Photograph by Martha Williams
Back in Northern India, my grandmother and I had a daily ritual of taking an afternoon tea break around five p.m. And it wasn’t a special occasion that warranted raisin scones or finger sandwiches. It was our happy hour—to break the monotony of the day between a restful nap and evening activities. She would brew her special masala chai and call the neighborhood halwai (a traditional Indian confectioner who sells sweets and snacks) to deliver the treats. Within minutes, a bicycle would turn up at our front door to hand over brown paper bags filled with delicacies dripping with sugar and oil. There were crispy fried samosas stuffed with spicy potatoes and green peas, and piping-hot orange disks of jalebi soaked in sugar syrup. Sometimes she mixed it up with paneer pakoras, kachori, imarti, or gulab jamun. There had to be at least one savory and one sweet item with tea.
When I moved to Atlanta to attend university, there were no leisurely afternoon breaks or even a traditional shop nearby. I had to settle my cravings with a sugary Starbucks chai tea latte and a granola bar while rushing between school, work, and chores. Sometimes, a friend visiting from India would gift me a box of sweets that had a longer shelf life.
Thankfully, in 2002, the first dedicated Indian sweetmeat shop opened in metro Atlanta: Gokul Sweets, a Gujarati family-run business in Patel Plaza in Decatur. On some weekends, when the homesickness was unbearable, I would make the long drive to Decatur and indulge myself. The storefront appeared much more sterile than the ones in India, but the visual of trays stacked with fresh-made, colorful sweets coming straight out of the kitchen, and shelves lined with bags of fried chickpea and lentil chips, provided some comfort.
I ordered my chai and some treats at the counter and grabbed a booth. My American friends who accompanied me did not understand my nostalgia. They enjoyed the bursts of mint and tamarind flavors in the savory chaat, and the pillowy-soft sponge of rasgulla balls, but when they saw how I relished each bite, they turned to me and remarked, “You look like a kid in a candy store!”
I would instruct the dainty salesperson to pack me a mix-and-match box of assorted milk- and nut-based mithai from the glass pastry case, my appetite always larger than the capacity of the box. I pointed to bright yellow squares of coconut, rolls of green pistachio, and triangle-shaped, silver-foil-coated cashew barfi. My intention was always to take them home to enjoy sparingly until my next visit, but sometimes I would break into them the moment I got into my car.
Today, Gokul Sweets stands as a haven for Indian Americans like me who long for those neighborhood stands we grew up with. The family has opened a second location in Duluth; on weekends, you can find people driving from surrounding states to both locations to purchase boxes of sweets for weddings and parties. During the days leading up to the festival of Diwali, shelves empty out within minutes, and lines can be through the door. And I am certainly one of those loyal customers waiting for my turn.
This article appears in our November 2024 issue.
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