I still remember my first visit to Belgrave Road. 

It is a treasured memory from all those years ago, when as a newly married bride I was transported straight from a chaotic Indian city to the maddening quiet of the National forest.

Few days after I had arrived, one weekend we came into Leicester driving past Abbey Park and stopped at the traffic lights under the then Belgrave flyover. I assumed we would turn into a small, random turning. Instead I was surprised  when the road widened and straightened out, revealing a whole new world, as if throwing open its arms in welcome. There was a vibrancy to this road, lined with shops and restaurants on both sides. As I walked down the road with my husband, my ears caught wisps of Gujarati floating in the air. It is not a language I speak to my husband in but it took me back to Ahmedabad, where I come from. It felt like home.

Our first stop was the Four Seasons chaat house and my tastebuds were grateful for it. Learning to cook in the last few days, I was beginning to realise I had quite some way to go. Like a starved soul ogling at a feast laden table, the restaurants tempted me with varied choices and I gleefully caved in. 

It was our first Diwali as a married couple when we went to see the Belgrave lights. I was excited when we headed over to Cossington park, wrapped up in my coat to see the dance performances and fireworks. What a sight that was!

While the celebrations grew in scale, navigating pushchairs through the crowds became a challenge and we stayed away. We were unaware of how popular it was becoming until our friends from out of town said they had been hearing all about Diwali on Belgrave Road and wanted to visit. Soon, we were hosting friends from as far as Wales. They enjoyed the experience of light and fireworks, always rounding it off with varied food sampling and then an obligatory stop at Sharmilee to pick up Diwali goodies for friends. 

Soon after Covid restrictions were lifted, my husband had to travel to India. That Diwali, it was just me and the kids by now old enough to be a willing participant in a plan. We took the Birstall Park and Ride into town. I noticed then that though everything was the same and yet some things had changed. The stage had been moved to the middle of the road and visitors no longer had to head to Cossington Park to see the fireworks. 

It was freezing but people had still turned up in hoardes. Armed with our warm coats, woolie hats and gloves, we stayed close, as we headed over to the stalls at Belgrave Commerical Centre for Pani puri and Bhel. Working our way through the crowds to Chaiiwala was a bit tricky but their warm ginger tea was worth the effort,  a definite must-have on a cold day. 

Later, the three of us perched on the brick wall that formed the boundary of the Belgrave Shopping centre; me with the ginger tea, the kids biting into their pizza slices, when we heard a whizzing sound of a rocket. “Here it is guys,” I said looking up, just as the sky burst into colours. “Wow,” exclaimed the kids as their glued gaze caught one explosion after another. 

This is what memories are made of, I told myself.