I have to say that being a desi in England is kind of ho hum. South Asians are everywhere so I don't feel special. In America at least they pay attention. "Holy Cow!" they say when I walk into a room. "Curry!" they whisper and wink, as I pass by.
"Your people wear such gaudy costumes!" they explain, concerned.
It's just not the same here in London.
Just kidding. I'm writing crap.
Seriously, London's a cool city, I dig. Lots to do and see, a ridonkulous mix of people that paint the picture of their it's-tuesday!-let's-dabble-with-this-country! history.
May I mention again that British men dress with the vigilance of aging socialites? They do great hair, gelled messily but perfectly messily, if you know what I mean. And they wear tighter pants than American men and are awfully pretty to look at while sitting on the Tube.
In the short time I've been here I've found myself adopting little British turns of phrase and not wanting to pronounce the "r" in words like "percent." Which makes me wonder about the implications of the brain's tendency to adopt -- so quickly -- what's around it, which also makes me wonder about the definitions of good and evil, what it really means to be Republican or Democrat or happy or sad or crazy or sane or to like one music over the other. It mostly makes me wonder whether Truth exists at all.
I've gotta get me back to family. I'm scared about my flight home, and we can all only hope that this phobia goes to hell because I'm sick of it.