I think anyone that has ever been to India has had that feeling. The feeling of desperately trying to find anything that feels like home. No Maggie ketchup for me. Just Heinz please.

But this trip has turned out to be so much more than trying to find ketchup.

India has always been captivating. To see where our ancestors were raised, the stories, the roots. There's something so beautiful about being recognized as my dads daughter. Biloo's daughter I am. Biloo from Farola, district Jalandhar.

This time came the pind of Rupowal and with it came a new recognition. "The Sikhams daughter in law." The pind was always bustling; the local kids practicing soccer, village girls giggling at Varis, the women gossiping and the cups of tea. Thats when it hit me. I wasn't just visiting, This was my pind, These were my people. I even have a family home down the alley. I had become a part of this new legacy.

Whether it's my dad's daughter or the Sikhams daughter in law, I'm happy with not being known by my own first name here. Somewhere between Biloo and the Sikhams I created my own little family, with its own vibe and its own happiness.

So there I was, at the corner store, next to the local dhaba searching for ketchup that tasted like home, but then I actually found home.

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