In a feature piece for Little India, Rachel Khona takes us to

In a feature piece for Little India, Rachel Khona takes us to a part of Jackson Heights where you can get a whiff, taste and sight of Indian and Indian-American culture. This trip serves to fill in the gap of excursions to the Queens neighborhood cut short during her childhood.

Growing up as an Indian American in south Jersey, I knew all about Queens, or more specifically Jackson Heights, aka “Little India.” Indians first started coming to Jackson Heights in the seventies after the passage of the 1965 Immigration act. When the U.S. first allowed Indians to enter the country, the majority of immigrants were engineers and doctors. But soon after small business owners, taxi drivers, and laborers started filtering in, many of them choosing to settle in Jackson Heights.

My parents had taken us a couple of times to Jackson Heights to visit their friends and do a little shopping while my sister and I complained about how bored we were. However, my south Indian mother was not particularly impressed with the predominantly north Indian working class of Jackson Heights. So our visits stopped and instead we stuck to our local Indian markets for our fix of pani puri and samosas.

It’s time, Khona writes, to “rediscover Queens with fresh eyes.” Once she steps outside of the subway station, she’s thrust into an enclave of Indian sights and sounds, from a blasted Bollywood music to giant bags of lentils, all tucked within the many ethnic neighborhoods in northwest Queens.

As I bounded out of the subway station to meet my friend for lunch at Jackson Diner, I was treated to the sounds of hip-shaking Bollywood music blaring out of car speakers, mustachioed men in turbans and ladies in brightly bejeweled saris. It was almost like India; minus the animals.

Every conceivable Indian product one could possibly want is available in Jackson Heights, from mango-flavored ice cream to ready-made meals to pre-flavored masala tea bags.

Unfortunately the diner wasn’t yet open for lunch, so we sauntered over to Patel Brothers, one of the largest Indian grocery stores I have ever laid my eyes on. Wandering through the aisles, I passed women in salwaar kameezes (tunics worn over pants) gathering ingredients for dinner, young girls in the beauty aisle looking for their favorite henna to color their hair, and men stocking the shelves with giant bags of lentils.

Khona heads to Jackson Diner to have lunch with her friend, Stefanie. She describes the diner as “an institution at this point with legions of fans Indian and non-Indian alike making the pilgrimage from all over New York City.” Hungry yet? Here’s what Khona eats:

A chef preparing fresh dosas stood right by the buffet, doling out piping hot crispy pancakes stuffed with spiced veggies. I sat down with my plate piled high and ordered a masala chai. It’s perfectly spiced with just a hint of pepper, steaming hot milk and sugar served on the side. No vanilla and no honey like the westernized version. This is how it’s done.

I finished off my meal with a small side of papri chaat, a fast-food snack comprising of Indian-style potato chips, chick peas, potatoes, yogurt, tamarind sauce and chutney. Indian fast food isn’t widely known or celebrated, which is a serious shame.

She whisks readers through a sari “Palace,” a jewelry store, some palm reading, eyebrow threading and other places, all on the day before Diwali. Before jumping over to Little India to read the rest of her piece, here’s another excerpt to nag your taste buds.

Since it was the eve of Diwali, the Hindu New Year, the cases were stuffed to the gills with all kinds of sweets just begging to be taken home and gobbled up. I decided to oblige them by getting a gulub jamun filled with cream. As I bit into the other worldly delight, the juicy rose water oozed down my chin. I sloppily mopped it up with my napkin, as I watched Stefanie devour her barfi, an Indian-style marzipan.

http://www.littleindia.com/nri/14664-a-passage-to-jackson-heights.html