ABSTRACT
I remember the first time I met a white man: it was in Kalol, a small town north of Bombay. He was a Dane, an employee of a European firm in Bombay, who had travelled to Kalol on business. I was in troduced to him as a government overseer, my position in life then, but I did not say much to him. I could not. I was too awestruck. That happened more than a decade ago: but, if the same situation were re-created today, with another government overseer in my place, it would happen again. I am not speculating. I am basing my statement on evidence as I found it during my visit to India last year-my first since I left it. I noticed the nervous pleasure mingled with excitement that overcame Indians, mostly urban middle class, when they came into contact with white men or women.
