Every time we have been to London there's been one issue that we have vehemently disagreed upon and most of the times yours sincerely managed to prevail. This time however, there was no escaping. Well what it is they say about giving in gracefully; I certainly didn't, not gracefully that is, but gave in I did. Sigh! the price of marital peace. You see the husband is proud of his Punjab heritage, he is equally proud of his Himachali heritage which, in brief makes him a Pahadi Punjabi.I know it's tempting to precede the epithet with another word beginning with 'P' that has connotations of mental equilibrium but one shall refrain from doing that, once again in the much needed interest or marital peace. But I can't help asking why would one go all the way from Delhi and be hell bent on visiting of all places, Southall. 

It began innocuously - we were meeting a family friend's son who had just completed his Masters and was chilling out till his lease ran out. We walked about, had a fab lunch at Mamagoto at Millbank; the daughter had a friend driving in to pick her up and she gleefully escaped. So the husband looks at the young man and says what's your plan because we have some other place to go to. The young man shows no hesitation in saying that he was going to Southall. While the husband barely refrained from doing a jig, I accepted that all the elements had conspired to give fulfill his wish. And before I could say excuse me please I found myself on a train hurtling to Southall. On record I've to declare that I've nothing against Southall per se, my only argument being that why waste a day going there when one could just go to Karol Bagh or Punjabi Bagh or Pitampura in Sada Dilli and savour the experience, after all it was was about the language and food wasn't it? Nahi ji, its different added the young man too so. Thus I found myself going in for a different experience with a Desi flavour. 

What tickled me pink on reaching Southall was the board at the railway platform that welcomes one to Southall in both English and Gurmukhi. Not just that, every board followed the formula, English and Gurmukhi. Incidentally, there was another cute example of what I call Punjabi chutzpah in the flight itself. There was a small group of slightly elderly people travelling in a group and they were seated on our left, quite a vociferous lot and it goes without saying in Punjabi. As the British Airways stewardess went through the regular drill of welcoming people on board, explaining the safety procedures etc, one of the lady remarked very loudly, "eh, how is she speaking English, can't understand a word." Imagine that in Punjabi with a derisive tone; it was as if the queen herself was saying it! 

As we walk into Southall, its a mixed bag of feelings. So familiar, yet a bit odd. At best I can describe it like an old classmate, someone sloppy, grungy, quite flabby, peculiar BO - get the picture- who suddenly zaps you in a newer, slimmer, spruced up, made-up avatar! The essence is the same, just the packaging is different. One moment you would go hey that store is straight out of Lajpat Nagar right down to the sequined, glittery mannequins and the next, you stop and say love the red brick facades, the row of houses beyond the markets reminding you that you are on foreign soil. One moment you feel happy as seeing so much people around following traffic rules and the next a blinding red car with the loudest music ever screeches by a full speed making you involuntarily take a step back even though you are at quite a safe distance and you can't help but say, ameer baap ka bigda munda. Schizophrenic maybe!   

 

The young man is insistent that he take us to this department store, it's huge he keeps on saying. We or rather I give in, it is indeed gigantic and every thing possible required for an Indian banquet is available, even vegetables one doesn't expect to see there but of course, much cheaper compared to the rates here. Hurmph! In winters when the Delhi cold can be bone biting, the fare at home includes quite a bit of makki ki roti with the ubiquitous sarson ka saag and makki ki roti with shakkar and hot ghee. The endless variety of shakkar stocked at the store had me quite upset, imagine one had to go to Southall to see that many kinds and so much on display. For one who covets certain kind of river fish it felt goo to see quite a few Bengal fish stores. The young man kept telling us that even buckets and pidis (bathing stools can be the translation!) in multi colours could be picked up, yes they sure could and quite like the stores in Delhi, quite a few of them encroached into the footpaths with their ware display.

 

The husband naturally was elated, it was as if some cherished wish had finally materialised. And more so, when it became evident the young man was in Southall because he wanted to eat certain dishes he had been craving for. It is another matter that we had gorged on a scrumptious oriental meal before heading for Southall. Dish number one was jalebis at a particular joint, ultra virulent bright orange number obviously artificially coloured to kingdom come, dripping chasni. The idea of popping in even a bit was unpalatable. A few more minutes of strolling around and then we were at K.O (Kebabish Original) with its proud slogan of The Thrill of the Grill.  The dish the young man was salivating at was chicken wings. The grill of course was in the open behind half length glass panes and the eatery was bathed with the smell of grilled meat and the smoke that emanated from the grills. By the way, the wings here were not the dainty little affairs but the whole damn piece of chicken cut off at the shoulder blades, in other words of monstrous size. Again orange coloured but less offensive and the pieces on a single plate were too many to be counted. Green salad, the Indian sub continent way but with green olives thrown in as concession to the European style and a humongous naan, big enough to fill up four bellies appeared and the young man and the husband rolled up their sleeves and ooh-ed and aah-ed all the way.

No amount of cajoling could make me go anywhere near it. I entertained myself by shamelessly watching the party at the next table, they looked like Afghans who seemed to be downing rounds and rounds of white milky tea, which I bet was saccharine sweet and breaking of chunks of cake, clearly store bought, from the opened packet placed at the centre of  the table. They talked among themselves and on the phone endlessly; when we left they were still at it.

From the Kebabs it was straight to the kulfi. The kulfis, the young man kept on intoning, were delicious beyond description, they were so creamy, so melt in the mouth and had very little sugar factor. The kulfis were being sold by, what we call a reriwalla in Delhi, a giant metal ice box like container on wheels. By the young man was beginning to despair, it seemed that despite his best efforts, there was nothing that seemed to appeal to my palate. No amount of explaining that the heavy lunch was still snoozing inside didn't work. Finally feeling a little foolish at seeming to appear so churlish I agreed to be towed to what he said was the best samosa place. Samosas are not my cup of tea but when he mentioned chaat, I yielded full length, chaats are my undoing especially the papri chaat. So it was to Delhi Wala, pure vegetarian restaurant. The samosa was indeed good, piping hot, crispy shell which was more like a pastry shell and stuffed with a spicy potato-pea filling. Thankfully the size was small and the tart-sweet tamarind sauce accompanying was good too.  Unfortunately, the chaat was a real disappointment, total let down- clumpy, insipid, badly seasoned with the curd really watery. Interestingly, the lady doing the serving would switch from propah Brit accented English to solid Desi Punjab claimed they served the best masala chai, something that immediately pepped up the husband and the young man. Again Masala chai is not my cup of tea, not at all. Seeing the way milk clouded tea were  being served around, I asked for a tea bag and hot water, something our lady didn't like at all and made it clear. Too bad, I was the one having the tea not you.
   

 

All along the young man has been talking about The Guru Singh Sabha Gurdwara, which he maintains is the biggest in Asia. When it becomes obvious that we cannot leave Southall with viewing it, we walk towards it. It is huge indeed and I believe the young man when he says the parking below is several floors.By now I am more than eager to leave but no, there's more walking around to be done. Then comes a sight that makes me smile and feel so much at home, there's a group of elderly turbanned gentlemen sitting on the benches on the footpath having gup-shup and chai. To me it a 'aw' moment, imagine being so far away from home and yet keeping the old way of life going. Now that is my kind of Southall.