Like Ariane Sherine, I was born and brought up in the UK, am of mixed ethnicity, and am often asked the question: "Where are you from?" (It may not be racist, but it's a question I'm tired of hearing, 3 March). I would, however, offer a slightly different take to her on that question's significance.

Much depends on the spirit in which the question is asked. When I've sensed that my belonging in this country is being challenged, I've certainly found that objectionable, and responded with a curt "Dartford", and a look that says: "What of it?"

However, Sherine says that her "reluctance to enter The Conversation isn't due … to fear of any dubious ulterior motives". She believes (and I agree) that the question is mostly asked simply out of curiosity. She objects to this partly through exasperation "at people thinking I'm less British than them because I'm brown".

Though my own experiences are different from Sherine's, my sense is that most people do not think I am "less British" because I am brown, but can simply see from the colour of my skin that I am British in a different way. If that provokes a genuine, friendly and natural curiosity, then not only do I not object, I absolutely welcome it.

At one level, this is merely part of two people getting to know each other. But it also means that instead of being defensive and rejectionist about ethnic difference, people are embracing it positively (the question may be phrased a little clumsily sometimes, but we can easily understand why).

The difference between the confrontational and the welcoming spirit of the question goes right to the heart of what it means to live in a country coming to terms with multiculturalism. I want to live in a society where people take a generous and open-minded approach to social difference.

Sherine also asks why she should be any more interested in India than anywhere else, simply because of her background. "It's an odd misconception that you should somehow feel connected to a far-flung country because your ancestors lived there centuries ago," she says. My own maternal family left India over 150 years ago, yet in spite of that I feel a personal connection toward that country and its culture which is illogical in the narrow sense yet undeniably deep and instinctive.

"It's not that I'm embarrassed about my ethnic background," says Sherine. "I don't think about it much." But I feel a particular duty to be aware of, and learn about, my heritage – both Indian and British – and derive great fulfilment from doing so. These feelings of affinity are quite common among diaspora.

Clearly these are personal feelings. I merely suggest that Sherine should not be surprised by them. Acknowledging the contradictory, sometimes irrational and yet deeply held feelings that we have in respect of our complex identities is probably the best response we can give to simplistic "cricket tests" and cliched talk of "Britishness". These conversations are well worth having.