Being Recognized

On our way back to the apartment yesterday afternoon, we asked the auto driver to make a couple short stops (to pick up some groceries, then at the wine shop for a bottle of vodka) while Sion was fetching the latter, I waited with our bags of loot in the auto. As we waited, an elderly woman came by asking for money, which of course I gave. She blessed me, I blessed her, it went back and forth a couple times. When she left I had this conversation with the driver:

him: you are nice people, you give money. [I had just given another elderly woman money at the previous stop]
me: oh, um, thanks. Was she a widow?
him: yes. You are nice girl. Are you Hindu?
me: no. Mexican.
him: Ah, Chicana.
me (eyes popping out of my head): YES! Chicana. You know Chicana!
He says nothing, just seems pleased with himself.

Immediately after I said Mexican, I think: Duh: the appropriate answer is Catholic, NOT Mexican (much as they might slide into each other for me). But the hilarious thing is that I heard Hindu in the way Mexicans and Chicanos refer to EVERYONE in India. Growing up, that's what I thought Indians were called, as distinct from American Indians.

And yeah: he knew the right name for me was Chicana. I still can't get over that. People at home don't know Chicano. Much less Chicana.