My husband, baby boy, and I came to Toronto, Canada from India via London with two suitcases in 1988. We started off living in a little rental property. We managed to get a mattress from someone my husband knew. Someone else was kind enough to give us four plates, some cutlery, and two pans. I took care of our son while my husband looked for work. After about six stressful months, he got a job at the Royal Bank of Canada.

Soon after we arrived, I came across a store called Roots. It really spoke to me because we were rooting ourselves in Canada, establishing this new Canadian life. But because we were new immigrants -- and soon after we arrived, we had another child -- we couldn’t afford it. Over the years, I’d occasionally receive a Roots gift card but I’d always pass it along to my children, maybe even slip it under the Christmas tree for them. They would be so excited. But I wouldn’t buy anything for myself.

Soon after we arrived, I came across a store called Roots. It really spoke to me because we were rooting ourselves in Canada, establishing this new Canadian life. But because we were new immigrants -- and soon after we arrived, we had another child -- we couldn’t afford it. Over the years, I’d occasionally receive a Roots

gift card but I’d always pass it along to my children, maybe even slip it under the Christmas tree for them. They would be so excited. But I wouldn’t buy anything for myself.

Two years ago, I was flying to India to visit my mother. Things had changed, knock on wood, all for the better. My husband had worked his way up and retired from RBC after 30 years. My children were grown up. I was traveling business class. It was a 17-hour flight and I wanted to wear something stylish and comfortable. I went to Roots and bought myself this outfit. I was like, finally it’s not going to be for the kids. It’s going to be for me.

Before the flight, I went into the airport lounge and drank champagne. I took lots of selfies and sent them to my family.