This is a First Person column by Aakriti Matharu, who lives in Edmonton. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, see the FAQ.
I feel the presence of my dadi in every part of my home.
On the couch, where she massaged oil into my hair while pouring out colourful stories about life in India.
In the kitchen, where she would add just the right amount of ghee to perfectly round rotis that were always hot off the stove after school for my brother and me.
In her room, where I would lie with her before bedtime as she recited my favourite Hindu epic, making the story of how Ram saved Sita from the demon come alive in my head.
As I hang a small garland around her picture in the living room, I see the smile of a woman with more strength than I could ever imagine, who migrated to an unknown country along with her son …