4. Music.

The tension between me and my father, and the gap between his aspirations and mine are best expressed through our musical tastes. The film will contain perhaps three musical interludes that dramatize this particular aspect of our relationship. A possible opening scene might include me playing a faux Indian raga on an electric guitar. I'd like to set this scene in a theatre space populated with Indian ornaments and rugs. I'd be dressed in Indian clothes while performing the fauz raga. The following text might accompany or follow the musical performance, which may also include representations of Anglo-Indians in Indian films (see the image on this page).

This is a still from the film, Julie, a Bollywood film about Anglo-Indians

‘What sort of music do Pakis like?’

The question hit me like an electric bolt. Zap, Pow, Kazowie! My cheeks burned, my eyes watered, and my head started to spin. I looked down at my feet, while I tried to quickly formulate some kind of a response. First, I wasn’t a ‘Paki’ — I was born in India, and my parents told me I was an Anglo-Indian. I wasn’t entirely sure what an Anglo-Indian was, but I knew Anglo-Indians weren’t Pakis.

My tormentor continued.

‘Do you like that sitar stuff?

Fuck no! I watched Top of the Pops. I listened to Bowie and Bolan, and if my parents weren’t so fucking uptight I’d be wearing satin flares, eyeliner and glitter in my hair.  In my mind, I was already a glam rocker. In my mind, I looked just like every other kid in my shitty East London classroom.

I tried to set the record straight, but my tongue felt like a thick slab of expansive, uncooperative flesh. I stuttered, I stammered, and I mumbled. Eventually, I produced a sound resembling the word ‘No’.

I can no longer remember exactly when this event occurred, but the visceral experience of humiliation still inhabits my body. I think this was the first time in my life that I realized that my ‘phonotypical’ differences automatically excluded me from certain activities, and precluded me from constructing certain kinds of identities. I could never be a ‘Starman’ not even in my mind’s eye.

Many of the working class English kids in my neighborhood (Plaistow, E13) had a particularly low tolerance for Pakis. I lived in East London during the time of the National Front. A time when ‘Paki’ bashing was the favorite pastime of Skinheads, and a time marked by incendiary speeches made by the overtly racist conservative politician, Enoch Powell. These people did not make fine distinctions between different groups of brown skinned people from the subcontinent.  Indians, Paki’s, Bengalis, Ugandan Asians, Anglo-Indians, we were all fucking ‘Pakis’ to them.

So, what music do Paki’s like?