It may not be racist, but it's a question I'm tired of hearing | Ariane Sherine | Comment is free | The Guardian:
Last weekend, I had The Conversation for the 3,897th time – and this time, it took place in central London just two roads away from the hospital where I was born. As usual, it went like this... [snip]At this point, I have to explain that it's hard to go back to somewhere you have never been. I've lived in London since I was a zygote, have a London accent and don't speak any languages except English – yet just because I'm cashew-coloured, I'm often questioned about my heritage. Over the last five years, I've been asked: "What's your caste?" (I haven't broken any bones); "Do you go to temple?" (only on my way to Embankment); and "Do you need special food?" (as though the answer's going to be: "Yes, St Peter isn't going to let me in if I've munched on a bit of dead pig/cow/giraffe").
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