Gori Gora

It went on a while, in the background, at the edge of awareness - eventually even I had to spell it out: an argument, a big one, downstairs. A woman's voice, loud, angry, Urdu: fascinating, one-sided, splendid stuff: I don't think she drew a breath for about five minutes. She ended with a loud hiss, in English: 'EEE-DJIT'.

Then steps, closer and closer, up the stairs. Oh Lord: she's coming here! I seriously considered turning all the lights off and hiding behind the sofa. Too late: she walked right in. Turns out she's a good friend, bringing a chair. She started speaking - in her soft, velvety, measured voice - at some point noticed the question in my eyes.

'I'm afraid I had a go at your guard outside, darling. I didn't like the way he referred to you!'

'What did he say?'

'Well, I asked 'Is madam at home' and he said 'Yes, the 'gori' is upstairs. That's no way to address a lady - and I let him know that. The disgrace.'

'But, what is a 'gori?'

'Oh, darling, it's just silly - it means 'white woman', but it's not a nice term. It would be like you going around calling us 'Pakis''

'Oh.' And me, trying to be nice to the guards, in smiles and broken Urdu. Then something rang familiar, another recent memory. 'What's 'gora' then?

'It's the masculine. A white guy.'

A few days ago someone wrote 'LOVE GORA' on the back window of our car. Oh? OH. Nice one.

To recap: I am a 'gori'. And someone out there loves my 'gora'.

And the ending? I love him more. And I walk wiser.