First Trip Abroad: Veggie Ventures and The Subway Spectrum in canada

“Ka-nedda,” that’s how most aspirants from Punjab who dream of settling in Canada pronounce it.

A few months into my first job, I was asked to visit a client in Canada. It would be my first trip abroad, and I had never felt worthy enough to fly in a plane, let alone go overseas, so I had never applied for a passport.

“What a missed opportunity to indulge in the free expensive scotch they serve on international flights!” I lamented.

Those were the days when getting a passport took two months at best. Determined not to miss another opportunity, I immediately applied for a tatkal passport. Two months later, I finally had my passport, just in time for another travel opportunity.

The Postman’s Dollar Dream

“What saab! This is your passport. You’re going to a foreign country to make dollars, and you’re only tipping me 100 rupees?” the postman taunted as I handed him a 100 rupee note for passport delivery.

For some inexplicable reason, postmen seemed to have a built-in algorithm that converted the mere possession of a passport into visions of dollar signs dancing in their heads. They felt entitled to a cut from the entire passport-foreign-travel deal, as if it were some kind of birthright.

But who could blame him? The moment I laid eyes on my fresh passport, happiness flooded in so strongly that I didn’t think twice about slipping an extra 100-rupee note to the postman.

Shortly after, my passport was graced with the Canadian visa—a glossy stamp that not only reflected light but also added a touch of bling to the entire document. Paired with traveler’s checks worth 1100 Canadian dollars and a Korean Airways flight ticket, I was soon soaring across the oceans, accompanied by my two other colleagues, Hemant and Chandan.

The client had already arranged accommodation for us upon our landing in Vancouver. I was assigned a two-bedroom apartment that bore a striking resemblance to a haunted house—a delightful coincidence for someone with a phobia of ghosts. Meanwhile, Hemant and Chandan were comfortably settled into a luxury duplex in a high-rise building

Hemant and Chandan had come to Vancouver prepared, practically setting up mini-Indian grocery stores in their suitcases. Hemant’s bag was brimming with pulses and beans, while Chandan’s was filled with enough rice and cup noodles to feed a small army. I, on the other hand, arrived with an empty bag, completely unprepared for the culinary challenges ahead. While they cooked up and enjoyed hearty Indian meals every evening, I found myself regretting my bowl of milk and cereal, occasionally treating myself to chocolates when I couldn’t bear the monotony.

The Quest for Vegetarian Food

Eventually, I reached my breaking point and decided to take action. “Is there a vegetarian restaurant nearby?” I asked Ryan, my Canadian colleague, one morning in the office.

“Sure, there’s a Subway around the corner. They have veggie sandwiches,” he replied.

Back then, Subway was an alien concept to most people in India, including myself. But when you’re a vegetarian Hindu in a foreign land, anything with “veggie” on the menu feels like a godsend. I was ecstatic at the thought of enjoying warm vegetarian food that evening.

Veggie Ventures: The Subway Spectrum

I made my way to the Subway my colleague had mentioned, eagerly awaiting my turn in line while scanning the menu for vegetarian options. By the time I reached the counter, I had already zeroed in on the only choice with the word “Veggie”—a Veggie Delight sandwich.

“How may I help you, Sir?” the lady behind the counter asked.

“I’d like a Veggie Delight sandwich, please,” I replied.

“Sure. And what would you like in your sandwich?” she asked, gesturing toward the colorful array of vegetables and cheese.

I wasn’t quite prepared for this. It took me a moment to realize I had to pick and choose my ingredients.

“Um… I’ll have spinach, tomato, lettuce, and… capsicum!” I said, pointing to each ingredient in turn.

“Capsi… what?” she seemed confused.

Thinking she hadn’t heard me properly, I raised my voice and repeated, “Capsicum… capsicum.”

“We don’t have that, Sir!” she replied, still looking puzzled.

Now it was my turn to be confused. I could clearly see capsicum slices in one of the containers, so why was she saying they didn’t have it? I wondered if the misunderstanding was due to my Indian accent.

“Of course you do! It’s right here… this one!” I pointed to the capsicum again.

“Well, Sir,” she said, picking up the capsicum slices, “that’s green pepper.”

I was baffled. The pepper I knew was black and round, nothing like the vegetable I was pointing at. Despite my efforts to play along, I had failed miserably. I felt embarrassed for a moment, but then I quickly brushed it off. Different land, different lingo, I told myself.