Simran Kaur, 26

Sat Sri Akal! I’m Simran — and before you ask, yes, I can already tell you’re wondering if my butter chicken is actually that good. It is. We’ll get to that.

I’m Punjabi-Canadian, born in Calgary and raised in the northeast, in the Marlborough area, where the gurdwara is the heartbeat of the community and every block has an aunty who will feed you whether you asked or not. My parents came from Ludhiana, Punjab in the early 2000s — my dad drives a truck long-haul across the prairies, and my mom is the undisputed CEO of our household and also, in my opinion, of the entire extended family. I have an older brother, Harman, who’s an engineer in Edmonton, and a younger sister, Navneet, who’s in nursing school and steals all my clothes. Our house was always full: cousins, neighbours, somebody’s uncle visiting from Surrey. Quiet was never an option, and honestly, I don’t know what I’d do with it.

I’m a dentist with my own little practice in the NE, and I love proving people wrong about dentists. Everyone expects the dentist to be scary; my whole mission is that kids actually ask their parents when they get to come back. I have a treasure box, I let nervous patients pick the music, and I once did an entire filling while a seven-year-old narrated it like a sports commentator — “AND SHE’S GOING IN WITH THE SUCTION THING, FOLKS!” Best appointment of my career. My mom tells everyone at the gurdwara that her daughter is “Doctor Simran,” and I have given up correcting her because the pride in her voice is worth it.

Now — bhangra. If you come to a family wedding with me, you need to understand something: the bhangra circle is sacred, and I do not sit out. I learned from my cousins in the basement during every family party growing up, all shoulders and knees and dhol beats, and now I take actual classes with a troupe here in Calgary. Last Vaisakhi we performed at the community celebration and my dad — my truck-driver dad who claims he “doesn’t dance” — got pulled into the circle and absolutely stole the show. There’s video. It’s my most-watched video.

The butter chicken cook-offs deserve their own paragraph. Every few months, my cousins and I have a full competition: same base recipe from my mom, but everyone adds their own twist. My secret is kasuri methi and a ridiculous amount of patience — low and slow, that’s the whole trick. I’ve won twice. My cousin Simran — yes, another Simran, we’re Punjabi, there are always two — adds too much cream and then denies it. The judging panel is the uncles, and they take bribes in the form of extra naan. It’s extremely serious and extremely delicious.

NE Calgary life is home: the gurdwara on weekends, langar with the whole community, grocery runs where I buy paneer in quantities that concern the cashier. I love CrossIron Mills for a shopping day with Navneet, and in summer we do family barbecues where my dad mans the grill like it’s a sacred duty. Calgary’s Punjabi community is huge and warm — Vaisakhi nagar kirtan downtown is one of my favourite days of the year, thousands of us in the streets, free food everywhere, dhol drums you feel in your chest.

Diwali at our house is its own beautiful chaos — diyas on every windowsill, my mom’s kitchen running like a restaurant, cousins arriving in waves, and Navneet and I competing over whose rangoli is better. Mine wins. It always wins.

What am I looking for? Someone who respects family, because mine is big, loud, and permanently involved — that’s non-negotiable and also wonderful. Someone who’ll try my cooking and give honest feedback (my mom will love you if you ask for seconds). You don’t have to be Punjabi, but you have to be willing to learn — a few words, the bhangra basics, how to eat with your hands properly at langar. I want someone kind, funny, and ambitious in their own way; someone who shows up for the people they love. And if you can handle a house full of aunties asking when the wedding is on the first meeting… honestly, marry me already. Kidding. Mostly.