt great when I finally landed, after 20 hours, 4 meals and an endless day travelling with an entire Punjabi village. The Pearson International airport was gigantic. Beyond my dreams. We came down the elevators, walking across Shilpa Shetty, Sameera Reddy, Shekhar Kapoor, Satish Kaushik, Tanuja Chandra and god knows who else. It felt good that I never ever saw them in Mumbai and no one knows them in Canada. So there were no impromptu stampedes or special arrangements. I tried the wireless but it was paid, same as in Brussels. After spending a few nostalgic moments remembering socialist India with free wi-fi; our feet and a few directions from a helpful counter-lady took us to the ground floor towards the groundways transit. A free transit had been arranged towards McMaster University.
We were going to stay in Hamilton, often called the 'Steel City' or the 'armpit of Canada' if you want to be particularly uncharitable. The groundways transit clerk mispronounced our names . It was the first time but not, unfortunately, not the last. The driver of the car was pretty friendly, he tried some jokes. That was the first time I realized the meaning of culture. All attempts at conversation were doomed to an eerie I-don't-understand-what-the-hell-are-you-saying hell. He did not get our accent and we did not get his jokes. At the end however, he got one message across, there are no good strip clubs in Hamilton.
As we got around from Toronto to Hamilton, one thing started becoming clear. The Canadians might lack some people and some warm climate but they had land to throw away. Right through the window of your car. As we drove past vast tracks of trees, parking lots, wide two storey behemoths of Supply Chain corporations, big discount stores and still bigger parking lots, this fact was continuously rubbed in.
As we entered Hamilton, I felt happy that most Canadians have not visited Mumbai. If this was called the armpit, Mumbai would be designated by an more anatomically colourful term. The houses were dreamlike. They were individual and sloping roof, indicating it rained here. The cottages with parking lots, porches, clean roads and little chimneys looked right out of a movie. I was difficult to shake off the feeling that I am in a real country. As we arrived, the rains did too. Not the torrential Mumbai rains. It was similar to the light Lucknowi showers. The landlady was not home and we waited on the porch. So that was my arrival in Canada; Lucknowi showers, maple trees, clean roads, careful drivers, movie studio like student houses and two wet bags on the front porch.
