I am a Racist

“They expect you to give concise answers and don’t beat around the bush.”

“Ok. Mental models and stuffs. Get it. So, where are you from?”

“I am from Chennai.”

“What!! Are you Tamil??????”

Two minutes into the first conversation and that is the question I encounter. Guys introducing their girlfriends play the game of “Guess where this guy is from?” “Uttar Pradesh?? Himachal Pradesh??” I wish so. Leopold’s Café’s security guy pointing at me asks my group of friends if they are with this Punjabi guy. Hearing a Bengali conversation about how much they have contributed to the per capita Roshogulla consumption, I join their banter and gleefully accepted as one of them in no time.

I am a Tamizhan. For easy pronunciation, I am a Tamilian. A Madrasi in pure terms. I am from a varied cultural background – Dad, a Muslim and mom, a Hindu. I have never been told/asked/reprimanded/forced/cajoled to follow any religion. I studied in a “Saet-tu” school (KPCVSS) managed by Gujratis. 70% of my teachers were Brahmins and so was my school’s tradition, so I know most of Gita. Since my neighbor was a Christian, I have attended the Sunday sermons and have seen too many a Christmas. “Well, of course”, my other half of my family follows Islam and I am a part there as well. Because of school, many of my friends are “Saet-tu” a.k.a Marwaris. FYI, almost all of my “Saet-tu” classmates are married now.

I didn’t know to speak Hindi, until I joined NIT Durgapur. My first words were, “I am Tippu from Chennai and I don’t know Hindi.” My group-mates were from Uttar Pradesh and that explains the most part of it. I have been with Bengalis, Biharis, Punjabis, Gujaratis, Gultis, Kannadikas, Rajasthanis, Assamese; people from North-Eastern India (don’t bloody call them Chinkis). I learnt so much from them that my friends back in Chennai say that I have changed. Come on! Give me a break!! I am bound to change. As I tell in every interview, “the exposure one gets is unmatchable”. Blame it on Rachel Green, Naughty America or Robin Scherbatsky, the idea of hooking up with a blonde was always instilled in my mind. Give GRE, score decently and there you go to USA was the writing on the wall until “Jab We Met” changed it to a Punjabi kudi.

Then I went to Orissa (oops!! Odisha) and worked there for two years and as obviously as it may sound I learnt all the unparliamentary Oriya words. Then, went back to Chennai and found a sea of change there. My Tamizh (Tamil for others) was outdated; there were lots of additions to the colloquial language and I felt like a Domar (means a person who doesn’t know the meaning of Domar). Now, the city Mumbai has happened in my life and learning a lot of the “Aahey!” culture. The only piece of the puzzle missing is North India and one can expect that also to happen very soon in my life.

One ubiquitous listing that was missed in the whole length of my life story in a nutshell was Mallus! All through my life there was a Mallu who followed me (or I followed them) diligently. My first tuition teacher (who later became my greatest well-wisher/family friend), my school best friends Ajith and Anu were Mallus. I thought the Mallu following was over when I went to NIT only to find that I my roommate was a Mallu, Sangeet (who is my best friend again). When I went to work, I met my very good friend Akhil, another Mallu. And finally a life dedicated to a ferocious Mallu, Sharanya. I had the option of being with a hot North Indian girl eating Paani Puri at Chandni Chowk or with a Bengali eating Chom-chom at Park Street or with a sexy Mumbaikar eating Vada-pav at Bandra, but I chose a beautiful girl eating Idly-vada at Marina.

We Indians are the most racist people in the world. I am qualified to say that. Because we judge a person on where he is from, from his/her surname, the way he/she speaks and behaves. Yet we crib that other nations racially discriminate us. I have faced a lot of racism in my life and thanks to the good racists that I have met, I have learnt to accept it, come to terms with it, now it’s a part of life. Now, I am that big an expert racist that, I can say where a person is from, from the way one pronounces the word “Be***C**d”. If he doesn’t use the word, he is a Madrasi!! :P