My blogging has lulled recently and I've been given firm instructions by Phil that I must continue to blog about the everyday things that I might otherwise forget about.
In the canteen at work, there is a team serving food throughout the day, including a small smiley elderly man who is usually out of sight, I assume cleaning or washing up in the kitchen. He is very friendly (not the sharpest, but very happy) and always chats to me and greets me with great enthusiasm when we meet.
His name for me illustrates the difference between what is politically correct in Britain and India.
Foreigner Lady.
"Hello, foreigner lady. How are you, foreigner lady? Where have you been foreigner lady?"
He says this with pure innocence and no comprehension that singling me out as a foreigner might be isolating. Can you imagine referring to someone as "Indian man" in Britian?! In this case, I find the lack of inhibition around the language used refreshing rather than unfriendly. One day he'll learn my name, but not yet.
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