It all began due to an incident that took place in June 2006 when I was on my first visit abroad to Oslo. During my first weekend there, I did all the obligatory geeky-touristy things; I visited all the major museums first including the Kon-Tiki museum, the Viking Ship museum, the Munch museum (where I got me a Patelshot with ‘the Scream’), and then proceeded thereafter to other places of interest.
The lunch I had on my first weekend there was sausage with mashed potatoes. I am a social / selective non-vegetarian, and that afternoon, I wanted to try something new. The blandness of their ‘chilly sauce’ was quite bad, and it was only the fact that I was horribly hungry, combined with the fact that I’d paid quite a bit for the sausage that I ended up eating it in full.
That was the precise reason why I told myself that I’d munch on some Indian fare in the evening, and I went over to this Punjabi place in the Grönland section of Oslo to have some naan, chole and rice.
When I got to the place, I spoke to the Surd in Hindi and called him ‘Paaji’ and all that, and ordered my food. Business was slow that evening, and so he began conversing with me.
The first question he asked me was, “Son, where are you from?”
Before I could muster a reply amidst the fierce chomping noises I was making due to all the food I was gobbling, he said, “You look like you’re from Nepal.”
When I heard that statement, the little Hari in my head had an evil glint in his eye. I figured that I wasn’t going to keep coming here regularly and that I had nothing to lose by being mistaken for a Nepali.
As an aside, I’ve been mistaken to be everything except for a Konkani fellow, and sometimes people’ve thought I’m from the North East or worse, from the North of the country. I’d blame my small eyes and the Doordarshan TV serials that used to come on TV when I was a kid for my proficiency in spoken Hindi, which might’ve led to those mistaken assumptions being made respectively.
Anyway, to come back to the Norwegian Surd story, I spoke to him about our dear King’s murder, about how King Gyanendra was as effective as a ruptured condom (I just made that bit up) and about how lovely Kathmandu was and that I missed it dearly.
After having paid for the meal, I left the restaurant, only to be stopped by a guy who had a box with him, in which he was collecting money for the homeless people in Nepal (yeah, WTF only) and he asked me to contribute.
I gave him a slightly weird look and inspired by that conversation with the Surd owner of the restaurant said, “Dude, I’m FROM Nepal!”. When he heard that, he mumbled an apology and left.
I’ve used the Nepali card a couple of times in Bangalore while talking to random strangers on the city bus who begin conversing with me in Hindi. The most recent time I used that spiel was when I was out of town this weekend, and had to ask directions in the city bus I was travelling in to get to a railway station.
On being asked about where I was from, I came up with my Nepali origin angle yet again, and I’ve decided to use it further now.
Of course, dear reader, I can’t fool you. You know where I’m from. But the next time someone tells you he’s from Nepal, and he’s not a Gorkha out to collect money every month, you can bet that he’s probably pfaffing rather than being truthful.
Trust me, I know.
Oh! And happy 2009 and all that.
then it turns out that we’re cross border
cousins
@Devrat,
As a first cousin of mine, I’d expect you to come up with something wittier. Sorry.
good for you!
M has habit of gauging from other person is and then start off about who he is from there or somehwere close by! and he is not faffing ‘coz his dad got transfered every 3 years!
but even he hasnt managed an international identity!! :p
HNY n all that jazz to you too!