I Tell My Black Neighbors: "Forgive Me."


NYT pic 1I wrote this on my Facebook today.
I share it with you. This is what I am, and I am what I am.
I often look in the eyes of my next-door black neighbors in Brooklyn, and I see mistrust. I see sadness. Their eyes tell me, “How could you Indians hate us so much, when we did so much for you?” They say, “Did you ever realize had we blacks not fought for passing the Civil Rights Act of 1964, you could not take advantage of the 1965 immigration law that opened the gates for you to come to America, and be equal, at least on paper?”
Their eyes silently admonish me.
Amadou DialloThey don’t know what I do, or what I write or talk about. They probably think I’m also one of those Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi immigrants, living our bodies here to make as much money as possible, while living our souls back in our home country.
Had there been a way to tell them how I feel, I’d say sincerely, “I’m sorry, man, I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Take me in. I am one of you.”
I’d say, “Give me a chance to share my life’s stories with you. You’ll know how similar they are, with yours.”
I feel your pain. I feel your suffering.
Do you feel mine?
Sincerely Yours,
Brooklyn, New York
December 11, 2014

Emmett Till
Emmett Till

Photos from New York Times article on police brutality and killing, December 3, 2014.


  1. Partha, I am confused by this blog. Why don’t you invite your neighbors in; start the conversation that you say you want? It seems to me that you are the perfect one to do this. If we want things to be different in our world, then as you know we are the ones to make it so,


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