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The Big Black Box

Never mind the fact that Canada, with nearly four million square miles is the second largest country and has the longest coastline in the world. Or that it boasts some of the world’s most beautiful destinations from the awe-inspiring trails and shores of the maritimes and the breath-taking tides of the bay of fundy to the world’s largest lakes, miles and miles of the lush prairies and rolling hills, the unparalleled beauty of the Rocky mountains and glacial peaks, and the rugged coastal mountains and beaches along the pacific, not to mention the phenomenal Northern Lights and the unspoiled beauty of the True North.

During the few years I spent in the United States, to me and to many others I knew, the Great White North was just a big black box. No one seemed to know what was there, and no one cared.

When I had just moved to Vancouver, some of my friends who lived in New Jersey and Boston areas asked, “Vancouver? Must be very cold up there!” They couldn’t believe it when I told them that Vancouver winters were milder than New York and New Jersey areas, and were most certainly milder than Boston.

“But don’t you need to speak French to live in Vancouver?”

“Probably not as much as Mandarin or Punjabi,” I replied to their disbelief.

Niagara Falls appeared to be the most common, and to many, the only recognizable Canadian landmark. When I now tell friends and relatives in India that I live in Vancouver, a question often asked is “How far is it from Niagara Falls?” Geography lessons aside, I try to explain to them that there are many places in Canada that are as pretty as, if not prettier than the Niagara Falls.

As fate would have it, my first glimpse of, and entry to Canada was at the Niagara Falls.

Fools Rush In

It was Sunday evening, September 2^nd 2001, the Labor Day Weekend in the US. We were a couple of friends with families, newly transplanted from India to the US on work visas. We had driven for eight hours from New Jersey to Niagara Falls, our first big road trip in America. We were tired and wanted to catch a glimpse of the falls in the evening before retiring to the hotel.

Our plan was to explore the attractions on the American side of the falls the next day. Being Indian citizens, we needed visas to enter Canada which we hadn’t applied for as we weren’t planning on entering Canada anyway. Or so we thought.

So tired, lost and in awe at the sight of the majestic horseshoe-shaped falls on our left that we didn’t realize until it was too late that the Niagara street were driving in took us straight to the Rainbow bridge separating the United States and Canada.

It was only after we entered the bridge and seeing the Canadian flag ahead of us did we realize that we were entering Canada. We were told that at that point, the only recourse was to enter the Canadian check-post, explain it to them and make our way back to the US.

The officer at the Canadian border was quite friendly to our relief, and after noting down some details, she let us return. After some grilling by the American officer back at the U.S border who didn’t take long to see that we were neither terrorists nor illegal immigrants, we were finally let back in to the US. Thus began and ended my first and the briefest, albeit unofficial entry into Canada.

9/11 came nine days later. The world as we knew it changed. Living in New Jersey, having briefly worked in the downtown World Trade Center area and knowing a few who worked there, the tragedy struck close to home as it did for several thousands.

During my continued stay in the US on a work permit visa, going through the immigration hassles and the increased scrutiny post-9/11, I couldn’t help think about that evening when we stumbled on the Canadian soil looking in awe at the colourful lights of the Casino Niagara, the Skylon tower, the brightly lit streets and the friendly immigration officer in her red uniform.

That’s when we decided to give Canada a shot. Applications forms for immigration to Canada were downloaded, painstakingly filled and all supporting documents attached and sent.

After a two-year wait, with our applications for permanent residence approved, my wife and I flew to Toronto for a few days to complete the immigration formalities. There was still one unfinished business. Visit Niagara Falls from the Canadian side! And what a sweet trip it was!

The next order of business was to look for jobs in Canada. Looking at the competitive and crowded job market in Toronto, and with my self-imposed deadline of quitting my current job and moving to Canada fast approaching, I decided to expand my job search to other parts of Canada. I soon received interest from a company with an office in Halifax.

“I swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, Queen of Canada, Her Heirs and Successors, and that I will faithfully observe the laws of Canada and fulfill my duties as a Canadian citizen.”

Repeating these words after the citizenship judge at the Citizenship office at Surrey, BC, I became a Canadian a few days ago, on August 5th, 2009.

“Congratulations!” Proclaimed the judge at the ninety six of us who had taken the citizenship oath. “You are now Canadian Citizens!”

An exciting and a long awaited moment, no doubt, but as I sang “O Canada” in chorus with the rest of the newly anointed Canadians, my mind was fraught with a mix of emotions.

You see, I grew up proudly singing “Jana Gana Mana (Thou art the ruler of the minds of the people)”, the National Anthem of India in school and waking up to “Vande Maataram (I bow to thee, Mother)”, the Indian National song every morning on TV and radio. I grew up reading in history books and watching Gandhi and the many regional movies about India’s freedom struggles a number of times.

As I let this feeling sink, in this post and the next, I reflect on my journey in becoming a Canadian and what being a Canadian means to me. Canada is now my home of choice, as it has been for the past four years anyway.  But that doesn’t change where I was born, does it?

Nor does it change the memories of my childhood, playing in the hot (and to think I’ve been complaining about the 30 degrees heat in Vancouver recently) and dusty streets of Madurai, looking forward to the Chitthirai festival processions in the summer months, visiting the Meenakshi Temple and getting patted on the head by the temple elephant, reading and listening to stories from my grandfather of far away lands, watching hollywood movies and dreaming of one day travelling around the world, and so on. They are part of who I am, and what I have brought to Canada with me.

I know there has been a lot of discussion about Canada’s identity, one of the most recent and interesting ones being the debate between Malcolm Gladwell and Andrew Gopnick last year – “Canada – Nation or Notion?”

My post is simply an attempt at trying to make sense of, and reflecting on my becoming a Canadian. It has been thirteen years since, fresh out of college, I left the old Temple City that is Madurai in pursuit of opportunities and a better life, a journey that has taken me past Chennai, Bangalore, Sydney, New York, parts of New Jersey, Toronto and leading to Vancouver where I now begin a new chapter in my life as a Canadian.

How and when did I choose to come to Canada? To be honest, Canada was not my first choice of country to immigrate to. And Vancouver was not my first choice of city in Canada either. But the way things have transpired, I couldn’t have asked for anything better.

As for my journey, I should probably begin with my first and briefest, albeit unintended entry into Canada eight years ago..