I’m back.

{INTRO: A lot of you don’t know that I spent a lot of time sweating from my palms and feet performing stand up – a la open mics and well, I do love it..BUT I’m not really cut out for the lifestyle that comes with trying to get good at performing comedy. I like to be asleep by ten.. and sets wouldn’t start until that time, and furthermore when I got home I stayed awake thinking of ways to modify existing jokes or better yet turning the light on to write new jokes in scribbles that are only half-legible the next day. I have a good amount of material and before throwing these folded up papers and mini moleskins…I gotta put them out there }

and I’m riper than a strawberry? What does that mean? It means that there’s a small window of opportunity that you may enjoy me. It’s around springtime and I am one of the most tantalizing fruits there are: My shape. My color. My aroma. My taste. It’s all there, and for you to take a bite out, and you do. And, when you do there’s a chance that I, may leave my seed with you, a piece of me with enough power to create more of me, perhaps in a place you can’t see and don’t notice for sometime, but it’s a chance you are willing to take – most of the time, anyway.

Would you ever ask a strawberry where she comes from? The answer is the ground. Yea many grounds in many places, but the land is always the answer. I don’t know about hydroponic strawberries and that’s not the point here. So why then….is the number one question I get asked, beyond all others?

“Where are you from?” That’s it. That’s my number one inquiry.

In my case, they have already counted on and bet their imaginary dollars on what my answer will be.

They are usually wrong.

Like 99.6% wrong. Indians want me to be form India, Pakistani’s from Pakistan, Bangladeshi from Bang… You get it.

And so, I have decided to cut the whole charade by responding, “Not your country.”

“Oh because…” they will inevitably say back.

“No. Not your country.” I will reiterate

“But you look like….”

That is how the exchange always ends. “You look like…”

I look like what exactly? Someone you could feel good about harassing… Well, I’m not.

The other day someone walked by me and turned around and proceeded to yell, “INDIAN WOMAN!” as they turned their back and walked away.

Point is, does this happen to anyone else?

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