" . . . wide-eyed Eng Lit type /
from a sun-scalded colony, /
reading my Keats – or is it yours – /
while my country detonates /
on your television screen."
Subramaniam hints at how British individuals still think of India as a "sun-scalded colony", an allusion to how India was occupied and exploited by the British in the early 20th century. The critic, she believes, thinks of her as unmoved by the struggles and conflicts of India--he or she assumes that Subramaniam is continuing to read English poetry and lust after a typically British life even while her own country is in shambles.
"You imagine you’ve cracked /
my deepest fantasy – /
oh, to be in an Edwardian vicarage, /
living out my dharma /
with every sip of dandelion tea /
and dreams of the weekend jumble sale…"
Here, Subramaniam mocks the "Welsh critic" for assuming that she fantasizes about being a proper British poet who lives in a quaint village, drink dandelion tea, and goes to jumble sales on the weekend. She intentionally juxtaposes this fabricated scene with the Indian religious term "dharma", meaning someone's duty or destined path in life. The critic suggests that Subramaniam wishes that she were destined for a typically British life, untouched by her ethno-cultural background.
"You may have a point. /
I know nothing about silly mid-offs, /
I stammer through my Tamil, /
and I long for a nirvana /
that is hermetic, /
odour-free, /
bottled in Switzerland, /
money-back-guaranteed."
Here, Subramaniam sarcastically suggests that the critic might have a point in saying that Subramaniam is "unidentifiably Indian": she doesn't know much about cricket, which Indians stereotypically love; she stammers through her Tamil; and even though she still longs for nirvana--an Indian religious concept--she wants it to come with all of the luxuries that people normally associate with Western civilizations.
"This business about language, /
how much of it is mine, /
how much yours, /
how much from the mind, /
how much from the gut, /
how much is too little, /
how much too much, /
how much from the salon, /
how much from the slum, /
how I say verisimilitude, /
how I say Brihadaranyaka, /
how I say vaazhapazham – /
it’s all yours to measure..."
Here, Subramaniam indirectly calls out the critic for nitpicking at her language, trying to gauge how much of it belongs to the British and how much to the Indians. The critic said she was "unidentifiably Indian" based on the language she uses in her writings, but Subramaniam challenges the idea that English vocabulary belongs exclusively to "purely British" people--her advanced vocabulary shouldn't make her "unidentifiably Indian", since Indians are also allowed to use an advanced English vocabulary; her use of long words in different Indian languages should not mark her as an Indian stereotype.
"Arbiter of identity, /
remake me as you will. /
Write me a new alphabet of danger, /
a new patois to match /
the Chola bronze of my skin."
Here, Subramaniam addresses the critic as "arbiter of identity", mocking the critic for thinking that they are the one who gets to police identities and decide who is British and who is Indian. She suggest that he "write her a new alphabet of danger" and a "new patois"--meaning a style of language that would mark her as distinctly Indian, as an unfamiliar and potentially dangerous "other". In the critic's eyes, writing with a less "proper" dialect of English--or using less advanced vocabulary--would help Subramaniam's work match her Indian appearance.
"Pity me, sweating, /
rancid, on the other side of the counter."
Here, Subramaniam depicts herself in a more stereotypically "Indian" setting--doing menial labor or cooking at a lower-class restaurant. She suggests that the critic would be more comfortable finding her in this role than as a distinguished writer--the critic could feel pity rather than respect and admiration toward Subramaniam, which is a feeling he or she is probably more used to feeling towards Indian immigrants.
"Teach me how to belong, /
the way you do, /
on every page of world history."
Subramaniam once again challenges the assumption that she longs to be British and thinks that the critic has something to teach her about how she "should" write or behave. She also here criticizes Brits' roles in history and of how that history has been written: British and other white people have had their narratives privileges in most accounts of world history and have been the main perpetrators of global imperialism; therefore, their stories appear on almost every page of world history, whereas Indians and others are confined to specific chapters and sections.
