Kanishk in Year 9 wrote a semi-autobiographical blog in his English lesson last week. We thought it was a beautiful piece and wanted to share it in this week’s newsletter. You can read an extract from his work below.
“To those who don’t know, I’m Indian. I’ve lived in the country with the highest population, a land rich in culture, colour, and spice. But when I was just 11 years old, I moved to the UK—cold, unfamiliar, and overwhelming. I remember shivering from the bitter wind, clutching my coat tightly. Since then, I’ve only returned to India once—and that was for my uncle’s funeral. It wasn’t exactly the reunion I had hoped for.
This year, I decided to change that. I wanted to revisit the memories of my childhood, to try and rekindle the joy of living in India. So, after much thought, I booked a trip back home.
The Flight That Almost Made Me Regret It
I booked a ticket with Air India, hoping the national airline would give me a sense of comfort. Unfortunately, I was immediately reminded of why I had stopped flying with them. The seats were ridiculously cramped. I couldn’t even fit my small bag where I kept my laptop and phone. For 8 long hours, I sat there squeezed in, regretting every minute of it.
My journey started in Britain and landed in New Delhi. I had a long wait from 8pm to 2am before I could catch my next connection. If you’re considering this trip—here’s some friendly advice: choose your airline wisely.
Heat That Hugs Like Fire
If there’s one thing I had truly forgotten, it was how brutally hot India can be in the summer. I mean, hot. Temperatures soar to 43°C, and if you happen to be in places like Rajasthan, prepare yourself for a roasting 50°C. The sun doesn’t just shine there—it attacks you.
At one point, I was absolutely parched, desperately looking for water. Every step felt like it drained more energy from my body. I gave up eventually and nagged my mum until she gave in and bought a bottle. It was only 10 rupees—but at that moment, it felt priceless. You know, one thing you should know is India is cheap, very cheap. I can get 10 packets of chips or 3 ice creams for 100 rupees or 1 pound.
A Reunion of Roots
After the travel chaos and the relentless heat, I finally arrived at my family’s place. Walking into that familiar home—though now a little older, the paint chipped in places, and the walls collecting a thin layer of dust—was like stepping into a time machine. The smells hit me first: a mix of sandalwood incense, home-cooked spices, and something uniquely nostalgic that I still can’t quite name. Then came the sounds—the chatter from the kitchen, the hum of the ceiling fan, and the joyful voices of relatives I hadn’t seen in over two years. The memories flooded back.
Family in India is different. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, but above all, it’s deeply rooted in love and togetherness.
Within minutes of arriving, I was swarmed by hugs, cheek-pinches, and questions I could barely answer fast enough. “How tall you’ve grown!” “Do you eat properly in the UK?” “When will you get married?” – Yes, they really said that. Indians have this thing about marriage even from birth. I do understand but I’m 13 for god’s sake! Anyway there was no such thing as personal space, and strangely, I didn’t mind. Here, love isn’t reserved for quiet moments—it’s shouted across rooms, served on overflowing plates, and expressed in a thousand small, unspoken ways.
Cousins, aunties, uncles, grandparents—everyone gathered on mats or around the dining table, passing bowls of curry, tearing fresh roti, and catching up on years of stories. Even the smallest everyday moments—sipping chai on the terrace, sharing mangoes, or laughing over old family photos—felt significant.
Despite the years and distance, it was as if nothing had changed. The warmth was still there. The comfort. The feeling that no matter where life takes me, there will always be a place where I am simply known—and that place is home.”
