TIME KEEPS ON TRIPPIN, INTO THE FUTURE

I feel as though I've spent most of my 'adult' life, racing around the world at a breathless pace trying to prove myself and make some sort of mark. It's so strange to reach a point where you must take a long, hard look at what that all amounts to. It's exciting to be at a crossroads and to know in your heart that you're a capable person with talent to share, but my how the head begs to differ.

Are we all our own worst enemies?

I am thrilled that the Aussie film industry is having a bumper year. I'm even more thrilled that SAMSON & DELILAH won the Camera d'Or in Cannes and is proving itself at the box office, the first really successful Aussie film since LANTANA in monetary terms. And critically it's been a smash. As I wrote a while back, I thought it an astounding achievement and a gobsmacking experience to watch. I really don't want to ruin it for anyone who's keen to see it, and to you I say go, support this film and give yourself over to its unique rhythm. It's an Australian story about two young Aboriginals who are struggling to find their path and love. It is funny, thought provoking, terrifying and immensely moving.

I love Melbourne. I love Australia. But what's been going on lately in the outer suburbs of my home town is deeply disturbing, I've been waking at night feeling sick. Young Indian men are being beaten up with alarming regularity and viciousness. As you've probably seen in the media, these attacks have been so brutal and clearly racially motivated that India is rightly appalled and has responded vocally. There was a protest last weekend in the centre of Melbourne and India is already boycotting Australia.

For those of you who came on my Indian journey with me, you'll know that I was welcomed with open arms by almost everyone I came across. It was humbling and life affirming. I've never felt anything quite like it. Even after seven years of living in England, despite being half British, I never felt that sort of warmth, generosity and genuine inquisitiveness. I'm not so naive as to imply that every Indian I met had perfect intentions, or that I didn't experience forms of racism being a light bulb blondie who stuck out a mile, but I was overwhelmingly accepted and respected. For that I will always love India and cannot wait to return.

Nor am I saying that England is utterly standoffish and unwelcoming. I had seven long, fascinating years living there and I met some incredible people. I made friendships with Brits and foreigners alike there that will last forever. I worked for some of the most incredible people I've ever known, but I often felt that the UK kept me at arms length. I had to work so hard to try and fit in, (and afford any sort of lifestyle), at times I felt that it bled me dry of positivity and warmth and strength - three things I like to think I had endless supplies of.

Every country has problems with racism. We live in an incredibly multicultural society and a lot of the time it is tolerant and accepting. Most of the people I know and love in Australia are horrified at what's been happening to these Indian students, young men who've come here to learn from this country and its people - to make a better life for themselves and their family. So why the hatred? Why would a group of young guys attack another group with screwdrivers and fists when they were simply spending the night at a party doing what all young people do - having a bit of fun, a release from their heavy work schedules and the heavy expectations of their families and themselves?

I know this question is complex and throughout history humans have persecuted other humans, sometimes simply in reaction to which god they worship. What I find so completely hideous, is that one young man can look in the eyes of another and just because of the colour of his skin, he can want to kill him. Without knowing his name, his ideals, his family, his history, he can just pick up a screwdriver and attack him and leave him for dead. My heart breaks. It is the ugliest side of this country, of humanity - ignorance that breeds violence is everywhere, but somehow it's worse when it comes from a country that claims to welcome every race, colour and creed. A country that prides itself on diversity and wouldn't be riding out the recession so well, without the hard graft and commitment of the myriad of people from every imaginable background, who keep this country moving forward. Who love this country like their own.

It makes me want to board a plane immediately back to India, to see what I can do to help people there. To seek out the families of those who've been attacked and maimed (some who've died) and apologise to them. To give them all that I have. To let them know that someone really does care about what happened. I am deeply ashamed. Forgive me if you feel I'm being overdramatic, but I have been so happy to be home again. But this feels like a repeat of when I last tried to live back here and the Cronulla riots broke out in Sydney between a bunch of Aussie surfers and some young Lebanese kids. Noone wins in these sort of battles. Bloodshed only breeds pain and suffering.

I keep flashing back to a lovely Indian woman who I met on a train from Jaipur to Lucknow. Her berth was below mine and when the train decided to terminate in Lucknow instead of going on to Varanasi, she heard me talking with a British traveller and her Polish friend about how we'd get there. She got on her phone and organised a car to pick us up (at an ungodly hour) and couldn't have been kinder. When she asked where I was from and I replied, Australia. She smiled. I asked if she'd ever been or wanted to go, she said, "Oh no, I'm afraid I've heard that it's very racist there." I must admit to being taken aback, though she said it without malice, I was a touch put out. It was not the response I was used to when discussing the country of my birth.

Her words keep resounding in my head now. I grew up in the most wonderful country and was mostly blind to the seething hatred that does exist here under the surface (as it did on the estate around the corner from where I lived in Highbury or the neighbourhoods I lived in New York). But if I'm really honest, I remember how some people were teased at school and I remember the shame I felt when friends of mine were mean (and probably I was too) to people who were different, when we should have known better. I clearly recall the effect that Russell Crowe's searing portrayal of a Neo Nazi in ROMPER STOMPER had on me. That was the first time I really saw the dark side of Australia. I had witnessed many news reports of terrible wars and atrocities overseas, but that film's opening sequence was shot in Richmond station. It was a short walk from where I spent my predominantly happy youth. I couldn't believe it.

My father was a newspaperman (and in his heart still is). I used to joke that by the time I awoke, Dad had read at least five newspapers and was ready to discuss the political system in Bulgaria, if you'd let him. Mum and I sometimes rolled our eyes as he spilled information about what had been happening while we slept. (I once gave Mum a keyring that summed us both up, 'I May Rise But I Refuse To Shine') He has always been and continues to be, a sponge for what's going on in the world. I think that made me lazy. He was such a fountain of up to date information, that I hardly needed to open a paper myself. When he hosted a current affairs radio show between 8.30-10 every week morning, he was up at 5am working and reading and researching (there has never been and never will be someone more dilligent than my father), so for 5 years he was gone by the time I made it to breakfast and his voice was the backdrop to many lives during those years.

I try and read the papers and surf a few sites most days, but I must admit that there are those where I get lost inside my own head and don't connect with the world. I take Minnie La Mooch for a walk and connect with Elwood, but I do crave the discipline to consistently look outside myself, to be always grateful for the astounding gifts I have been given in this life and to respect others. I try my best, but I know I could do better.

This week I've been battling with the industry and the internet, trying to extract a job to give my life back here structure. But what sort of meaning am I searching for? I am immensely privileged compared to many in this world, I have a responsibility to do something more with my life. I am proud that I've written a film and achieved some things, but when I compare them to what others have done and are trying to do, I come up short. My grandmother always told us to reach beyond our grasp. I am trying.

In the words of Aretha Franklin, I say a little prayer.