2000
Door No. 2108, Rivendell Way, Edison, USA
For over two years, this was home. Even after we moved to Wayne, we found ourselves returning—drawn by memories that lingered in the quiet corners and familiar streets.
Late at night, as we drove down Rivendell Way, one window always remained lit. Inside, a young engineer—our friend—worked deep into the night, quietly solving problems and offering tech support to clients around the world. I used to joke as we passed his door, unaware of the depth of his drive.
In June 2000, we met again at a birthday party in Edison.
“I’ve got a Canadian visa,” he said, his eyes lit with excitement. “Multiple entries. Planning a Niagara trip next month—you should come.”
As it happened, I’d been dreaming of the falls myself. Call it coincidence—or something more.
On June 28th, I stood in the Canadian Consulate in New York City, passport in hand. By afternoon, I had my one-month visa. Multiple entries. Adventure approved.
July 1st, 2000 — Canada Day.
We left at dawn. The rental car whispered along empty highways, the horizon wide and promising. His family had packed homemade idlis and chutney. At a roadside picnic table, we feasted, the soft morning breeze mingling with the warmth of familiar flavors.
Niagara greeted us with its presence before we saw it. A low, distant thunder. A rising mist like breath held in suspense. Then it appeared—sudden, majestic, cascading like time itself. The falls roared, sunlight scattering through the spray like shattered glass.
We began with a helicopter ride.
As the rotors lifted us above the earth, the world below collapsed into color and movement—the winding blue ribbon of the Niagara River, the raw white fury of the falls, and the quilt of trees stretching to the horizon. My wife clutched my arm. Her gasp was lost to the wind.
Next came the Rainbow Bridge. We walked across, the falls at our side, our passports stamped in motion. That night, fireworks exploded over the water. Canada’s birthday. The sky bloomed in color and light, each burst mirrored in the mist below.
Toronto greeted us around 10 p.m. Our friend Namachi opened his door with a grin wider than the city skyline.
The CN Tower & The Maid’s Whisper
Morning found us at the summit of Toronto—the CN Tower. We stood 1,815 feet above the city, looking down through glass floors at ant-sized cars and toy-like buildings. My knees trembled; my wife laughed, steady as ever.
Back in Niagara, we wandered the American side—Prospect Point Park, where the Bridal Veil Falls whispered their descent onto rocks worn by centuries.
Then, the Maid of the Mist.
Clad in crinkling blue ponchos, we stepped aboard. The boat surged forward, the engine growling against the river’s will. As we neared Horseshoe Falls, the air thickened, the roar grew deafening. Mist enveloped us. We were drenched in seconds—laughing, blinking, breathless. My wife’s laughter rang out, joy cutting through the storm.
It felt like a baptism—wild, cleansing, unforgettable.
The Man Behind the Journey
Through it all, I watched him—Murugavel Janakiraman.
The man who worked through the night. The friend who invited us along. The visionary who would go on to build BharatMatrimony.com.
Even then, he stood apart. While we marveled at the views, he observed the people. While we spoke of waterfalls, he spoke of connection—of technology as a bridge between hearts.
Today, his platform is the undisputed leader in Indian matrimony—an empire of quiet hope. And yet, he remains unchanged. Grounded. Thoughtful. A CEO who still responds to emails at midnight, not out of duty, but care.
A son of India. A builder of dreams.
And on that Canada Day, as fireworks shimmered in his glasses, he was simply—
a friend who loved waterfalls.