“In those days Air France used to run an Epicurean Service between London and Paris. The advertisements taunted me. Poverty makes for recklessness, and one idle day in the long summer vacation I booked. The following morning I went with nervous expectation to the Kensington air terminal. There was another Indian in the lounge. He was about fifty and very small, neat with homburg and gold-rimmed spectacles, and looking packaged in a three-piece suit. He was pure buttoned-up joy: he too was an Epi...curean traveller. “You are coming from—?” I had met enough Indians from India to know that this was less a serious inquiry than a greeting, in a distant land, from one Indian to another. “Trinidad,” I said. “In the West Indies. And you?” He ignored my question. “But you look Indian.” “I am.” “Red Indian?” He suppressed a nervous little giggle. “East Indian. From the West Indies.” He looked offended and wandered off to the bookstall. From this distance he eyed me assessingly.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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