By Mehru Jaffer

Many an Indian abroad may have made it as a millionaire but I am not one of them. I do not even look like one. Otherwise why would this greasy looking guy, a complete stranger, walk up to me in the middle of the street one day to say, “You from India?“
“Yes. How do you know?“ I was irritated but still wondered if he had recognised me from the movie I have always dreamt of starring in? But ignoring my own question to him, the guy continued to throw his ones at me.
“You want job? You want visa? I get you job, I get you visa.“
“I have a job and I have a visa, thank you,“ I say and try to move away from this rude intrusion who does not either say excuse me, lift his hat or küss die hand (kiss your hand) while addressing a lady. He is definitely not Viennese.
“What job you have?“ he kept talking as he trailed after me.
“I am a writer.“
“But I get you good job. Very much money. In very big house.“
“Where, why, what...?“ I don't know what else to say to this man who just will not go away. I want him to go away also because I am nearing the corner where a smiling gentleman from Turkey makes the most mouth watering doner kebabs in town that are best downed with a glass of Ayran, a thin yoghurt drink. I find the presence of these recently mushroomed stalls on the roadside far more appetising than those that traditionally sell sausages and beer. Some of my Viennese friends do too, you know. 

But then what is a Viennese? Once upon a time everyone was an immigrant here like everywhere else. German barbarians used to roam this area before the Romans brought Christianity and the concept of a castle and the telephone directory today is prove enough that a majority of residents living here have a name that has its origins in some other corner of the world. 

“You can not cook curry... Never mind. You can clean house. Very rich house. Very much money OK.“
“Not OK! Now go or I will call the police,“ I look back a second after saying that and the guy is gone. At the mention of the word police perhaps.

It is people like us, the tall, thin man with a distinct and even an attractive Mediterranean tan and me with my champa, chameli smells who prefers kebabs to cold cuts that makes the Viennese a little uncomfortable today. It was alright when there were fewer of us a few decades ago. But with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the former Yugoslavia a lot of Eastern Europe has trickled into Austria. While Turkish workers always found work here there are just that many more of them now. Immigrants are said to make up 10 percent of the population of tiny Austria with an entire population of less than all of Delhi. And the figure of asylum seekers runs into thousands and the number of cases pending is growing faster than those actually granted asylum.

The country itself admits that it needs to attract more than 2000 immigrants every year but with specialized skills to keep the wheels of the economy well oiled. But with an increase in crime and in chaos in certain parts of this country that adores its peace and quiet and law and order, the instinct of an ordinary Austrian is to look upon the dribbling stream of foreigners with a bit of a frown. 

The populist view of right wing politicians is that the country is already home to enough refugees and that precious federal resources should now be spent on those that are already living here. The longest list of asylum seekers today is mainly from Afghanistan followed by Iran, Iraq, Yugoslavia and even India who have fled their country of origin due to political persecution but more due to poverty. The only skill that they are armed with is a powerful will to survive.

A problem facing this tiny but traditionally generous country is to screen all applications of asylum seekers as thoroughly as possible but a bigger problem remains to keep the immigrant issue from being hijacked by politicians who are opportunists really with another name. Despite the fact that the streets of Vienna may be stalked by a few more greasy looking characters like the one I bumped into the other day. And of course also by the likes of myself.