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My new home

I was born in New Delhi, India. My parents were strong. My father had a travelling job, he was barely home. In my memory, my mother has always been a remarkable woman. She was only 25 - you know - with a dying father, two kids, and a husband who was mostly on the road. When I look at her, I know it’s important that I grow up to be independent - financially, yes, but even more important, emotionally. My mother, she never let life get her down - cooking, cleaning, teaching, fixing light bulbs - always with a smile.


My father taught me why it is important to have different skills. I thought it was funny that he taught us how to change a tire before we even started to drive. But also, to use different tools, managing finances - what we called ‘survival skills’.


I moved here when I got married 2 years back. My landlord was an Italian lady, she told me: “give this place a chance”, she came here for a vacation 40 years ago and couldn’t bear to leave. This country, the road, the air, random rainfall and the parks, they are becoming part of me. I found a job, and then came the friendship. I learned to bike and travel all around, seeing new people and cute dogs. I started to like the food here. My husband thinks I’m becoming a Dutch lady. The only thing I still need is to learn Dutch. I’m becoming a part of this country. The country that embraced me when I’m far from my homeland. My new country, my new home.

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