The South...

So I've visited both Dallas and Atlanta now and am experiencing a different side of America. Granted these visits are short-lived but experiences nonetheless and I do consider them to be moderately important.

Dallas, Texas (June 2005): I was there for a week. My group's annual off-site was held there. The city is fairly nice. Of course, my glasses are tinted with the Big Apple so while I attempted to rid myself of any pre-conceived notions but whats the point of not keeping things relative. As expected it was hot. I mean really hot. Delhi hot. The word I use for Dallas is 'scarce'. There's a scarcity of stores, people and generally.. life as I'm used to it. Its as if a Suburb lives amongst a few tall buildings - very strange for me. Nonetheless, a few adventurous folks and myself proceeded to experience the city by foot. We were in the "hotel/financial" district (if there is such a thing). There was almost no one on the streets. We walked into a bar and the contrast was more than noticeable. Stark white folks staring at us. Our group composition: a Russian (thus white), an Arab, a Chinese fellah and an Indian (myself) . Some dude was singing about his Dodge Ram on the juke box.

Anyway, I've never felt so out of place in my life. A bunch of rednecks staring me down clearly letting me know I wasn't welcome. It came as a sudden realization that I was probably safer in the ghetto than here. Here... they can afford guns.

Anyway, so after mustering up all the courage I could and with whatever dignity I could afford, I sat down with my colleauges and had a beer. We could hear them jeering at us, provoking us - but we endured. In the end, we reached home safely - having successfully swallowed our pride. It was expected. It was known. But it was still a little shocking. Living in New York - I've rarely had a racist comment made at me. There have been some - but they are so mild that they only occur to me as an after thought - "oh... did that just happen because I'm Indian?"

Atlanta, Georgia (June 2006): A year later I'm in Atlanta. I had a high expectations - given that its the home of Ludacris and the Nelly. (Side note: what the fuck is up with Nelly and the band aid on his face?... i mean seriously...) Anyway, so Atlanta is a different kind of town, there are African American people by the scores. Its not that I'm not used to this diversity living in New York and having done some considerable travel to places like Cleveland, Ohio and Washington, D.C. - but a fairly large chunk of the population here is African-American. Note: I do not have a problem with this community - this was a mere observation.

Nevertheless, I'm walking down the street at 10:00 pm with another Indian, a white male and a white female. I've got the Ritz-Carlton to my left and Brooks Brothers to my right. Immediately I feel secure that this neighborhood is fairly safe given these two landmarks. I'm wrong. Within a few seconds of being noticed by the local hobos - we were approached by one of them. 6 feet 6 inches tall with able hands and legs. No reason for him to not have a job. He walks up to us and begins to ask for some change. No - I'm not giving you shit. Fuck you, get a job. Harsh, yes. Fuck you too if you think I'm a dick. You better be a parapalegic or an amputee to get money outta me. So we keep walking but he kept following saying random shit until he bursts into "Fuck you Spanish mother fuckers" - aahhhh... he thinks I'm spanish - nothing unusual there- it happens a lot to me. Anyway, I took offense nonetheless but wasn't going to let Goliath know that. I kept walking, fists clenched - unable to say anything and partially praying that this pissed off troll doesn't shoot me. The chick we were finally gives him a dollar and tells him to go away. Good riddance no?... no... mother fucker stays with us for another 5 minutes - cursing out the spanish, the indian cab drivers and "The Man". Yes, we are the cause of all your problems. So he finally leaves us alone and what happens? Hobo #2 approaches. I mean... you've got to be kidding! Hobo #2 was 5"4' tall and didn't walk straight - so while I wasn't as intimidated anymore, one still wasn't sure of any concealed weapons... not that he had many clothes to hide any weapons but still. I finally turned around to this guy (our new companion) and very politely said "Me no espeeky english... no dolla... no moanie (money)..." It worked! He left, cursing and twitching.We reached back to the hotel in total shock. Couldn't imagine what the ghetto of Atlanta was like - if this was the case in front of the Ritz-Carlton. I don't consider this a racial experience but there's a marked difference between this city and New York. In NY, hobos chill on side, asking for money but never actually following you. You may hear a comment or two but thats about it. This has only strengthened my conclusion that if I'm to stay in this country - it New York and no other place.

Racial profiling of any kind is an inevitable outcome of a capitalist system. Its like Crash, the movie. Watch it if you haven't. Phenomenal one-time watch. I feel this burden. Arun knows what I'm talking about. Wait, to call it a burden is inaccurate. Its a subconscious, constant, prodding, an awareness. No matter where I am - on a flight, checking into a hotel, walking down the street, over here I am c-o-n-s-t-a-n-t-l-y aware of the fact that I'm Indian. I hate it.

I want to go home... back to India.

This is a long-ass blog.

(sigh)