So yesterday morning my very good friend Vick picks me up from Mumbai airport and we head downtown. We take the train, which, like in many other places I’ve been – Tokyo, London, Melbourne on Grand Final day – is as much a game of rugby as it is a daily commute. The entire compartment stares at me with bemusement: such a tall white fat bastard … a sure winner in this game of push-me-pull-you-trainy-survivey.
An old man, whose glare I couldn’t take anymore and attempt to break with a smile and polite greeting, asks me if I’m from the UK. This is what ensues…
Old man: Are you from the UK?
Me: No, I’m from Australia.
Old man: Ah, so do you like our pretty country?
Me: Ah, yes Australia is pineapple country. And banana country.
Vick: (cheerful grin) Dude, he said do you like our country.
Me: Ah so sorry. Yes I love it. It’s the most beautiful place.
Old man: What part of Australia are you from.
Me: Oh yes, everyone I’ve met has been so lovely.
Vick: (chuckling) Hang on, he asked you what part of Australia are you from.
Me: Oh I’m so sorry. I thought you asked if I have found people here compatible, like simpatico. I am having so much trouble. Sorry. I’m from Melbourne.
Vick: (snorting) Open up man.
Another passenger: (with an accusatory glare) Well many of us are in a lot of danger in Melbourne.
Me: Well I know for sure it ain’t me what did that. ‘Cause, hey, I’m all the way over here, ain’t I? (with a half-jovial, half-scared-shitless-why-do-I-have-to-be-such-clown-all-the-time grin)
Half the compartment: (gasp!)
Vick: (laughing uncontrollably, in Hindi) I don’t know this foreigner!
Me:(to the passenger) I’m sorry. Actually you can rest assured that nearly all Australians are appalled by what’s happening in Melbourne. We love Indians. And we hate what’s happening as much as you do.
A third passenger: Yes that’s true you know. My cousin lives there and has made many Australian friends.
Me: No I don’t have any cousins here, but I do have one living in Scotland.
Vick: You should really stop talking right now.
