For several months now, I have been contemplating writing an essay titled ‘The Place of Coconuts and Bananas in a White Bread Society’. Prior to collectively raising your eyebrows in confusion, please understand that this is not a proposal for a fruitcake recipe. Rather, I am seeking to pen a satirical discourse on the immigration experience as it has affected Asians – namely persons from the subcontinent and South East Asia. As some of you are no doubt aware, Asian countries often experience something of a ‘brain drain’, as educated people in search of a better life (read ‘employment opportunities’) gravitate towards ‘whiter pastures’ (i.e. European/Anglo countries). Often these poor souls find it difficult to assimilate, and experience grave difficulty in abandoning their culture/tradition in favour of .. err .. blandness.

Anyway, the following is something of a preliminary attempt at the abovementioned essay. In due course, it will probably be added to and elaborated to form something more cohesive.

THE PLACE OF COCONUTS AND BANANAS IN A WHITE BREAD SOCIETY
Cultural Displacement in Western Countries

Just over twenty (20) years ago it dawned on me that coconuts and bananas would never be wholeheartedly accepted by the white breads, expect perhaps within the confines of a fruitcake. This is precisely the term some right wing white bread intellectuals now afford to those societies that actively pursue a multicultural agenda. Even in such 'fruitcake societies', acceptance is grudging at best as current world events do little to allay the fears of the white bread majority. In any event, some recourse must be had to the past to better facilitate an understanding of my existing views.

My parents best efforts to provide me a prestigious white bread education were first realized when I was only four (4) years of age. Already, my speech was perfectly lucid and I could greet guests in polite English tones masked only by the slightest hint of a British accent. Some of the white bread company present was suitably impressed. Others, however, expressed concern at the spectacle of a darkish immigrant child speaking the Queen's mother tongue with greater precision than their own offspring. In hushed tones, the latter mentioned individuals debated whether assimilation policies contributed towards a better Britain. One can only wonder whether they expected my talents to be expressed in the manner hypothesized below:

Mum: This is Sameer. He shows exceptionally skill for someone so young. Sameer, would you mind educating our guests on the recommended retail price of a packet of Marlboro Lights?

Young Coconut: Four pounds and twenty-five cents.

Dad: Amazing, isn't it? He can give an exact figure for the sale price of all tobacco products stocked in our grocery business in Sussex.

OK, perhaps I am exaggerating. Both my parents, although highly educated, spoke with a slight foreign accent back in those days. This fact alone rendered some white breads to presume them as being of markedly lower intellect. Indeed, if they were of low intelligence, surely the kids would be similarly dumb by default? Not quite. Coconuts often outperformed their white bread counterparts in all three levels of education - primary, secondary and tertiary. This led some white bread governments to re-evaluate the system for entry into university. Specifically, English was made a compulsory subject and social sciences featured more predominantly in exams. Some white breads once again began to excel, writing elaborately long, complex and philosophical essays on persons such as Foucault and Marx. These individuals are now known as 'Arts students' and are regarded with the utmost contempt in the modern business world.

Getting back to the story, it became apparent in coming months that I was indeed a coconut of the highest calibre. My sense of identity was fast being eroded by virtue of cultural displacement. Long years were spent grappling authoritarian English schools, cold and dreary weather, cheese on toast etc. All these factors contributed to my increasing sense of isolation. Thankfully, relief was to arrive in the form of a banana.

The banana had an interesting background and an unfortunately complex name that few could pronounce. His parents were Korean and he had spent several years in Germany prior to having made an appearance in Britain. The banana's English, like mine, was impeccable and attained at the cost of have purged all knowledge as regards cultural and ethnic heritage. To illustrate, the banana's understanding of martial arts was atrocious and in inverse proportion to his knowledge of European models. Unlike the coconut, however, the banana proved to be much more successful with white bread women. This was presumably due to the fact that bananas dressed much more fashionably and were further regarded as being possessed of 'Eastern mystique, sensuality and charm'. It was my guess that the banana learnt much of this through the countless pirated 'Category III' DVDs purchased from suspicious stores in the Chinatown district. The content of these discs is a matter better left unmentioned in civil company. In addition, the Banana’s parents forced him to partake in an inordinate amount of extra-curricular activities – the bulk of which comprised of piano lessons. As such, he was able to woo women with elaborate jazz and classical pieces. As a Coconut, I simply could not compete with this. It beggared belief that any woman would be seduced by the sight of an adolescent boy solving university level mathematical algorithms until the early hours of the morning. The Banana had this ability as well of course, but at least it was supplemented by artistic endeavours.

The banana and I happened to be quite prone to insult, whether deliberate or accidental. Speaking personally, my first few steps in London can be recalled with the utmost clarity. Soon after having disembarked from the plane my mother and I were greeter by a rather perturbed airhostess. With more than a hint of concern she was heard to state the following:

"What a beautifully trained monkey! He's all dressed up and everything too. However did you expect to get him past customs though?"

OK, so I was hirsute. What coconut wasn't? We were all brown, furry and utterly miserable at the thought of having commenced shaving at ten (10). Some of us took solace in a popular actor known as Sean Connery. In his heyday this fellow had a remarkably hairy back. Moreover, one of his movies saw him uttering a line from which most coconuts would forever draw comfort. The scene involved Connery in a hot tub with several Asian women, all of whom were understandably intrigued by his mass of chest hair. A Japanese agent commented that body hair was a novelty for Japanese women, as most had never encountered it before on their native men. Connery replied with: 'The Japanese have a saying. Birds don't nest in a bare tree.'

Bananas faced the opposite problem. Most would've experienced extreme difficulty in growing a beard, even if presented with litres of hair tonic and left on a desert island for several months. The male of the species often commenced shaving well after having reached his mid twenties. Adolescent banana males could only ever dream of growing a beard and secretly envied the goateed Kung Fu masters in old martial arts flicks. However, their abject contempt at a coconut's ability to walk into nudie bars aged fourteen (14) was much less guarded.

Anyway, my memories of the adventures had by the Banana and I are simply that – memories. Reminiscing about my youth serves no other purpose than reminding me how much I have changed. Indeed, I now have even less of an identity and virtually no sense of culture. Moreover, the Banana and I have since moved on. One can only speculate of his current existence. Should the assertions of a certain Professor Andrews from Macquarie University hold weight, one would assume that the Banana has over-excelled in life and is now managing a large number of Anglo-Celtic persons in a professional office environment (e.g. investment banking, management consulting).