Here if you do not say Kemcho, you are somewhat of an outsider.

Anxious I take my first flight to UK. I do not know what to expect. I feel nervous and am bit on shaky grounds. My anxiety takes off as the plan makes a landing. When I get out of the plane, I realise I have lost two travellers cheques. So typical me. The guy who is going to pick me up from the airport and take me to my new house for at least a year, does not turn up. I panic. In a completely new land, I feel very lost. I do not even have the address of the place I am going to. He turns up nonchalantly one hour late. He sputters something in what I know is Gujarati. I say, “Sorry, I do not understand Gujarati!” He gives me a look. A look which said, “What? Really? How is that possible?”
There. Now, I actually felt like a foreigner.

This experience is the harbinger of experiences I never had in India. Everyone one, every single one was a Gujarati. Was I in Gujarat? Did I take the wrong flight? No, this was Wembley. The word “ghetto” now made more sense. Everyone spoke Gujarati. Hardly anyone spoke in chaste English that I was expecting. After a few weeks, I knew when I bump into anyone, the first thing I should say is, “I am not Gujarati”. There were I guess only three Maharashtrians in the whole of Wembley. My two roomates and I.

I was looking for an experience that would be really international. I dreamt of the hot intellectual debates I would have about politics, philosophy, films. No. None of these talks happened. There were only two things people talked about. Money and jobs. Later I realized that I and my two roommates were the only ones who really were there to study. Almost all the students from Gujarat when asked about their colleges or universities got evasive, shifty and uncomfortable. I also wondered how they got here with the very basic level of English they spoke. How come they had no clue about their subjects? We all later knew that these were illegal students.

Finding work was a huge uphill task. It was not about what you know, but who you know. It was about whether you are a Gujarati are not. Just like the imported vegetables from India, nepotism was the cultural import. It no longer needed to be imported anymore now though; it had taken roots and was growing well. I felt infuriated. Is it how people start becoming prejudiced? Was I forming concepts which were fuelled by angry emotions? You heard everyone say, “gujju kay pas job karte ho?, kafi nichodta hain kya?” or something on the lines of, “arre galti say bhi gujju kay pass kaam nahin karna”. Prejudices get strengthen when you have the same experience again and again. I am very sensitive about justice, fairness. These experiences made me very livid. I worked with three rich Gujarati shop and restaurant owners. I was exploited to the bone. I now knew how a regular “kaamwali bai” may feel.

While I was there, the Gujarati community built a huge temple of some Hindu God. I never stepped in it. It was a symbol of elitism, hypocrisy, corruption, lies. God knows how many who worked for that temple were exploited. Is this what we Indians love to fight for? Temples? Why do not we come out and fight for justice, peace and equality?. I now know big huge temples are sometimes also excessive, no wonder I never care about building temples or mosques. Shouldn`t we focus on building characters, sowing seeds of love and respect. Cultivating compassion. People will stop going to temples with their broken heart and shredded souls if we treat people well.

The businessmen were rich, had big cars and chains of restaurants of their business. The British government lauded them and gave them awards. But was this wealth was built on blood and tears of really helpless people trapped by tragic poverty? You would never know, these thoughts get lost amidst the shine of money.

As much as I had started hating the community from this particular part of India, I suddenly was a part of them. I was one of the exploited. I connected with them through pain. Unfortunately they were more desperate than I was. These restaurants, shops etc employed illegal cheap labour. When I worked under Indians, I was stripped of every iota of my dignity and self respect. I was a thing, easily replaceable. We were like animals, paid peanuts and fired for a wince of protest. I remember one day I was running a fever while at work. I was in bad shape. I had done all my work and asked my manager, is it okay if I rest for few minutes. My manager told me, no, if you do not have anything to do, why don’t you wipe the tiles on the walls of the restaurant. He knew I was sick. But he got a sick pleasure from being cruel. I thought if I worked here long, would I end up like him? Victim becoming the victimizer? I was reduced to a prostitute; I was not just selling my body (labour) but my heart and soul.

Discrimination was rife. Imagine going to a foreign land and experiencing racism at the hands of your own lot. But I had a choice. I had a Father back in India to send me all the hard, corruption free money he had earned, every single penny, if he heard just a single sob down the phone line. I just asked him I am leaving the job, I cannot do it. If I had told what I had experienced, he would have been heartbroken; he would have asked me to come back. I left the job. Though very happy never to go back and work in those treacherous places, I left with heavy heart, leaving my fellow Gujarati friends, to their cruel fate. Two more jobs with Indians, and I was very weary to work for an Indian in UK. What broke my heart is the cruelty faced by a woman almost of my mother`s age. humiliated and treated like an animal. She was illegal and had no way out. When I got a job at a University and before leaving Wembley, I wrote and made a lot of complaints at the home office. As I write this article, I wonder what has become of her. To think she is still trapped there breaks my heart. Gandhiji was so right; poverty is the worst form of violence. But I think it is more of a poverty of spirit, generosity, love and compassion.

More than pain, I feel very angry. Injustice makes my blood boil. I realised even though I had my share of trails in India, I still have led a so protected and sheltered life. I ackowledge this privilege and make sure I give more than I take.

Yes, these businessmen have made a lot of money, a lot of cars, but at what price. They are rich but really poor. No temples, no Gods, and no amount of prayers will ever wash their sins; will never wash the stains of blood and tears they have caused to shed. They might be rich but still depraved. And am I still prejudiced? No, probably slightly so, but it is not about Gujarati`s, it is about human beings sucked in by greed. Greed, like I have never seen before, but coincidentally found it a lot in Wembley, but I am sure it is everywhere. Its human beings` favourite flaw.