A week before Halloween this year, I found myself poring over recipes and scrolling through how-to videos of dishes from back home in India—some I hadn’t tasted in months or even years. It was the week of Durga Puja: an October festival celebrated with much pageantry in the state of West Bengal, where I was born. 

But as an immigrant in Canada who only ever went home during the two-week winter break from December to January, I hadn’t been there to celebrate the festival in half a decade.

This year, going home for even that short period of time in winter would be impossible due to pandemic-related travel restrictions, but I was determined to stroll down memory lane as much as COVID-19 regulations would allow.

I set about recreating some of those classic Durga Puja dishes—like luchi (a puffed, fried flatbread), begun bhaja (fried eggplant), and chingri malai curry (spiced shrimp coconut curry)—that could transport me back to Kolkata. 

On a conscious level, I knew I missed the cuisine. What I didn’t realize at that point was that, like many immigrants stuck away from their country of origin this year, I was trying to cook my way back home.

According to Dr. Krystine Batcho, a professor and psychologist who specializes in researching nostalgia at Le Moyne College in New York, this winter will be particularly difficult for those who can’t be with their loved ones, partly because of what the holidays have come to symbolize.

“The holidays have traditionally been the time that society allows people to take a bit of respite from their busy work schedules to reconnect with friends and relatives and to refresh relationships,” says Batcho.“The atmosphere of celebration associated with holidays makes people want to share the joyfulness with others. Celebrating alone can accentuate feelings of loneliness and sadness.” 

On what could be construed as the bright side, Batcho says immigrants who voluntarily moved to a different country already live apart from their loved ones for long stretches of time, and are therefore better equipped to emotionally cope with COVID-19 restrictions. “They have the motivation and resilience to delay gratification and to look forward to a brighter future,” she says.

But for many who come from countries in turmoil, the pandemic adds a heavy layer of stress and worry for what their families are going through back home.

Nazanin Moghadami has lived in Vancouver, B.C., for fifteen years and usually goes to visit her family in Iran during the winter holidays. 2020 has been particularly difficult for her relatives in Iran. The country started the year by accidentally shooting down a Ukrainian passenger flight and killing 176 people, eighty-two of whom were Iranian.

A little over a month later, COVID-19 locked down the world. Iran was hit particularly hard by the pandemic early on, with over 1,200 deaths attributed to the virus by mid-March. As a result, schools, universities and shrines were shut down, and a ban on cultural and religious gatherings was imposed. 

For Iranians, this meant the community couldn’t properly celebrate Nowruz, or the Persian New Year, which takes place in March. 

“First, it’s the pandemic, so the actual emotional and physical effects of it. But also … the economy is in chaos. Medical supplies are not available anymore,” says Moghadami. “Insulin is pretty hard to find; flu shots are almost impossible to find. COVID tests are very expensive. It’s been very, very difficult.”

She attributes these shortages and financial difficulties not to the pandemic alone, but mainly to sanctions imposed on Iran by United States President Donald Trump. These sanctions have instigated a paralysis of the country’s economy, weakening it in the fight against COVID-19.

“It’s been a very hard and isolating journey, and for those of us who have family back home, just seeing the impact on the economy and the disheartening [impact] on our people and relatives has been very difficult,” says Moghadami. “Everyone’s struggling, but there are certain things that make it very unique to the Iranian community.” 

There’s not much Moghadami can do to help her relatives in Iran, aside from using virtual platforms to stay connected as much as possible. To maintain ties to home, she says she has been planning ways to celebrate Shab-e Yalda, an Iranian cultural winter solstice festival during which friends and families gather, share food and poetry, and stay up together on December 21, the longest night of the year.

“I was telling my friends, I want to invite people to quarantine from two weeks before the solstice so that we can get together, and at least have a gathering of maybe four or five people,” says Moghadami. “If that doesn’t happen, I have a bubble with my friend and my mom … and maybe we can Zoom other family back home.”

The feast on Yaldā Night is a crucial aspect of the celebration—and the part Moghadami looks forward to the most this year. The celebration involves platters of dried fruits and nuts, like figs, raisins, hazelnuts, pistachios, and special sweets—like flaky baklava, cardamom-infused chickpea cookies called nan-e nokhodchi, and sugar-coated almonds called noghls—for everyone to snack on throughout the night.

But the most crucial ingredient is not easily found in Vancouver. “One of the biggest things in solstice is actually eating pomegranates, and it’s very expensive here,” says Moghadami, adding that one pomegranate costs as much as $5 in Vancouver.

On a traditional Yaldā Night, Iranians consume pomegranates on their own or find them featured in dishes like anar polow, pomegranate and rice infused with saffron and other spices, and masghati anar, a refreshing dessert that brings pomegranate seeds to the forefront.

Moghadami is ready to make the best of a bad situation. As with most celebrations, another important aspect of Shab-e Yalda is the physical act of gathering with friends and family.