At a museum: “Entrance for two, please”. “Are you Indians?”. “Yes”. The gallery attendant pauses, as he carefully examines my face. Unconvinced, he turns back to my Nani. “You are. But he’s not.” A sharp anger rises in her, “How dare you! This is my grandson.”
After this event, she reminds me several times during my stay: we are Sindhis. We are often very fair-skinned people. I could show that man many Indians that look like you.
When I tell my fellow Indians that I am half-Indian, the surprised responses I receive are never hostile, but within them is a murmur of exclusion.