Frida Kahlo Thinking about Death painting

Frida Kahlo Thinking about Death paintingFrida Kahlo The Two Fridas paintingFrida Kahlo Sun and Life painting
packet cereal complete with toy silver spacemen, and he cried out, ungratefully: "Now I'm supposed to eat this filthy foreign food?" -- with expressions of sympathy, made matters even worse. "Sawful muck," Mishal agreed with him. "No bangers in here, worse luck." Conscious of having insulted their hospitality, he tried to explain that he thought of himself, nowadays, as, well, British. . . "What about us?" Anahita wanted to know. "What do you think we are?" -- And Mishal confided: "Bangladesh in't nothing to me. Just some place Dad and Mum keep banging on about." -- And Anahita, conclusively: "Bungleditch." -- With a satisfied nod. -- "What I call it, anyhow."
But they weren't British, he wanted to tell them: not _really_, not in any way he could recognize. And yet his old certainties were slipping away