Background: Dot gets his hair cut on the parade of shops just round the corner from where we live. The main-man barber is a genial gent called Gary. In Gary's absence, his Algerian Muslim sidekick fills in. Also on the parade is the traditional local chippy (slang for fish-and-chips shop) which is not-so-traditionally run by a Punjabi family from Birmingham, who are probably way more British than I am. More on that/them later sometime.
Dot went to get his hair cut on Saturday morning and Mr. Haircutting Sidekick is the one cutting his hair. He asks Dot, while going through the motions of cutting his hair, are you related to the chap who runs the chippy?
Dot narrated this episode to me back at home, half annoyed, half amused. I said "you should've replied: I'm related to him in about the same way as you are related to Osama bin Laden. That would've shut him right up."
The "where are you from" or "does the caste system still exist in India" line of questioning does get my goat. Nevertheless, I am happy to put it down to mostly curiosity and sometimes ignorance, and I am even happier to help piece together the puzzle of my brown skin, Western name and surname, and my being a baptised Roman Catholic. I assure you, this has made for many an enlightened dinner conversation.
Yet, it happens very rarely that someone will say something so racially ignorant it makes me cringe, and in even rarer cases, it will be offensive and make me hopping mad. Trouble is, in those very rare instances, instead of telling them exactly what I think, I am reduced to a quivering angry mess and blurt out something lame in response or, worse still, say nothing at all and smile.
Ah well. I suppose I'll get them next time.
P.S. I have to shamefacedly admit that this incident happened close to six months ago and so did the post. Please do not bite.
Dot went to get his hair cut on Saturday morning and Mr. Haircutting Sidekick is the one cutting his hair. He asks Dot, while going through the motions of cutting his hair, are you related to the chap who runs the chippy?
Dot narrated this episode to me back at home, half annoyed, half amused. I said "you should've replied: I'm related to him in about the same way as you are related to Osama bin Laden. That would've shut him right up."
The "where are you from" or "does the caste system still exist in India" line of questioning does get my goat. Nevertheless, I am happy to put it down to mostly curiosity and sometimes ignorance, and I am even happier to help piece together the puzzle of my brown skin, Western name and surname, and my being a baptised Roman Catholic. I assure you, this has made for many an enlightened dinner conversation.
Yet, it happens very rarely that someone will say something so racially ignorant it makes me cringe, and in even rarer cases, it will be offensive and make me hopping mad. Trouble is, in those very rare instances, instead of telling them exactly what I think, I am reduced to a quivering angry mess and blurt out something lame in response or, worse still, say nothing at all and smile.
Ah well. I suppose I'll get them next time.
P.S. I have to shamefacedly admit that this incident happened close to six months ago and so did the post. Please do not bite.
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