My balcony affords a stunning view of the Sydney cityscape. The perfect spot for a lazy afternoon reading a book in the sun with a cup of coffee and a gooey brownie topped with raspberries. The sauce from the raspberries dripped over, forming a rather pleasant-looking moat around the chocolate. Food presentation is fast becoming a national craze. Immaculate looking dishes - small quantities of food, drizzled with some exotic sounding sauce.
It's such a white thing to do!
Now, before you get offended by my racial slur, allow me to point out a few other things in the picture. The coffee - latte with one sugar, accompanied by a F. Scott Fitzgerald short-story collection. Not just that, I took a picture (three, in fact, for a wider selection) to put on this blog. Wait, I have a blog! It is settled then: "Racially, I am Indian. Culturally, I am white."
There is nothing Indian about my selection of: food, clothes, books, mannerisms, thinking, sport, hobbies, even women!
The only thing Indian about me is that I ate every crumb of brownie, soaked in every last drop of raspberry sauce, before drinking a rather cold cup of coffee, an hour after I made it. In some ways, I am rather uncomplicated and non-fussy. And in that respect, I am totally proud to be Indian.