A Few Days Around Ruby’s Home in Ludhiana

Some trips are remembered by the big landmarks. Others stay with you because of the little things that happened in between.

Our time in Ludhiana in 2024 was mostly the second kind.

We were staying with Ruby’s family, moving through familiar streets, eating whatever appeared in front of us, meeting people near the house, getting dressed up for a wedding, and collecting the kind of random photographs that do not feel important until much later.

A wedding night in Ludhiana

Our first evening in Ludhiana did not exactly begin gently.

Ruby and I had just finished a very long journey from the United States to New Delhi and then continued by car to Ludhiana. Thankfully, we had a driver for that last stretch, because by the time we reached Ruby’s dad’s house, both of us were running on fumes.

We barely had time to take in the fact that we had finally arrived before we crashed and slept for a few hours.

When we woke up, Ruby’s dad casually informed us that we were going to a wedding reception that night.

Of course we were. Still jet-lagged, half awake, and only a few hours into being in Punjab. 😂

The actual wedding ceremony had taken place earlier, while we were still somewhere between countries, so we had missed that part. But the reception was that evening, and apparently sleep was no longer part of the plan.

Ruby and I pulled together whatever Indian outfits we had packed, got dressed, and headed out.

From the outside, the venue already looked enormous. But the real moment of awe came when we walked through the entrance.

It felt as if we had stepped into a Maharaja’s palace.

The entire place was glowing with color, lights, fabrics, flowers, and elaborate decorations. Everywhere we looked, something else was competing for our attention. Servers moved through the crowd with trays of drinks and appetizers, while deeper inside the reception hall were beautifully decorated food stalls offering dishes from different regions and cuisines, along with plenty of traditional Indian food.

And this is where Punjab officially won me over through my stomach.

That night was the first time I ever had authentic sarson da saag (mustard greens curry) with makki di roti (cornmeal flatbread).

The video captured my reaction better than any still photo could. My face basically says, “I have died and gone to heaven.” As a lifelong foodie, I do not think I could have hidden that expression if I tried.

But the food was only one part of what made the evening memorable.

During the reception, Ruby’s dad began introducing me to members of his side of the family for the very first time — not simply as some guy traveling with Ruby, but as Ruby’s husband.

That hit me in a way I was not expecting.

Normally Ruby is the one introducing me to people in her life. But here I was in Punjab, standing beside my father-in-law, a man I had only met in person a few hours earlier, while he introduced me to relatives who were suddenly part of my family too.

For a moment it felt strange. Then it felt incredibly warm.

There was something quietly powerful about realizing that these were no longer just “Ruby’s relatives.” These were people connected to my life now as well.

The rest of the evening became exactly what a good Punjabi celebration should be: eating, drinking, meeting people, laughing, dancing, and occasionally forgetting how exhausted we actually were.

Eventually the jet lag caught up with us. Our internal batteries were completely empty, so we made our way back to the house and called it a night.

The next morning, life slowed down considerably.

Breakfast on the terrace, then life came to us

Some of our favorite memories did not require going anywhere at all.

That morning, Ruby, her dad and I were sitting on the terrace having a homemade breakfast of mooli de paranthe (radish-stuffed flatbreads) and our favorite masala chai (spiced tea). It was one of those simple mornings that felt completely ordinary while we were living it and much more meaningful later.

The breakfast had been made by Sumitra, a gentle woman who has been helping Ruby’s dad at home for quite some time. In India, having household help for cooking and daily chores is far more common than what Ruby and I are used to in America. Sumitra would come in the morning and prepare meals for him throughout the day.

Over the years, the relationship had grown beyond simply employer and employee. Ruby’s dad, who is a physician, had helped Sumitra and her family when they needed it, including with school fees for her children and medical care. That kind of long-term, personal connection was another reminder that daily life in India often runs on relationships in ways that can feel very different from life back home.

While we were eating, we noticed a woman approaching the house from the street with a cow and cart. We came downstairs because we wanted to meet the cow, pet it, and simply spend a few minutes with her.

She was asking people nearby for help so she could continue buying food for the animal.

We could tell the woman was dealing with physical pain. She needed a cane to walk, and every step looked difficult. But what stayed with us was how much stronger her concern for the cow seemed to be than her own discomfort. She kept moving because the animal depended on her.

That was exactly the kind of experience we had hoped to find in India — not something staged for tourists, but a natural, raw connection with people whose lives happened to cross ours for a few minutes.

While we were standing there, a small group of traveling Shiva bhakts (devotees of Shiva) came walking down the street wearing distinctive head coverings. They stopped, spoke with us, and immediately showed the same kindness to the woman. One of them offered her a homemade electrolyte drink so she could regain some energy.

They were warm and generous with us too. They agreed to pose for photos, and before continuing on their way, they recited a few mantras and offered blessings for Ruby, me, and our journey.

In moments like that, giving a small donation felt less like a transaction and more like taking part in the exchange. We gave something to both the Shiva bhakts and the woman with her cow, and they gave us something in return that was harder to measure: a memory of compassion, faith, and connection that we still talk about.

None of it was planned as “travel content.” We were not trying to build an itinerary or collect a checklist of things to see. We were simply standing outside Ruby’s family home when ordinary life opened a door and invited us in.

That is probably why those pictures mean so much more to us now.

The miscellaneous bits are usually the good bits

Then there are the photographs that do not fit neatly into a category.

A stop for fuel. A dosa that looked good enough to photograph before we attacked it. Small moments that would have been easy to forget if we had not taken a picture.

On their own, none of those moments would justify some grand travel story. Together, though, they are what the trip actually felt like.

Travel is rarely just monuments and attractions. Most of it is driving somewhere, waiting for someone, deciding what to eat, getting dressed, talking to family, noticing something outside the window, and laughing about something that would make no sense to anyone who was not there.

That is the version we want to remember.

Ludhiana without the travel brochure

This was not our attempt to explain Ludhiana or tell anyone what they absolutely have to see.

It was simply a few days around Ruby’s home and family, seen through whatever pieces we happened to photograph.

A wedding. A street. A meal. A cow cart. A few strangers who became part of the memory for a minute.

Years from now, those may be the pictures we care about most.

Not because they show the biggest things.

Because they show what being there actually felt like.