Being one of the few white people on a plane full of Indians definitely highlights your own otherness. Not that the otherness isn't there the rest of the time, it's just hiding amongst all those other white people.
The old guy sitting next to me on the plane is definitely proud of his turban. He has swigged 4 whiskies before I've even got a proper taste of the short story I'm reading. This has made him somewhat gregarious. I repeatedly help him with the food tray in the arm of his chair which he can't seem to master alone, for which I receive a grateful pat on the knee. I feel I have struck up a language-less friendship like I might with a cat, whislst the old man regales his fellow passengers in an Indian dialect.
I am glad of his presence. It calms any pre-travel nerves, and reminds me of my previous trip to India, when people would often strike up conversation and debate with fellow bus/plane/train travellers. It is rather un-British and I like it...
The old guy sitting next to me on the plane is definitely proud of his turban. He has swigged 4 whiskies before I've even got a proper taste of the short story I'm reading. This has made him somewhat gregarious. I repeatedly help him with the food tray in the arm of his chair which he can't seem to master alone, for which I receive a grateful pat on the knee. I feel I have struck up a language-less friendship like I might with a cat, whislst the old man regales his fellow passengers in an Indian dialect.
I am glad of his presence. It calms any pre-travel nerves, and reminds me of my previous trip to India, when people would often strike up conversation and debate with fellow bus/plane/train travellers. It is rather un-British and I like it...
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