Toronto (3)

The questions often pile high on your mind as you prepare to retire for the day, then lie in your bed staring into nothingness.

You reflect upon what you have accomplished – which is little, and what made you begin this journey in the first place. You reminisce the time when you could conquer the world, when you had the world in the palm of your hand. When you were the stuff stars are made of.

The operators are downright rude, the collectors outright insulting, the communication overtly condescending, the unions with absolute impunity, the bigwigs holding politicians and judges in their back pocket, and the behaviour plain and simple: We don’t need you, you need us for protection. Period. So move along.

So, I’ve completed my first year in Canada – without a whimper. Happy first anniversary to me! And now without further ado, here’s a customary list of only a few of many, many things that I’ve come to see, like, love and dislike in this great country. Please note that this is a very incomplete list, and I may add, retract, revise or improve on any item – for of course, I take the liberty of a dumb newbie, as always.

As my Canadian experience grows with each passing day, I am becoming more and more aware of how expensive things here really are – in Ontario at least, where I live.

I was waiting for a bus and saw this across the street:

Two Indian-looking guys (both 30ish, real South Asian “Indian“, not “native” Indians) were standing outside an apartment building, with their backs to the Lobby. A white (40ish, ‘visible majority’) guy accompanied by a woman, came out of the lobby, sneaked up behind them, and yelled at the top of his lungs, over their heads: “Shoo!”. This startled the hell out of the two guys.

It has finally happened. And it was bound to happen. The relevance of it that this happened during my first 3 months here in Canada has special significance for me. Have I moved to a hotter Canada already?

World Cup is over at last. And as I write this entry, I can hear car horns blaring outside and people – read Italians – shouting and chanting. It’s bound to be a party night for them for sure.

I watched the World Cup Soccer Final on a local TV channel here, complete with an American commentary. I would like to re-emphasize that I watched the Final (and previous games) with an American-accented commentary.