Indians bleed blue on London streets
No doubt Southall boasts a vibrant Indian community, but unprecedented scenes of celebration were also witnessed elsewhere in London—in Hounslow and Wembley, for instance. It was a robust affirmation of Indian identity, of being brash, confident and unashamed of who they are—and, more importantly, where they come from.
Yet, no place knows how to party quite like Southall. “You don’t get this kind of atmosphere—even on Soho Road,” said one reveller from Birmingham, referring to a street rich with Indian flavour. But perhaps Southall’s relative inaccessibility makes it the place to go to. After all, people from other areas don’t have to pass through it unless they wish to.
That, and its plethora of Indian pubs and eateries, pretty much all showing the game—all centres of joy. From the famous Glassy Junction pub, where you can pay for your drinks in rupees, to the sweet shop Jalebi Junction, or the Roxy tandoori restaurant, or the Himalaya cinema.
Waving the tricolour with abandon, people climbed onto the roofs of buses, atop bus stops and hung from street lamps. Elderly Indian men, born in Jalandhar and Ludhiana, embraced British-Indian men born in Croydon and Ealing. Young children on their parents’ shoulders—born in England, forever Indian. Bhangra blaring from every other shop window or car. Dhols heard with each step, like the thundering hooves of stampeding cattle, while carousers carried bottles of Bacardi and whiskey, colouring their joys with the infamous Punjabi reputation for enjoying a tipple.
After the game, India fans danced in the street outside the pub, humorously chanting, “Are you watching England?” It’s a line one mouths to taunt vanquished rivals. It didn’t matter that England had already been knocked out—those listening got the message. The Metropolitan police officers on duty were carried on shoulders and handed food and drink. The Indians were not to be denied their day of national fervour, supremely confident about their identity and in themselves.