The Windian Beneath My Wings

Hello, my name is Mitchell Scott Rodricks, and I’m a Windian.

Now I’m sure you’re saying to yourself, “Well what the heck is a Windian and how can I get him to have sex with me?” A Windian is a white-washed Indian. Obviously we’re not talking about the head-scalping type Injuns of yesteryore (we killed them all, didn’t we? And by we, I mean white people) but these are the dot pushing, pyre jumping, computer repairing brown brethren from the Far East.

Being a Windian is a lonely path. Imagine not having a culture; not having a heritage; having no country to call your own. Shunned by Indians and resented by whites, the only thing the two sides of my being agree on is a mutual loathing of Pakistanis. But the loneliest thing of all about Windians is that they can’t even turn to each other. The old adage “Two’s company, three’s a crowd” doesn’t apply to Windians because “One is brown, and two is a fucking Indus club.”

The Romance department is no different. Growing up, I was never attracted to Indian girls, and not just because of the moustaches. I had this fear that people would see the two of us in public and think I was one of those guys who would ONLY marry an Indian girl, and only because her father had provided me with a bevy of fine cows as a dowry. So I spent my years going through slews of white girls, Asian girls, black girls, and white girls. Well okay, replace “Asian” and “black” with “white” and “a hand job from a mulatto stripper.” Plus, that whole damn Kama Sutra thing sets up an impossibly high expectation for Indian-looking men’s sexual performance. Girls always expect me to do cartwheels while I’m inside them. That’s not an exaggeration–they specifically ask for cartwheel sex. If I had a dime for every time I heard the phrase “spinfuck me, Krishna,” I’d be a rich man. I don’t think that’s even in the Kama Sutra.

In the end, there really is no way for us to win. We might as well change our names to Losedians. I’ll have to keep on living this life, knowing that Indians are all born with the same last name — M.D., while Windians are born addicted to opiates.

But no. Fuck that. I will BE the change. I will no longer be ashamed that all my white friends can do a better Apu than I can, or that my name is whiter than all of them. I’ll no longer feel proud every time an Indian guy nails a white chick in a movie, like the English Patient, or…well I guess that’s pretty much it. But no, from this day forth, I will be proud to be an Indian American. Now if you’ll excuse me, my skin bleaching appointment starts in half-an-hour.