Looking back... again (but a little closer now)

On 15 June 2006, I completed 10 years in this country. Since I seem to spend so much time in this blog looking back, I thought this might a good one to add here. In the fall of 1997, a friend who was an editor at Bombay's Mid-Day newspaper asked me to write a short piece, looking back over the previous year since our arrival in Toronto. This, except for some minor edits, is what I wrote.

A giant Edward Scissorhands set. Tidy little streets lined with half-grown trees; neat little houses with neatly trimmed hedges. Each with two little cars in the driveway. Not a soul in sight throughout the day. There we were, wide-eyed new immigrants. Expecting paradise. Feeling trapped and helpless.

That was 13 months ago. My wife's relative had picked us up from Toronto's Pearson International Airport and driven us back to his house in Mississauga. We—my wife, son and I—left Mumbai on June 15 last year to come here to Canada, to start a new life.

Starting over at age 35 is never easy. But I'm proud to say we have. Came to this place where I knew next to no one, with very little money, got myself a job by answering an advert in a local newspaper, rented an apartment, bought everything that is required for the apartment, moved in, and got started.

The first six weeks were nerve wracking. On top of the agenda was finding a JOB. Responding to 10 or 12 ads a day... not getting a single acknowledgement in return. Let alone an interview call. I had run up against the great "Canadian experience" barrier. Took me six weeks to get past it, but I finally had an interview—on a bench in a glitzy shopping mall.

The guy who interviewed me was Indian and called me back after a few days to say that I had a job as a graphic designer in his print shop. Hallelujah! I had broken into the Canadian job market. Now I don't live in the Edward Scissorhands set any more. Our apartment is in North York, in a building full of noisy immigrants from all over the world, surrounded by four other equally noisy skyscrapers. So we feel quite at home.

Most of Toronto is not like that. Most people live in single family dwellings in quiet little streets. You can rent easily here, as long as you can prove that you have a good "credit history". Now here's a paradox. If you're new, like us, you don't have a credit history because you've never had a credit card here, or taken a loan to buy a house or car or TV. So you get someone who has been living here for a while to co-sign your lease agreement.

My friend N co-signed for me. And I had met him barely 10 days before he co-signed this document which says that if I fail to pay my not insignificant rent, he's liable. I've never asked N how he trusted me not to get him into trouble. But I suppose the all-important reason is the “community”. In Bombay, I never hung out with the Assamese crowd. But here, without the Assamese community, small that it is, getting settled would have been doubly hard. If not impossible.

And that's one of the great things about Toronto. You may miss the hustle and bustle of an Indian city, but you won't miss things Indian. Name any Indian spice or vegetable, and I'll bet there's a store within a two-km radius where you can buy it. There are movie halls playing Hindi movies, there's an entire street in downtown Toronto lined on both sides with Indian stores.

A walk through Gerrard Street is like walking through Kalbadevi during an uncrowded afternoon (if that is imaginable at all!). You can buy everything from Churidar kameezes, to Sumeet mixers, gulab jamuns and pirated Suchitra CDs. In the heat of summer—when it climbs upto 31 degrees—one feels right at home, surrounded by the sights, sounds and smells more suited to a busy street in a small Indian town.

But the illusion is a little skewed, for the cows, the dogs and beggars are missing.

Having said all this, life here is not easy. No bais. No dhobis. No maalis. Or coolies. Your job is never secure. Taxes are murderous. The political ethos is democratic, but indecipherable to a newcomer. There is a wonderful thing called welfare, but it won't mean a damn if you're out of a job and you don’t want the shame of taking a ‘handout’ from the government.

And yet, at the same time, if you're sick, it won't cost you a penny to get to a doctor and get treatment. N almost died on a highway two years ago after a spare tire came loose off a truck barrelling along at 110 km per hour, took the top off his Honda and half his head along with it. But the helicopters and paramedics were there within seconds. He was flown to the hospital and saved. Didn't cost him a penny and he's good as gold now.

Am I happy here? Is my family happy? Yes and no. We miss our friends and the buzz of Mumbai. I miss hanging out at the Razzberry Rhinoceros. But I'd never have seen Jean-Luc Ponty live there. Which I did just weeks ago. I miss the walk up to Fountain from Marine Drive. But Queen Street here is awesome too. I don't miss the heat and mugginess of Mumbai. But winter here is scary. That is, if you can imagine waiting for a bus for 20 minutes in -27 degrees with driving snow.

I don't know. Maybe it's too early… for now, I'm enjoying Toronto.