Quichotte

by Salman Rushdie

And when the Immigration Act of 1917 was signed into law, South Asians, known as hindoos, were officially barred altogether from immigrating to the United States. In United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind (1923) the Supreme Court argued that the racial difference between Indians and whites was so great that the “great body of our people” would reject assimilation with Indians. Twenty-three years later the Luce-Celler Act permitted just one hundred Indians a year to come to America and gain citizenship (thanks a lot). Then in 1965 a new Immigration and Nationality Act opened the doors.

MANY, MANY YEARS AGO, when the sea was clean and the night was safe, there was a road called Warden Road (not called that anymore) in a neighborhood called Breach Candy (still called that, more or less) in a city called Bombay (not called that now).

But to begin at the beginning: a long time ago, when he was just starting out in the pharma business, he had gone to India to visit family and friends and in a Bombay street an urchin was distributing business cards. He took one. “Are you alcoholic?” it read. “We can help. Call this number for liquor home delivery.”

Bambaiyya was not a polite vernacular. It possessed the harshness of life on the city streets. A man you didn’t like might be chimaat, “weird looking,” or a khajvua, a guy who scratches his balls.

The traitors, too, convince themselves that they are not committing treason. At the very moment of their deepest betrayals they assure themselves that they are acting well, even that their deeds are in the best interest of the betrayed person, or of some higher cause. They save us from ourselves, or, like Brutus and his gang, they save Rome from Caesar. They are the innocent ones, the good guys, or, at the very least, not so bad.”