Bengalis in Brighton
There is nothing more English than to find day-trippers from London sitting on the pebble beach at Brighton, resolutely determined to enjoy themselves despite the lowering August sky. We looked down from amidst the amusement arcades and fish n' chips stalls on the pier, during my first ever trip to the seaside resort of Brighton and my first trip to England as an American. Brighton has its famous royal pavilion, modelled on the Mughal architectures of east. Because Brighton always was a place to go so see something out of the ordinary, a place where anything seemed exotic compared to the six day week factories. Where for a spell each year the English could be something other than English. And so it was on the beach there last Tuesday. A group of boys were sitting in the waves up to their necks, clothed in shorts and tea-shirts, shrieking every time a larger wave crashed over them. At a demure distance, but still subject to near total immersion from the largest waves was a group of girls in brightly coloured salwar- kameez. Up the beach was grandma in black niqab, video camera pressed against the slit, capturing the scene and shouting directions. All Muslim by dress, Bengali by volume and mirth, and so completely, so absurdly British. Then the heavens opened in high borsha passion and everyone on the beach, whether in the waves or not, was instantly drenched. And in the rain I could hear "nache nache rumo tale"
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