Where there’s Tamil food
In between lockdowns – I don’t remember which –
I finally notice Shakthi Vel temple. Specifically
the signage above the UPVC door: the Tamil
symbol for aum in bright red Word Art. Wait
no. It’s the smell that gets me first. Without a doubt
my nose picks up just-cooked Basmati rice, katharikai
and parappu. I think of mum. And my dad.
I’d relished the paradox of freedom in lockdown –
home was Green Lanes not Watford or Jaffna.
Except here was Shakthi Vel with it’s temple food
smelling of home home. Smelling of Watford
Murugan temple, of Nallur Sivan temple
and I’m six again. Stood on the women’s side
of the prayer hall beside Lord Ganesha
chanting Vakrathunda. Our priest rings
a brass bell and I cover my ears which is
I’m told extremely disrespectful when god
is being called. But what I’m waiting for is
post-prayer time in the food hall. Where the floor
is lava and desert is mandatory since it’s blessed by
Gayathiri Kamalakanthan
god. That’s when Green Lanes becomes both
a portal, home. Inside Shakthi Vel an aunty
serves me dinner. After 10 months I eat her
food I didn’t know I missed. Before I leave
she fills boxes for my freezer, portu vaango ma.
It’s that way family never say goodbye. I send
photos of my meal and the building
to mum. She’s relieved
there’s a place so close to home
where my Tamil tongue
is kept alive.
Gayathiri Kamalakanthan
