Indians have always had a special place in their hearts for London – capital city of the country with which their lives had been interlinked for centuries. From the clouds of imagination to the reality on the ground, what does it mean to actually live in this famous city?
Living in London – whatever does that mean to my fellow countrymen in India? Do you see me in white walking around an idyllic English garden with roses and ivy climbing up the stone wall? Or do you see me haunting Harrods and Oxford Street weighed down with packages wondering which cuisine to have for dinner? Or even eating langar in the Southall Gurudwara after having shopped for spices and Indian sweets? Life in London is all of this and much more and I would so like to take you through my experiences of learning to live in London.
Searching for roots
One cold crisp morning I set off looking for a nursery where I could buy plants.
The flower bed in my back patio was beginning to irk me with its black loamy soil bare of any plants. There were two creepers though, one with pretty little red berries that the fat English pigeons liked to eat, and the other was an enormous mass of nameless dark green leaves that grew wild all over the trellis with the tendrils now threatening to take over the entire back wall. I had no idea what it was. Perhaps I should pull it out and plant something that would flower I thought. So off I went looking for a nursery.
The nursery near the canals of Little Venice in London’s tranquil area, home to waterside cafes and pubs, was a wonder.
Priceless plant
I was instinctively drawn to a Chinese orange plant, with four gorgeous tiny oranges and a price tag of two hundred pounds. Yes, two hundred pounds, and I bought it! For those not appreciating the folly of my purchase, two hundred pounds is twenty thousand Indian rupees! But I couldn’t resist it.
I knew I was going to plant it at the small side gate. But first I had to pull out the nameless plant that was already growing there and without a clue about what was coming, I got down on my haunches and began to pull out the poor existing plant. And dear reader, so unused was I to physical activity that at the end of all that digging and pulling the deep roots, my arms and legs were screaming in pain, but I was ecstatic that I succeeded.
Handful of sun
I patted down the soil around the newly planted orange plant and turned my attention to planting the rose creeper. “You do realise that’s the north wall?” came my Welsh neighbour’s voice. “This wall will never get any sunshine.”
“No sunshine?” I was aghast. “Let’s just say a few days in summer,” he let me digest that. “Also,” he continued, “It’s a climber rose. Where do you plan to take it?” “I’ll just hammer a few nails on the wall to hold it,” I said straightening my aching back.
“I hate to dampen your enthusiasm but this is a grade II listed building. Under the law you can’t hammer nails into it.” “Not even one teeny weeny little nail on the wall?” “Not one.” Seeing my crestfallen face he added, “Well just leave it there for now.”
Wonders of India
In India I had been an avid gardener. I knew when to plant the chrysanthemums and the dahlias and I knew how to bank the flower beds so that the tall snap dragons went behind the blood red salvia and the blue and white cineraria were in front. I knew where to buy the manure and I knew how much to water the plants. There I had to shield my plants from the blazing sun not look for spots where they would get some sun. I knew my Indian seasons. But in London I was swimming in unknown waters.
It was four in the afternoon and the temperature had dropped to three degrees. Daylight had disappeared and the long evening and night stretched emptily ahead of me. Back in India, December afternoons at four would still be bright and sunny, the gardeners would be spraying the lawns. Inside the house tea would be bubbling on the hob. And before long the entire family would gather in the garden to drink tea and catch the late afternoon winter sun.
Postscript
Dear reader you will be happy to know that both the Chinese orange and the white rose have thrived and I have not needed to hammer nails in the wall. And, thankfully, I did not pull out the wild growing creeper in the back patio. It turned out to be jasmine and yes, not only does it flower once a year, but the lovely fragrance reminds me of home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author and development professional, Loveleen Kacker is a former IAS officer with more than three decades of experience with the Indian government and seven years working as the head of Corporate Social Responsibility in a leading MNC in India. She has extensive knowledge of public policy and implementation. Her expertise is in the social sector, particularly, education, women’s policies and child protection policies and their rights. She has written 16 books and stories for children as well as three novels. She has also won a couple of awards for her children’s writing. She now lives in London and writes on lifestyle and cultural matters. Loveleen is a Master of Arts (MA) in Political Science from Allahabad University and a PhD in Social Anthropology from Barkatullah University, Bhopal, India.
