Southall musings

London is sometimes portrayed as this huge cultural melting pot with everyone living side by side, tolerating if not always accepting of each other.  In parts this is true, but it also betrays just how segregated and separate different communities still are.   I live in West London, in a part perhaps well suited to me: 2 miles one way and I am in Richmond:  leafy, expensive, wealthy and overwhelmingly white. Here, on a sunny Sunday afternoon the riverbanks are filled with people sitting out drinking their pints of cold lager while cricketers play nearby on Richmond Green.  All the major chains vie for space: Giraffe, Gourmet Burger Kitchen, Petit Bateau, Gap, Space NK and so on. From my own cultural background (white, middle class) I should be at home here but despite its familiarity I feel out of place.  Instead, 2 miles the other way and I am in Hounslow – overtly much poorer with a busy Primark, Argos, Marks & Spencer discount outlet, KFC, pound shops, discount shoe stores and the Treaty Centre with its Wilkinsons and Debenhams. It is predominantly Asian, with an increasing minority of Somali and Polish.  This is not my culture and yet I feel more comfortable here while at the same time feeling an outsider. At one end of Hounslow High Street you can buy every kind of spice, halal meat, naan, Turkish bread, olives, fruit and vegetables in the local shops.  Drive past the Treaty Centre to Hounslow West and you go past the new large Quality Foods supermarket, stocking everything you would ever need for an Indian meal: dhal, chapati flour, basmati rice, spices, chillies, coriander, samosas, yoghurt etc. together with a stall selling pani puri, bhel puri and papri chaat to take away.  On this side of Hounslow you will also find the local gurdwara, Laxmi Narayan Hindu temple and Hounslow Jamia Masjid and Islamic Centre.

And then of course there is Southall.  In my 20s, I used to travel across London from Croydon or East London – where I was living at the time – to visit Southall, or ‘Little India’.  I just loved the clothes, the textiles, materials, spices, sweets and food shops.  It was so different to where I had been brought up and, deprived of such diverse cultural variation in my youth, I marvelled that such places existed in Britain at all.  But it wasn’t my culture, or at least not my culture of birth or upbringing, but my culture by adoption which is not obvious to those around me.  I was, and am (less so) conscious of being very much a minority walking down the Broadway there, passing very few – if any – other white people. Going back to my 20s, I also have memories of going there with my then boyfriend.  His family were Punjabi Sikh / Hindu and although all were educated, professional (he was a doctor), all the siblings seemed to occupy the uncertain space of second generation immigrants with one foot in Punjabi culture, the other in Western culture (though strictly speaking he was first generation, having spent his first 2 years in the Punjab).  Such was the way with our relationship about which, although lasting many years, he was never able to be up front with his family.  There is certainly a rich tale to be told there, and perhaps one day I will tell it.  For the moment, however, my memory is of his anxiety and nervousness about walking next to me (a gori) down the Broadway, for fear of recognition by some relative or family acquaintance who would then pass the news back to his family in Birmingham and cause all sorts of trouble for him.  And this was an educated man who in other areas of his life was capable, confident and commanded respect.  Yes I was young, naïve and overly accommodating.  Suffice to say I would never accept such treatment nowadays - I have changed and times have changed as well.

At times, during trips to Southall on my own, I have wondered whether I had been on the receiving end of discrimination, because of my whiteness and ‘outsider’ status in Southall.  Once I went into a well-known sweet shop to buy sweets.  I was the only one in the shop and there were 2 men behind the counter.  I waited patiently to be served, but each ignored my presence and carried on busying themselves in whatever they were caught up in doing.  It was obvious that I was there, and finally one of them turned to me and served me in a fairly ungracious manner.  As with all these things, in retrospect I wish I had said something, made a complaint – which I would do, now that I am older and (hopefully) wiser.  

Another time, I went to Southall with my son – then aged around 5 or 6.  He had decided he wanted a kurta pyjama to wear.   I have no idea where he got this idea from, except that he had many Asian friends at his school, who might have fostered this interest.  So, ever the accommodating parent, off we went to buy one.  Kurta pyjama duly purchased (amid slightly strange looks from the shop assistant), my son said he was hungry, so I found a nearby café with the hope that some fairly non-spicy food would be available for him.  We sat down and waited to be served, and waited, and waited.  People came in after us and were served – but we were not.  I wondered whether I should go up to the counter and order, but others had their orders taken at the table.  Now I was confused as to what the system was.  Finally another customer came to my rescue, who, seeing that we had been waiting a long time, took matters into her own hands and summoned a waiter to come and take our order – finally.  Again, I can only surmise as to what was going on – was it a genuine mistake, or deliberate?

On a slightly more light-hearted note: a couple of years ago Susen had asked whether I could get a box of sweets for his aunt and uncle in Birmingham – where we were due to visit on our way to Wales.    So, one morning I dutifully went to ‘Bikanervala’ in Southall, where I knew they sold sweets with the ‘silvery paper’ we both liked.  Completely forgetting, by this stage, that I was white – not Asian - I just began matter of factually pointing to which sweets I wanted in the mix, together with their (Hindi) names.  The person behind the counter obliged without question, but finally – bemused at this white, blonde gori knowing so much about Indian sweets – he asked whether they were for myself.  I said it was for a present – but then explained that my partner was Bengali, and they were for his aunt and uncle.  Some recognition! – and a smooth transaction afterwards.  How weird though – I had forgotten that I was white and blonde, and therefore strange in his eyes to be buying Indian sweets (OK Susen would say ‘Bengali sweets’ – and actually this was the sign in Bikanervala).

 

And so to our visit a couple of days ago.  We had a rare weekday off and decided to go for lunch at Giftos in Southall.  Thankfully Susen has no hang-ups or worries about walking down the Broadway with him – although we do attract some attention by passers-by.  In days gone by, with my ex-boyfriend, I really think I wanted to ‘belong’ somewhere, to a close-knit community that cared about you – in a way that I felt my family background did not.  But the other day, I walk down the Broadway and I have mixed feelings.  Yes, there is community, family, businesses, identity, support and shared experience.  But also, having read ‘Shamed’ by Sarbjit Kaur Athwal (a compelling read, I would recommend), I feel the claustrophobia and stifling nature of close-knit communities – quick to judge on those not adhering to accepted norms.  You appreciate why people like the anonymity and freedom of large urban cities.

As we walk down the Broadway, we stop off at a couple of DVD stalls – looking for both ‘Roja’ and ‘Bombay’, directed by Mani Ratnam.  Fortunately the Sikh stall keeper does not blink an eyelid at my Englishness, and unexpected knowledge of Bollywood.

Once seated in Giftos, we order almost exactly the same as we always do.  I people watch.  Next to us are seated a white elderly woman, an Asian man and a younger fair-skinned Asian-looking man.  I think what the connection might be.  I conclude: possibly an English woman married to an Indian / Pakistani man, together with their adult son.  She is older than most – perhaps a marriage in the 1960s when cross-cultural relationships were very much frowned on, but also a time when integration was more prevalent as the small minority Indian community was forced to interact with the predominant white, western culture.  Later, it was not so imperative as more wives and families joined their pioneering husbands over in the UK.

On leaving Giftos, walking back to the car, I am struck by the Muslim girls in shalwar kameez, dupatta and blazer just coming out of school.  Also the young girls – aged perhaps 7/8 – wearing hijabs – to my understanding, not a requirement of Islam - if ever - but certainly not before puberty.  In addition to the older woman in Giftos I see perhaps only 2 other white people on the street in the time we are there.

And back home to my Indian-English household.  Yesterday (halal) chicken tikka masala, dhal, rice and chapatis to eat.  Today beef stew with dumplings.  A snapshot of (non)-integrated London life.