Anita Sethi February 15, 2013
For a brown-skinned Brit, Melbourne is a very welcoming city - most of the time.
'Strolling along Swanston Street, the diversity is unmissable.' Photo: Justin McManus
When I flew 17,000 kilometres from my place of birth and landed in Melbourne, I felt strangely at home. Some cities allow international visitors that feeling.
I was born in Manchester, Britain's second largest city, and there's something about the atmosphere in Melbourne that is strangely akin to Manchester. Perhaps it's the curious charm of ''second cities''. Like second siblings, there's none of the weight of expectations that is on the first, everything to learn from mistakes, and a sense of cultural vibrancy and activism. Think of other so-called ''second cities'' the world over, and this seems to ring true.
I first landed when the last leaves of autumn were falling and stayed for the beginning of winter. I was tempted to return for Melbourne's summer, escaping the bitter cold winter of Britain. I was reminded, in my seasonal migrations, of Pico Iyer's essay in the book Falling off the Map: Some Lonely Places of the World in which he points out how Australia is an upside-down reflection: the seasons, for example, inverted from those of Britain. I have certainly experienced in my travels through Australia that vast, awesome sense of emptiness; when strolling on the beaches of Jervis Bay where it was only me and my shadow, or in the forests of Chewton, Victoria, where I stayed alone in an eco-shack with only the kangaroos for company.
But far from being the loneliest place in the world, a stroll through Melbourne's CBD took me right into the beating heart of humanity.
Strolling along Swanston Street, the diversity is unmissable, from the oldest Chinatown in the world, to the shop ''OM'' selling vegetarian Indian food. It's not only in the gastronomic sense that diversity is tasted, but it's also to be heard in the music that filters from the streets.
During my first day, as is the norm when I'm rushing through central London, I had my ear-plugs fastened in to block out the blare of traffic and screech of sirens. But music far sweeter caught my attention: the streets were alive with the sound of music from all over the world: pipes and lutes and flutes and drums and strings all spinning out their global origins thanks to the many buskers. I saw contortionists twisting their bodies into strange shapes, those spreading their paintings over the pavements; real live humans set into high relief against the statues that stand along Swanston Street, a reminder of the past that has shaped the city in the midst of the vibrant present moment.
The sounds, smells, sights, and tastes of many cultures intermingled show how so-called outsiders have been integrated into the city, although I have noticed a discrepancy between the diversity to be found on the streets and the cultural mix off those streets, inside various institutions, some of which had no non-white faces at all.
A visit to the Immigration Museum was an educative and emotional journey through the city and country's history. The British passport in my handbag took on a new light as I learnt of the history of Britain in the country's formation. It was also palpable how many have arrived in Melbourne from elsewhere, seeking to find that elusive sense of ''home'' in a place far from their birth.
I read of the White Australia policy, the story of the Stolen Generation, and news archives of the more recent spate of violence against Indian students. Then I walked back out onto the streets full of the weight of history and - as someone with brown skin - the fact that no one so much as blinked an eye at me was to be noted.
Then came the week of the incident on the bus in Melbourne of a French girl being racially taunted. I was thinking how lucky I have been in experiencing no racism when the words ''Indian housewife'' were shot in my ear from a complete stranger. Having my skin colour pointed out along with comically incorrect prejudice (neither do I own a house nor am I a wife) showed how racism still lurks on our streets to be dispensed in broad daylight by the casual passerby.
This is not to let a single incident taint my entire experience of a city: most of the days I have spent here have been racism-free. Indeed, the city has been overwhelmingly welcoming.
I suggest that the ignorant bigot who shot those words in my ear pay a visit to the Immigration Museum for the day.
There's still further to go in eradicating prejudice from both on and off the streets the world over, so that both those who were born in a place as well as those who arrive to make a new life - or just for a short visit - can find a home from home however temporary, and feel comfortable not only in the city but inside their own skins.
Anita Sethi is a British writer who is currently International Writer-in-Residence at the Emerging Writers' Festival and a writing fellow at the Wheeler Centre.
