So I arrive at this hotel in Toronto (am parking my car here and leaving for London in an hour) and the woman at the reception is lovely. She has long shiny hair, the kind Bollywood actresses like to flaunt, and while I’m filling out some paperwork she steps aside and starts talking to her colleague in Punjabi. I ask about a good kebab place and she smiles. I end up at Kandahar Kebab. The young woman who takes my order asks me if I’m a student (ok, that pretty much made my day). I tell her I’m a filmmaker. She inquires about my work and ends the conversation with a warm “mashallah”. The kofta kebabs and tandoori naan are to die for. I dispatch them with fervor. I can’t help but think how I could totally live here.