Here’s an excerpt from the fascinating Gang Leader for a Day, the Chicago version of Maximum City. In ‘89, economist Sudhir Venkatesh went out for his first thesis survey in a ponytail and tie-dye. He was held captive all night by a crack-dealing gang called the Black Kings:

‘Nigger, what the fuck are you doing here? … C’mon, Julio, where you live? … You flip right or left [bandanna]? Five or six [pointed stars]? You run with the Kings, right?’ …

‘How does it feel to be black and poor?’ I read [from my clipboard]. ‘Very bad, somewhat bad…’

The guy with the too-big hat began to laugh…. ‘Fuck you!’ …

[J.T. the leader] asked me where I was from.

‘California… Born in India…’

‘So you don’t speak Spanish.’

‘Actually, I do.’

‘See! I told you this nigger was a Mexican!’ said one young gangster…

‘I had a few sociology classes,’ [J.T.] said. ‘In college. Hated that shit…

‘Get back to where you came from… and be more careful when you walk around the city.’

The ambiguity of being desi in America is like a costume you never take off. In Seattle, I scanned as Italian; in New York, Puerto Rican; in Barcelona, South American, because of my high school Spanish teacher’s accent; with a Jewish electrical engineering prof, the specificity of ‘Punjabi, right?’