Sanjeev Kohli I Belong to Glasgow

A long, long time ago,

a man with a funny sounding name came from the East

and settled by the banks of the Clyde.

He was called Saint Mungo

and, according to legend, he was the first Glaswegian.

He built a church, battered out a few miracles and he proclaimed,

"Let Glasgow flourish."

And ever since, people have been flocking

to the great city of Glasgow and making a right good go of it.

And 41 years ago, I became one of those people.

This year, with the eyes of the world on the city,

four Glaswegians explore what it means to belong to Glasgow.

My name is Sanjeev Kohli and I'm an actor and comedian.

And this is MY guide to the city

that my parents travelled across the world to get to.

The city that made fun of me and made me funny...

I actually expected to get bullied. I was Asian and I was a swot.

In fact, I used to bully myself before I left the door.

The city that may not have everything,

but it's everything to me.

Aberdeen, I love your beaches.

Forfar, I love your bridies.

Dundee, I love your...

sense of discovery.

But you know what?

-SHOUTS:

-I belong to Glasgoooooooooow!

My Glasgow story begins in 1973.

I wasn't worried about the Watergate scandal

that was shocking the world.

I didn't have an opinion on Britain joining the EEC

or a ticket for David Bowie,

the first gig at the brand-new Glasgow Apollo.

But what was significant was that Mr Parduman Singh Kohli and

his wife, Mrs Kuldeep Singh Kohli,

had arrived in the West End of Glasgow...

my mum and dad.

They'd left the Punjab behind them,

spent a few years in London, were I was born,

then moved their family up to a city famed for razor gangs

and drunkenness and the young Sydney Devine.

In 1973, Glasgow was a very white place.

Not just white, the blue-white you get

when you leave a blue sock in a whites-only wash.

And for someone to move their entire life here,

leave a blazing hot Punjab for a pure baltic Partick...

Well, must have been one hell of a brave.

Asian immigrants were beginning to arrive in Glasgow,

but in the early '70s, the numbers were tiny,

a mere 1.3% of the city's population.

Of course, as a newly arrived two-year-old, I was only interested

in Farley's Rusks and playing with me own feet.

For my folks, I imagine the move must have been a huge culture shock,

but I've never actually asked.

The thing with your parents is, normally the questions you ask them

are, "Is there sugar in this, Mum?"

Now I'm going to ask them the serious questions like,

"What was it actually like coming to Glasgow

"from the Punjab in North India?" Should be interesting.

Guaranteed, the ornaments will be polished, the kitchen will be tidy

and my wee mum will always be there with a hug and a welcome

when I turn up on her doorstep.

DOORBELL RINGS

-Hello.

-What?

-How you doing?

-How you doing?

They're getting work done. Right, what we do is we ignore the hall

cos my mum's very self-conscious about it.

Just come through, come through.

Right, so this is my wee mum, Kuldeep Kohli

and this is my dad, Parduman Kohli...

and that was an ornamental swan that I just broke.

-Um, sorry, Mum.

-It's all right.

'Kitchen table, three mugs of tea.

'After years of eye-rolling and ignoring advice,

'the time has finally come to listen to the old folks

'when they talk about what Glasgow life was like back in the day.'

In one way, it was a lovely atmosphere,

children would be playing in the streets and mothers would be sitting

on the chairs around with the cups of teas and pieces in their hands.

All we could see was these tenement buildings, all grey and black

and a lot of smoke.

Most of the first turban-wearing Sikhs

Glaswegians would have encountered would have been travelling salesmen.

But by the 1970s, newly arrived immigrants began turning up

in the jobs that locals didn't want,

on the buses, cleaners, in kitchens...

Inevitably, my folks took some of the most unpopular jobs of all.

My mother tried to stop '70s kids doggin' school.

And my father worked with young offenders.

Aye, that'll be how to blend in, folks!

Bandage Heid? Did you get a lot of that?

All comments, "What you selling today?" "I'm not selling anything."

It was just ignorance.

There was no dialogue between the ethnic minorities

and the main community. When I worked as a school attendance officer,

the teenagers, they threw stones at me and I didn't know why they did.

Then I realised I was the first black person in that area.

They had never seen a black woman.

It strikes me that what you did coming here was incredibly brave.

I mean, at any point did you think,

"Right, we're going back. We're turning back?"

-No, never thought of going back.

-Because my objective simply was,

"I've come here to make a living and I have to make a living."

I got settled in Scotland within the first six months and thought,

-"This is my hometown."

-Really?

So the Kohli clan settled in Glasgow.

I had two brothers, but then, as now, I was the youngest and coolest.

Look at my wee face!

And the mix of Glasgow and Asian cultures was comedy gold.

I used to love it when someone said something to you in Glasgow slang

-and you'd repeat it.

-"Brand-new."

You're talking about some plumber and he said,

"Don't worry Mrs Kohli, I am brand-new!"

Our neighbours when I was seven, she would do that piece thing...

She'd call us over, "Sanjeev! Jam piece or cheese piece?"

It was really broad Indian but with that wee Scottish twang.

-Cannae do it.

-Cannae. No gonnae do that, cannae do that.

And as I ventured out into unreconstructed 1970s Glasgow,

this speccy wee Indian nerd made clear to local Weegie toughs

that no-one was going to mess with me.

I remember one incident where someone had called me a name,

I can't remember what the name was, and I cycled home,

must have been five or six, cycled home, furiously cycled home...

I remember this.

So I came in the door, shut it behind me, opened the letter box

and I distinctly remember using the words,

"I'm going to pull all your hairs out."

Screaming through the letter box, the guy is about a mile away

and I am shouting through this letter box, clearly knowing that

he's not going to hear it and also, well, I'm protected by a door here.

When you saw stuff like that, what did you think?

This is one of the reasons we worked so hard,

sent you to the fee-paying schools even though we couldn't afford it.

We still did our best so that you don't face the problems we faced.

Ach, parents.

When you actually listen to them and think about the sacrifices they made

and the risks they took

just to keep me in arctic rolls and Evel Knievel...

it can be a humbling experience.

My parents invested everything in me and my brothers

and our lives in Glasgow.

So, dressed as some kind of nerd-tastic bully-magnet,

I embarked on a Glasgow education.

This is where I went to school, St Aloysius' in the city centre...

Yes, it's a posh school.

Glasgow wears its working class roots with pride,

so it's a slight beamer to admit that you went to

a fee-paying school. Do you know what, though?

I'm going to play the immigrant card. My parents were aspirational.

They wanted to give me the leg up that they never hud...

sorry, HAD.

It wasn't just a posh school, it was also a Catholic school.

Amongst all your Seans and your Sineads and your Terry-Annes,

the only kid called Sanjeev felt he stuck out.

I was a Sikh and I wanted to hide.

But 27 years since I was last skulking around these parts,

I've agreed to speak at morning assembly to today's pupils

about what it was like to be one of the few brown kids

to wear that all-green uniform.

I mean, that is my actual tie,

the one that I used, there's your proof.

You have to bear in mind that at school I was very much anonymous,

it was all about just not sticking out, trying to fit in

and here I am.

This is like my first day at school all over again!

Like so many immigrants, my parents channelled all their hopes

and their dreams into their kids' futures.

And at school, the Maths, English, Chemistry and Physics

I could do, no bother.

It was being accepted - well, that was the hard bit.

Good morning, St Aloysius' College.

Thank so much for allowing me back into the school

because I'm making a show about growing up in Glasgow.

You see, I was Asian, I was speccy,

I was shy, I was dull and I was a swot.

And I smelled of crisps.

I actually expected to get bullied.

In fact, I used to bully myself before I left the door,

just to pre-empt it, get it out the way.

I used to nick my own lunch money, do my own French homework...

made sure I did it in my own handwriting, of course.

See, I think this is probably the headline of my childhood,

I was just trying to fit in.

'It's hard for today's racially savvy kids to understand,

'but back in my day, some of my wee Weegie classmates acted

'like they'd never seen an Asian person before and that's because...

'well, they hadn't.'

Primary 5, in the toilets, another boy in my class,

who will remain nameless,

asked me what will probably be the best question

that I've ever been asked, and it was this...

And I promise you, I'm not making this up

and I now feel faintly embarrassed that I'm going to say this

in a church, but there you go.

"Sanjeev," he said, "You have brown skin.

"Does that mean you do white jobbies?"

Thank you, St Aloysius'.

Aye, I pure said jobbies in front of the teachers

and the ten-year-old version of me

is trembling with the rebellious thrill of it all.

MUSIC: "One Step Beyond" by Madness

# One step beyond! #

See, I always wanted to be one of the cool kids,

I wanted to have a pure mad carry on

with Wee Smiddy, Mad John Paul, Gonzo and Death Breath.

You're pure dingied, man!

Yes!

When we were kids, we didn't have iPods,

we couldn't pause live television, no.

We had to make our own classroom fun

with sticks and paper and saliva.

To make a soggy bomb, or spidoink,

simply tear off the corner of a Strathclyde Regional Council jotter

and chew liberally,

get yourself a ruler...

..and fire at will.

Of course, kids today don't need to learn any of this

cos they've probably have Soggy Bomb for the iPad.

# One step beyond! #

Ach, who am I kidding? Stop this madness!

I wanted to fit in, to be cool...

but throughout my school days,

I was all too aware that my parents had relocated their whole life

in order to give me a better chance.

So, like so many second generation immigrants,

I focused all my efforts on studying,

which is why I look so serious.

Look at that serious face.

What can I say? It's an Asian thing.

We have a work ethic that would

make John Knox book a fortnight in Magaluf.

And when I wasn't genning up on my geometry,

I was grafting for the family business.

Asian business? Glasgow? 1980s?

What could it possibly be?

Aye, that's right, your classic corner shop.

Our family had a newsagents for a while...

Well, we were Asian, it was in the small print.

..and I soon became painfully aware that this might be that only time

that white Glaswegians had any meaningful contact with Asians,

even if it was just to buy a Drifter and a Look-In.

Yes, in my head, I represented...

Every. Single. Asian...

EVER.

You see, for me, these weren't just shops,

they were like race-relation mediation centres

and I couldn't help feeling like an ambassador

for all Asians everywhere.

So, while flogging late night fags, Mellow Birds,

Cola Cubes and copies of The People's Friend,

I was always on my best behaviour.

Well, almost always...

Slight confession. When I was about 11 or 12, when we had our shop,

I used to come down after school and the first thing I would do

is eat a Mortons Roll with a bit of cheese in it

and I would basically read the comics that were on order.

They were sitting in a pile behind the counter

and I'd actually go through The Beano, The Dandy,

The Topper, Whizzer and Chips...

I'd read them all and place them back immaculately.

So if you're kind of roughly ages with me in the Battlefield area

of Glasgow and you found a Mortons crumb in your Dandy,

it was me that fingered your comic, sorry.

In the Kohli Corner Shop, we learned pretty damn quickly

what made our Glaswegian cliental tick.

In the blink of an eye, we could tell your entire lifestyle

from the contents of the counter and then, like Google,

we'd use that information and sell you other stuff.

Typhoo plus Puzzler equals a quiet afternoon in...

suggest chocolate Hob Nobs.

Ten scratch cards

plus 16 Regal King Size equals possible nutritional deficiency...

suggest Alpen Bar.

Dude book plus Utterly Butterly equals...

..best not get involved.

But the fact is this was the 1980s,

before click-and-collect, before 24-hour supermarkets.

These wee shops were open longer and made our lives easier.

So all hail the humble Asian shopkeeper,

for keeping Weegies in late-night fingers of fudge

and early morning emergency tights.

But before we get too Ebony and Ivory,

we need to talk about THAT word.

Is it OK to call a shop a, you know...

(Paki shop?)

Uh, NO.

What exactly is the relevance of the ethnicity of the owners of a shop?

Even if you are a racist, the Brillo Pads aren't Asian, are they?

They're just Brillo Pads, they're not Paki Brillo Pads.

Why not just say newsagents or corner shop?

Even though the shop probably isn't even on a corner.

Another thing, when you say the word Paki,

you might see the word Pakistani.

All I see is the expression,

"Paki, Go Home" on a wall somewhere.

I think enough people know now that that word

has racist connotations, OK? Don't use it.

Of course, the usual defence is, "It's just a bit of banter, mate."

Because it's not just Asians,

everyone gets a bit of a slagging in Glasgow

and being able to take pelters is a badge of honour.

Let's have a wee shifty at the words that we like to laugh at.

Like the Inuits and the snow, we've got thousands of words for idiot.

So does the banter abuse as much as it amuses?

Are these put downs keeping us down?

This is sacrilege, I know,

but could it be that our world-famous banter

is actually holding us back?

There's a school of thought that dares to suggest that

Glasgow's glorious banter is bad for the psyche.

So just what is the matter with our patter?

I think Glaswegians are particularly big at labelling people

and actually most of it is critical and quite abusive.

Writer and journalist Carol Craig has speculated

that giving each other pelters is pure heavy bad for our wellbeing.

Glasgow people really do indulge in a lot of banter and it can be funny.

I think the issue about it is that

it's often about putting people down and it can be quite limiting.

And it doesn't like people to break out of that.

I think there's a kind of...

"It's no for the likes of us and it's shit, anyway."

I think that actually sums up quite a lot of what Glaswegians think.

There is sometimes also a very macho aspect to humour, quite aggressive.

-Yeah.

-It's almost like, "How are we going to humiliate this boy?"

Yeah, it keeps people living quite narrow and limited lives,

because they're scared that they're going to get put down

or they're going to get called names. So I think

it keeps people quite limited.

I remember someone telling me they were growing up on a housing estate

not that long ago and their mother was English

and she wanted to grow vegetables.

And this kid got abuse at the school...

for the fact that her mother was growing vegetables.

'It's an interesting theory.

'But Glasgow is a city that's hard-wired to poke fun, to subvert,

'to take the mick...'

But that's what I love about it. I mean, aren't we famously funny?

Glasgow humour is a thing, and I think it's known worldwide for that.

And we should celebrate that, shouldn't we?

It's a thing and it is very funny,

but it can have an impact on you.

You know, if people routinely get that kind of abuse,

then does it affect how they see themselves,

does it limit what they do?

I would say it does, that's what the research would seem to indicate,

particularly when you're a kid.

If that's the way that you're being spoken to a lot of the time,

it affects you.

Carol's got a point. Glasgow humour is harsh and it can be cutting.

But, for me that's also what makes it uniquely funny.

And in this town, being slagged can actually be affectionate.

In fact, it's often a compliment.

And after 20 years in the city, I had a First Class Maths Degree

and with my geek chic, my enormous glasses...

How did they even stay on my face?

..I'd had countless slaggings.

And in keeping with Glasgow's finest traditions,

I was ready to give it back and I found my voice through comedy.

-Just tell us what's on, ya wee hob.

-Who you calling a hob, you donk?

Who you calling a donk, you nugget?

-Well then.

-Well then.

-Well then!

-Well then!

'And after years of trying to avoid being made fun of,

'I began writing, performing, ripping the mince out of myself

'and making fun of Glasgow life.'

Ah, mate, mate...

-Some

-BLEEP

-givin' you the vickie!

'Suddenly my life as an Glasw-Asian

'was not something to be shy about, it was rich material to draw on.'

Am I going to be on the telly?

'And I found a character that reflected the Glasgow that I knew.'

You, Isa, are a nosey bastard.

Now, you wait here a minute, Navid!

'Navid was a shopkeeper who was unapologetically Glaswegian

'and unapologetically Asian.'

Now you're the arsehole. Get it up you.

'A character everyone in the city would recognise.'

My humour definitely belongs to Glasgow.

My family has been adopted by Glasgow.

I get pathetically blootered on half a pint of shandy,

so I think maybe my liver belongs to India.

Anyway, the point is, as a second generation immigrant,

I'm constantly questioning and reshaping my identity.

Unlike my father and my brothers,

from a young age, I chose NOT to wear the turban, a symbol

of commitment to the Sikh faith.

I was Glaswegian six days a week, but on the seventh day,

I visited a little piece of the Punjab in Pollokshields.

Bear in mind I grew up in Bishopbriggs,

which is a pretty white area.

I went to Catholic school, pretty white school.

So Sunday was the day I'd get down with the brown.

Because on Sundays, my family went to the Sikh temple,

what's called the Gurdwara,

literally meaning "the place of the Guru."

And Glasgow's got a shiny new Gurdwara.

Sitting proudly in the Southside,

it is the spiritual home to the city's 3,000-strong Sikh community.

'It's been so long since I set foot in a temple

'that I'm a little bit nervous,

'but hopefully, no-one will notice.'

So off come the shoes...

'And if you don't have your own turban,

'fear not, head gear is provided.'

And you're at home at a Sikh temple in the Southside of Glasgow

or indeed a gang in South Central LA - Crips!

-Charandeep.

-Sat Sri Akaal.

-Sat Sri Akaal.

-How're you?

-I'm good, how are you?

I'm very well. Welcome to the Glasgow Gurdwara.

'My guide is Charandeep Singh, a trustee of Gurdwara,

'who'll show me around Scottish Sikhism's new gaff

'and help me reconnect with my long lost spiritual side.'

Is this your first visit to the Glasgow Gurdwara then?

Yeah. Do you hate me?

-No! We're always up for first-time visitors.

-Oh, good.

'Sikhs believe that God is present everywhere,

'but at the heart of the Gurdwara,

'a simple space is set aside for worship.'

Everybody sits on the floor, men, women, young people, older people.

Sikhs and non-Sikhs.

That's what always got me growing up in a Sikh family,

was you come to the temple, everyone is sitting cross-legged.

Doesn't matter what car they drove in,

it doesn't matter what they did for a living.

I had a problem which may be another reason that I'm slightly lapsed...

I've got quite creaky knees and hips.

And sometimes, at this age especially...

I think you're a fairly young individual, Sanjeev.

No, no, if I sit cross-legged, I need an exit strategy now.

'All right, no more daft excuses.

'For the first time in years,

'I knelt in front of the Sikh scriptures

'and then I found myself a space on the floor.'

'I'm very proud of my both sides of my identity

'and sitting amongst the community that I grew up with,

'in the shiny new Gurdwara in Glasgow...

'Well, it was more profound than I expected.'

It's weird. It feels like a part of you even though it's something

I've not entertained in so long and yet clearly it's in here,

you know, and I can't call myself a believer but...

in there the atmosphere and everything, it felt like I was home.

Felt very homely and I guess that's something that will always stay

with me, whether I believe or not.

And there's one aspect to visiting the Gurdwara

that even heathens can relish.

I've got a hunger for langar.

-Can you show me to the food?

-Let's go.

Every Gurdwara in the world serves free food, what's known as langar.

It's simple food, communally cooked and eaten together.

This is kheer, is the best rice pudding in the world.

Well, I have to say, guys,

langar has competently stayed pretty much the same as it ever was,

the best Indian vegetarian food you'll ever get.

Saag, spinach, bit of daal here, lentils, got a bit of yoghurt here,

Punjabi rice pudding.

And like every other Gurdwara around the world, the Sikh community here

will share their food with anyone who walks through the door.

It's open to everyone, to Sikhs and non-Sikhs.

Do you want that getting out, though?

Because this is Glasgow, Indian food is very popular here.

If everyone knew about this, you might not be able to cope.

'The Sikh community are saying,

'"Come on away in, have a blether, have some scran,"

'and that seems to me to be very Glaswegian.'

It only really strikes me now, Glasgow and Sikhism

are very similar actually and you know, I'll be honest,

I was quite nervous about coming here as a lapsed Sikh,

but the vibe I get is anyone's welcome, absolutely anyone's welcome

and that's, you know...

If it's not on Glasgow coat of arms then it should be.

So, aye, Glasgow, Sikhism, really, really good fit.

You see, immigrants enrich Glasgow.

They build golden temples, start football clubs, open wee shops

and bring some fantastic recipes with them...

And remember, today's newcomers are tomorrow's proud Glaswegians.

And in 2014, with an ageing population,

Scotland is one of the few countries actively encouraging people

to come and settle here.

But are we really as welcoming as we're cracked up to be?

Well, the best people to judge are the new Glaswegians,

people who've arrived in the city.

'I'm going to speak to a family

'who arrived in Glasgow just three months ago.'

-Munir?

-Hi, welcome.

'Munir is a Syrian lawyer who had to leave his life,

'his friends, his home behind to protect his family

'from the ongoing civil war there...

'And 41 years after I arrived in Glasgow as a wee boy,

'I'm keen to find out how his two sons, Khalid and Yazan,

'feel about their new home.'

So what about the people who say that people in Glasgow are friendly

and they welcome you... have you found that?

-Yeah.

-Yeah, all of them are very friendly.

My parents came here to Glasgow a long time ago

and my mum and dad say the same thing,

that people are very welcoming.

My family came and saw the city and the people

and they decided to stay in the city, yeah.

Glasgow has certain words that you won't even hear in

other Scottish or British towns.

Have you learned any new words, any slang?

Yeah, dreich.

-Dreich?

-SANJEEV LAUGHS

'So on a dreich day,

'I proudly showed dear old Glasgow toon to these new young residents.'

'And then fittingly, in a wee cafe run by a Kosovan,

'this Punjabi boy fed Italian nosh to the Syrian kids

'and we talked about the future.'

Are you ready to call it home?

Yeah, because I want to stay here maybe forever.

Do you think you know what you want to do with your life?

Yeah, I'd like to be a dentist, I'd like to study in Glasgow University.

Do you know what you want to be?

-Uh, explorer.

-We haven't had a Scottish explorer for a while,

so you could be the next one, maybe?

And I want to find, like, the biggest snake in the world.

Good luck with that. Hope that works out for you.

So there you go. In the future,

these fine new Glaswegians will be scraping our tartar

and discovering our big snakes.

Glasgow has welcomed them and it makes me so proud.

But let's not kid ourselves. We have our problems.

Life can be tough here for newcomers.

Just as my parents did 41 years ago, people are still arriving

and making this city their home.

I was a new Glaswegian and I've been accepted, nurtured,

educated, and embraced by this old town.

Now I belong here.

And as long as we continue to welcome the world to our city,

we will honour the spirit of Saint Mungo,

Glasgow's first resident and patron saint,

when he said, "Let Glasgow flourish."

THEY PLAY "I BELONG TO GLASGOW"