These are excerpts from a conversation at a bus stop with a young black management student.

It isn't representative of a collective viewpoint and, since it is drawn solely from memory, may have lost in detail what it provides in mood.

It is what may loosely be construed as being part of the 'American experience'. Here goes:

"Where are you from...? Oh, India. Yeah, ah know it. Yeah... yeah.

"You have a free press there? You mean like..., really free?"

Yes, you say, quite free. Influences, yes, but nothing all that Orwellian.

"Here it's all controlled."

He looks at you for response and, since it isn't forthcoming, decides it's an all-clear you've given him.

"It's kind of like a secret hierarchy, you know... The big guys who own the newspapers? Yeah, they run things."

You say you haven't seen too much of that in the newspapers you've read; biases as usual, yes, but nothing really serious.

"You don't know it. You haven't seen anythin' yet. There's a lot of bias here, yeah, a lot of racism." He nods reflectively, waiting for your response.

Racism, you inquire, surprised. In the sunshiny south, perhaps; in the attitude of an air-hostess on the plane over, yes; but in upstate New York?

He nods dolefully. "You can't imagine any black being a president here, can ya?" That came pretty triumphantly.

You're at loss for a moment, then take the case of General Colin Powell. If he had stood for elections he was supposed to be a shoo-in, wasn't he?

"They'd have killed him," he says with gloomy relish.

"They got Martin Luther, they got Malcolm X..."

They got John Kennedy too, didn't they, you interject a little laconically.

"Yeah, but he wuz foolin' with the government. And you don't fool with the government. He wuz changing the FBI... Hey, he was playin' around with the secret service. You don't do that."

A pause.

"Yeah, there's a l-o-o-o-t of racism here. There are places in the south that ah can't even go, even you can't go. It's a kind of conspiracy."

Hardly, you say. Large-scale conspiracies have this way of springing leaks all the time...

He shakes his head sorrowfully.

"You heard of this guy, Am... Am... wuzhisname? From the Ku Klux Klan? Yeah, he blew a lot of things up when he was caught. Half the town was a Klan member. There's a lot of racism."

He nods again. "You think it's different here, but you'll see. This was a confederate state... Or what?"

The conversation lags awhile. Finally:

"You married?"

You reply in the affirmative.

He nods again and chews his gum a little more.

"Yeah, ah gotta get married, ah gotta get married." Another ruminative pause.

"You know, ah want to get married to a Pakistani." He looks up for a reaction and then adds, almost to himself: "Yeah, ah gotta get married."

Why a Pakistani in particular, you ask.

"Because in Pakistan, India, Malaysia, they teach women some respect, they do."

You mull that and decline to react. And that gets across, and he bristles slightly.

After another pause, he asks, "You are from India, right?" and looks away.

Knowing the question is rhetorical, you wait.

"Don't they worship snakes and rats and all that stuff out there?"

It's your turn to go on the defensive.

"Yes, they do worship snakes but, rats, well, that's only in one temple that I've heard of. Yes."

"Don't you think that's kind of excessive?"

"Yes, I do." You really can't add anything else.

"Mmm..." He nods, realising he's drawn some blood at least in this otherwise one-sided conversation. But he pushes home:

"There's a lot of people out there, right?"

"Yes, three or four months ago, we crossed a billion people."

"Mmm... That's a lot of people, that's a l-o-o-t of people." He raises an eyebrow and nods significantly.

Another hiatus and you decide that since the bus hasn't come for half-an-hour now, it's better that you walk. You politely inquire if he'd like to walk too.

"No way. Ahm a young African in a white neighbourhood..."

You give up.

P Rajendran, associate editor at rediff.com, is currently in the US for his doctorate.