Toronto = multicultural + nice and polite people

Toronto is whacking me over the head with its multiculturalism and its niceness.

I can say this because I am in Toronto. Whoops, did we forget to tell you? We are in North America for a few weeks, the original intention of returning to be here for my dear cugina’s (and maid of honour!) wedding celebration at the beginning of August. But our sojourn home has also turned into a nice excuse to fill our bellies with some home cooking, and of course, reconnect with all our lovely family and friends.

So about Toronto… After over seven months spent immersed in cultures where honking, and masses of people on motorcycles and auto rickshaws following no semblance of traffic rules is the norm; where stray dogs, cows, monkeys and other assorted wild life comb the roads and alleyways; and where roads come in dust-cloud red, pot-holed gray and black, and bumpy brown, Toronto seems like an oasis of (overly) sanitized shiny, happy people with smooth black molasses roads and paper money so clean and brightly hued j. had to ask my mom if the Canadian government had changed the colour of our funny money.

The kicker for me, after visiting countries where pretty much the only hair colour is black, is first, how many different people — every colour, style, size and taste — I have seen, and even more surprisingly, without roaming far from my family’s house in west end Toronto.

The media, schools and everyday people always talk about how multicultural our country, in particular, this city is. We brag about all the different types of food from around the world you can get eat here, which more often than not is an assortment of pretty authentic delights. The Toronto Star reminds me daily of all the festivals and events going on marking all the cultures that live here, from Ukrainian to Sri Lankan. But as much as I know and believe all this, it is particularly striking to come from the south Asian countries I’ve visited and truly SEE and UNDERSTAND how diverse Toronto the Good really is. It’s like finally comprehending that milk doesn’t come from the grocery store, it comes from COWS or that water doesn’t come from the tap, it comes from Lake Ontario.

The politeness and niceness I’ve encountered seems especially poignant after the in-your-faceness of chaotic, contrasting and cow-poop stained India. Every cashier I have encountered, first off, is smiling when I arrive at the register. Then they proceed to make small talk with me that doesn’t include asking me “what country?” And as I turn to go they tell me to have a nice day. I was even more astounded when this happened to me at an adult store where I was shopping for naughty goodies for my cousin’s bachelorette party. The other thing: the cars on the road stay in their lanes and there is parking! between the lines! for handicap people and families!

I think it was my sister who asked what I would do if I came back to Toronto for this relatively short interlude and then decided I didn’t want to return as planned to finish seeing India. I replied that if that was what happened, then there wasn’t much I could do about it, although I am sure the cost of canceling my return ticket would play a factor in my decision. If I did have this sort of reaction though, I would simply see it as giving me some insight into myself and my connection to home, Toronto specifically.

And so far, I love being home. The air smells like fresh cut grass, flowers, trees and not much else. My showers are as hot as the air conditioning is freezing. I am eating homemade peach pie while watching Food Network Canada at any time of day.

But as I look below the surface of these small pleasures (and small mercies!), I am truly looking forward to getting back on the road with j., and continuing to uncover India no matter how dirty or destitute it may seem there sometimes.

For now, though, I’ll happily let Toronto keep whacking me over the head. I can appreciate that it may not be often that I will get to see my home city with fresh eyes and with my Nonna’s homemade gnocchi filling my belly.