Once a Chaudhry always a Chaudhry (From Asian Image)

Once a Chaudhry always a Chaudhry

2:12pm Monday 16th April 2007

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There was a time when I was the king back in the promised land. Now, they won't even spit in my direction.

It's been a while I can tell you and things have changed a bit. Those folk over there are more modern than us.

The last time I went I took loads of toothpaste, headache tablets and watches for everyone. They were all overjoyed that I had bought them something and for the whole first two weeks I was the king of the village.

Now, everyone already has the latest gear and no-one wants the cheap stuff. I took a guy a Sekonda watch and he showed me the Rolex he was wearing.

They rifled through my suitcase like normal but this time everyone put the rubbish back. What the hell had happened?

Had they got wise or had I brought the wrong stuff?

Even the towels from the pound shop didn't tickle anyone's fancy.

Not, disheartened I took a walk to the outskirts of the village to unload. As I settled down with my Daily Dawn I was interrupted by a large man with a stick.

"What on earth are you are doing?' "What does it look like? I'm err doing my business here brother...' He stared at me and then explained everyone had toilets now. Hmmm...what had become of things?

I decided to take a gander to the local bazaar and noticed something very peculiar. The women were all-dolled up and the men had jeans on. The shalwar kameeez was nowhere to be seen.

This scared me somewhat so I hurried into a shop to take my mind off things. The man behind the counter gave me a price and I told him I would pay half. He proceeded to ignore me (like they do) so I headed for the door.

At this point they normally stop you from leaving and offer you the goods - but he didn't. He let me go. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't pretend I was better than everyone else because no-one cared any more. They were too busy with their own things to notice me.

Back in the village no-one wanted to hear my stories about how great England was. In fact they all ridiculed me. They all had satellite TV and could see for themselves it wasn't all that.

But then I met a friend of mine from a neighbouring village who was a taxi-driver back in England. Over here everyone thought he was a prince. I told him of my woes and he stuck his chest out, stroked his moustache and exclaimed.

"My dear Walaitee (Englishman) if you want to be treated like a Chaudhry you have to act like a Chaudhry. Be rude to the poor folk...pretend you have two wives...make sure you give everyone a couple of rupees for their troubles and for god-sake stop walking around like a pussy...you're cramping my style."

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