A note before you read — I wrote this in March 2021, four years after leaving Sydney, sitting in Bangalore and missing it more than I had expected to. Some cities get under your skin without asking permission. Sydney was one of those.
It has been four years since I moved back to India and I miss my time in Sydney every single day. Not for one reason — for numerous ones. Where do I even begin?
For the cafephile in me, let us start with the coffee.
Sydney taught me that coffee tastes its best without sugar. The aroma alone was enough — rich, unhurried, everywhere. There are cafes around every corner in Sydney and each one has its own blend, its own personality. My choice was Vittoria coffee, quite common there but genuinely wonderful. I need a cappuccino right now just thinking about it. Sydney, I miss you already.
The place where we lived was Homebush — a suburb in Inner West Sydney, not too far from the city by train. We were lucky. That suburb was full of food — Indian, Turkish, Sri Lankan, Asian, Italian, everything. There was even a vegetable market called David’s just across the road. We never had to worry about takeaways or cooking breaks.
There was one place in particular. An Asian restaurant called Homebush Wok Inn, and we were regulars. If I ever wanted to dine out, this was the place I always chose. I am vegetarian, so I would quietly ask if they could make a vegan version of the noodle dish — and they always did, kindly and without fuss. A wok full of vegetables and tofu, noodles or rice, a sauce of my choosing. Simple. Inexpensive. Guilt-free. And completely delicious.
Since returning to India, I have craved that meal more times than I can count — especially during my pregnancy, when I wanted it desperately and had no way of getting it. There is an old belief that if you craved something during pregnancy and could not have it, the baby drools as a newborn. My little one drooled a lot. I laughed every time I remembered why.
My husband always tried to convince me to explore other restaurants. I almost never agreed. Some meals are worth being a stickler about.
I vaguely remember the day we landed in Sydney. Our hotel was in Newtown and I knew nothing about the place then. The street art. The beautiful Victorian buildings. The hip bars and thrift stores. Enmore Theatre. King Street. I was completely mesmerised by the liveliness of it — the sense that this street had been going on for a long time before we arrived and would go on long after. We found a little breakfast corner just across the station called Cafe Newtown, and we went back to Newtown again and again, just to relive the feeling of that first day.
The Australians themselves were part of what I loved. Affable, forthright, genuinely warm. One of those rare places where people do not suppress a compliment — if your work is good, they say so. If you look well, they tell you. They greet with a smile and a G’day — not necessarily to strangers, but once people in your suburb begin recognising you, they nod, they wave, they say good morning as you pass. It sounds like a small thing. It is not a small thing at all.
I fell in love with the Aussie accent too — the language, the slang, the colour they bring to everyday speech. I am sorry, America, but my heart belongs to the Australian accent. There is always an element of humour tucked inside it, a lexicon entirely their own. I have not travelled widely enough to say this with authority, but I have never heard anything quite like it elsewhere.
And here is the thing that surprised me most — at work in Sydney, I was told I had a soft, calm and peaceful voice. I had always thought my voice was quite ordinary, perhaps even a little rough. Being told otherwise, in that particular place, by those particular people, did something to my confidence. I still think about it.
Coming from the humid, relentless heat of India to a city with four proper seasons was a revelation. Summer was the only season that did not agree with my skin — but autumn, winter, spring. I always looked forward to Vivid Sydney in winter most of all — the city lit up with light installations across the harbour, colour everywhere. I wanted to volunteer for Vivid Sydney one year and never quite got around to it. That is the small regret I carry from those years.
There are more reasons — too many to list here, too personal to fully explain. Some of them live in sensory memories: the smell of coffee on a cold morning, the crunch of a particular street underfoot, the sound of a suburb waking up.
This city will always be close to my heart.
Sydney, I miss you. And I love you.