Xenophobia isn't just a Bandra Catholic name

(Note: To be read only after you've worn your khaki knickers, waved your Indian flag 3 times and sung Saare Jahan Se Accha - once you're in the mood, read on)

Who would have thought that 61 years after independence, I - an Indian (of khaki knicker wearing, tricolour waving, tuneless patriotic song singing variety) has to bow to the "gora" as he:

1. Shags all the hot guys in the city - thus making it impossible for me to find an acceptable date.

2. Rents all the nice places in the city and makes the area unaffordable for the rest of us.

3. Makes my vegetable-walla stock lemon grass and zucchini instead of alu-bhindi.

4. Is driven in a nice air-conditioned car as I sweat it out in the Nariman Point share-a-cab.

5. Is served first ALWAYS at Zenzi and Olive as I struggle to get the bartenders attention.

The only icing on the cake is that I'm sure at some level I've stolen one of their jobs.

Vik - who is feeling exceptionally xenophobic afer he was told he couldn't rent in Bandra as they only rent to goras, was told he couldn't date someone anymore as a gora had condescended to give his date a couple of hours of his time, was told by his bhajiwalla to try zucchini - a veggie he detests, is still smelling of the godawful cologne of the banker he sat next to in the share-a-cab and had to basically yell out his order at Olive before someone decided to serve him.

No wonder Bombay is full of passport-queens. Seeing how our own people bend over backwards (a useful trait if you're gay) to accomodate and pamper goras at the risk of alienating the rest of us melanin-enhanced, blonde-challenged brethren.

Grr. Mucho frustato today.