Sugar and Spice and Saris

I had been on the tube for longer than I thought was possible.

Looking at the London Underground map distances mean nothing, such is its topological genius. On familiar stretches e.g. the hop, step and jump between Leicester Square and Covent Garden, the time between stops is miniscule, such that it hardly seems seems worthwhile riding the never-ending escalator down to the Piccadilly line (indeed on busy days, it is actually more efficient to walk between the two landmarks). However, toward the outer edges of the map the distances elongate and a tube ride is upgraded to a journey.

Emerging from the underground tunnels that secretly traverse the heart of London, the tube becomes a denizen of light. Its smooth, aerodynamic form slips along overground tracks like an earthworm exposed, snaking past football fields and terraced houses.

I had started my journey in the halogen-lit confines of North Greenwich tube station, thus to find myself staring out at winter skies from Chiswick Park station, was disorientating to say the least. And still my journey went on taking another 10 minutes, an aeon on the tube, to reach my desired stop at Alperton.

Mention Alperton to any person of Southeast Asian origin and they will instantly know what that signifies. In the same bracket as Southall or Wembley, Alperton is an Asian enclave in London, an ersatz India for all those who miss the motherland or need some pukka goods.

The Asian association was evident the moment I stepped off the tube into the contradictory open-aired “Underground” station when I finally reached my destination. A smell of spices wafted along the platform, an aroma familiar to me from the “curry” cupboard at home, where odd shaped kernels and powders lay in repurposed Schwartz jars, ready to be used in the magic meals my mother made on the stove. With warm memories bringing a spring to my step I tapped out at the barriers and headed to the town centre to meet my family.

The roads leading to the main shopping strip were another throwback to my childhood. In such semi-detached houses family friends lived and as I passed other pedestrians, all invariably Asian, they could easily have passed for aunties and uncles that I knew. The feeling of kinship was striking, all the more so for seeing my own family, finally assembled together after two years apart.

It is hard to believe that I have not seen my sister in two years, her move to Australia being mitigated by frequent weekend Facetimes. Apart from the restrictions imposed by the 11 hour time difference I thought I hardly felt the distance as I was speaking to her more regularly than I did when she was living a mere 60 miles from me. But seeing her again and hugging her brought the separation into stark relief. I had missed her.

In amongst the glitter of a sari shop my sister and I joked as my mother surveyed the fabrics, looking for something special, something wedding-worthy. The shop assistants, who were without exception bored teenage girls in salwar kameez, padded bare-foot on mattresses, bringing down sari after sari to display at our behest. The saris lay stacked from floor to ceiling displaying only a two-inch thick wedge of their material and from this we had to decide whether it was worth unravelling. Little wonder the assistants were irritated at our presence as no sooner had they unfolded the six meters of material, than we dismissed it with the fickleness of the paying customer.

Suffering from a lack of inspiration the newly reuinted Kariyawasams decided it was time for another classic Alperton tradition - we went for a meal.

Going to an Indian restaurant in Alperton is like having a pastrami sandwich in New York; there is nothing more authentic unless it is home-cooking. Even then, my parents, who can both cook wondrous Sri Lankan dishes, anticipate a genuine Asian meal. They do not visit Indian restaurants unless they are in such areas like Alperton or Southall. My parents are connoisseurs and this exclusive attitude is at odds with the places they visit. Although they may look unprepossessing to the outsider, the restaurants of Alperton serve some of the best Asian food in the whole of London.

On this occasion we visited Fudam, a spangle-filled Indian restaurant with Bollywood actors plastered on the walls. Ordering favourites like chicken biryani and lamb rogan josh, the dishes came perfectly spiced and delectable. Buttery naan accompanied the basmati and it was exceptional fare worthy of a family reunion. With bellies full we braced against the cold once again, bolstered by a sneaky nibble of syrup-soaked jalebi from the Ambala sweet store.

Just as we were beginning to fear not all Bombay Dreams come true and that my mother would come away from Alperton empty handed we spotted another sari store situated away from the main drag. There was something about the RCKC Asian couture shop that overcame the burrow-seeking desire that accompanies a heavy meal, thus instead of waddling back to the car we took one last chance at sari shopping.

As soon as we entered the store there was something different about it. The saris in the storefront display were unlike those we had seen before. Instead of the current trend of heavy stonework these saris were delicate and sumptuously embroidered. For all their finery , however, it was not the wares that convinced us, it was the vendor.

Vandana was as different to the previous slack-jawed shops assistants as the gorgeous saris in RCKC were to the nondescript patterns we had seen before. Vandana, an elegant lady in a long black cardigan, welcomed us in to the store with a manner of gentle confidence and command, something that usually only comes with years of experience. She knew how to charm a customer and sell clothes. She was so good at this that she had transcended the label of salesperson, she was actually a maestro.

“Come round to the back, let me show you something special,” she said, giving us the feeling of exclusivity. No doubt she says that to every client but such was her skills of persuasion that we felt it to be true. And indeed it was. Reaching to the fabrics behind her she brought out the most stunning materials, explaining in detail the craftsmanship behind each piece. These were no outfits, these were works of art.

Convinced by the quality and moreover by Vandana we left with a sari befitting the mother-of-the-bride. As we walked out into the cold Christmas air faces that could be friends smiled back at us. Surrounded by familiarity and family, I finally felt like I was home.

With special thanks to Vandana at RCKC, Alperton.

A family reunited