My stereotypes of white people, from the perspective of an Indian guy who is in no way bitter
I was only five-years-old, trundling back home from my first day at ‘big school’. I was greeted at the door by my mum who was effortlessly tossing chapattis with one hand and cleaning the bathroom windows with the other. Eager as she was for a premature update on my medicine doctorate, she detected something was up. “All the kids keep calling me Paki,” I explained. Her expression slumped and the half-tossed chapatti melted from her hand onto the remarkably pristine floor which proceeded to open up around us. By the shoulders she grabbed me, into her eyes I thus glared, to her knees she then fell and so suddenly I became scared. “You are not Paki! You are Indian!”
Little did she empathise with her son’s soon-to-be school friends’ lack of geographical competence or primary motives for teasing. And so there I was, the only Indian in the village, left to work out how to get by in the forsaken lands of Essex. Well, 20 years later it’s now my turn, for literary revenge. No more being forced to play goalie with wicket-keeper gloves, or resigned to push the swings, no more chocolate bar namesakes or conkers without strings. Here are my five stereotypes of white folk.
Bad with money
Have you ever seen an Indian begging on the streets? Being a tight bastard beholds advantageous virtues which our honkey hombres have yet to understand. The more they earn, the more they spend. The global recession and forthcoming depression is the legacy of white, Western governments and economies. It’s one thing to be bad with one’s own money – but to be bad with other people’s cash… that’s something our Caucasian cousins have seemingly mastered.
I thought nothing of Jean-Claude Van Damme doing ads for Coors Light, until my mother sitting next to me kissed her teeth in disgust. “This man made a shitload during the 80s and now look at him.” And henceforth I noticed the plethora of yesteryear’s white celebs whoring themselves to maintain a lifestyle they can hardly afford.
Bland food
Don’t deny it. White people love foreign foods. If Oswald Mosley were alive today, I’m sure he’d be the first queuing up for a rogan josh or a doner kebab after a few pints. This thing we ethnics call ‘taste’ has revolutionised the Western palate and has become the success story of multicultural integration. Unfortunately it doesn’t go the other way.
At a barbecue not so long ago our Spanish guests prepared paella. The amount of ingredients and time spent naturally built up expectations. I ate my first spoonful of this historic, culturally rich European dish. Two chews in and I stopped, slowly looked up only to see my Jamaican friend already gawking back at me. In a moment of synchronised beauty we chewed the bland bullshit a couple times more and turned simultaneously to our Nigerian friend, who was looking down, playing around with his fork and only just noticeably shaking his head. Amidst the aura of equilateral disappointment and tangible yearning for hot pepper sauce we found ourselves surrounded by an orgy of ‘Mmm’s’ and outrageously undeserved compliments.
Promiscuously depraved
This comes with being from Essex, the horny, throbbing vein of wider East Anglia. Generally speaking, black and Asian girls hold white girls in sluttish contempt. Black and Asian guys are *ahem* not so observant. But, as an Asian guy I can vouch for some of the sexually depraved things I’ve seen, all of which has a murky, milky hallmark on it. Boys bragging ‘bout banging some ‘bitch’ by the bypass – all filmed on a primitive phone camera. To see familiar faces high-fiving one another over a pixelated, glowing girl gobbling gonads, gasping for breath.
I like to think of it this way. When the British colonialists conquered my homeland, one innocent officer’s wife stumbled upon a certain love-making manual. A hundred years later and the white race pioneers bestiality, scat-munching and other fucked-up fetishes. We even provided pictures for you, dammit!
Homoerotic drunks
At 14 I was quite late in joining the alcoholic party and I quickly learnt another odd behavioural trait exclusive to the white people. We all have a white friend who has to get his penis out after a couple of shandys. In fact, you could probably plot a graph showing the positive correlation of homoerotic discourse and whiteness. Take my rugby friends for instance, the whitest people I know. They looked awful one morning. Hangover had a new meaning. It turned out they were lingering from their ‘rugby initiation’ which ended in the new recruits drinking shots of the coaches’ chlamydia-ridden piss. “Weyyyy…” one of them shuddered unconvincingly. The price of being a lad (white) has never been so high.
Animal bummers
There’s no doubt that white people love their animals a bit too much. Don’t get me wrong, we had a dog in our home but he knew his place in the domestic hierarchy. Any animal that sniffs another animal’s arsehole shouldn’t nose about the sofa, nor should it lick itself out and then proceed to lick you. For white people, hygiene is no longer applicable when it comes to pets. I’ll never forget that snooty bitch of a customer who kicked up a fuss at work one day. “You only ever stock wooden pellets. Veronica only uses silica gel, you see.” It hardly occurred to me that she was actually talking about the type of cat litter her pussy prefers to shit on. My cat, Jess, not only had a simple, unpretentious name but was also fully trained to dump in the neighbour’s garden. I owned the cat – the cat didn’t own me.
So how do we feel about this, my dearest and nearest creamy comrades? You know what they say about stereotypes. No? Didn’t think so. If you’re white and having difficulty with what you’ve just read then not to worry. I’ll put it all up on PowerPoint, just for you.
Featured image: Eli Hiebert. Inset image: Flickr
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