From essay by Shakil Choudhury: The sun is streaming in the through the sliding glass doors, giving the teak wood of the kitchen cabinet a golden glow. The sound of eggs frying on the stove top-loaded desi-style with tomatoes, onions, paprika and coriander-draws us into the kitchen. We see my mum preparing, one by one, warm durum flour paratahs stuffed with potatoes and white radish. Siblings, uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews, and grandparents, we crowd around the kitchen table with cups of hot chai in hand as the spicy, mouthwatering aromas wrap around us. Inevitably, the stories begin-sparkling, wondrous jewels for my sisters and me. My father and Shamim Aunty are exquisite storytellers. They tell us about the past when they were young and invincible, about our near and distant relatives, or about the trials and tribulations of their journeys during the India-Pakistan partition. I love these gatherings: the food, the family, the stories. But this wasn't always so. Like many Canadian kids of colour, I grew up ashamed of my 'brownness.' Being of South Asian heritage, it had always been a struggle to for me to find my place in the context of Canada. Of course, if you had asked me when I was in high school, I would have told you the opposite: that I was a happy, well-adjusted student. My actions, though, suggested something different. I was embarrassed by our food, I cringed at the thick accents of my parents' imperfect English, and most telling, I avoided associating with other South Asians. All this time, I couldn't see that I was fighting against myself. I didn't have the language or ability to recognize, let alone describe, the feelings of inferiority I struggled with. This went on from when I was very young through to my twenties. It wasn't until I started pursuing my Master's degree at York University that I started making the connections between my personal experiences and the bigger processes that were happening in Canadian society at large.