He might have been the first Indian I've met who was out for duck at the mention of the world's greatest batsman. I could tell that the cashier at the Dunkin Donuts next door to my office building always wanted to talk to me and he finally did. With little success."Where you from, bhai?" he asked as he handed me the receipt."West Indies," I replied.He turned to the Indian woman preparing my latte. "West India, he say."
"No, no. West Indies. Do you know Brian Lara?" I did my best imitation or swinging a cricket bat having never actually swung a cricket bat."Ah, Bangalore."Facepalm. Maybe it was the way I held my imaginary bat.It was the woman who liked to give me sweet eye as she prepared my latte, she knew. "Brian Lara, cricket," and then, smoothly carving her "w" into a "v," she said, "Oh, you from Vest Indies!" Six!
Indians take a while to warm up to me. I don't know why. The Dunkin Donuts staff, the dollar store owner with the PhD, the man in the convenience store with the fuzzy ears... I'm not fond of Dunkin Donuts but it's the only chain coffee brand in the city just north of Boston where I work. I pass it every day twice a day as I traverse Pleasant Street walking from and to the train station.
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