DAMMAM, 11 July — My son cried when Saudi Arabia lost to Germany in the World Cup.

"We played miserably and the team brought shame for us," he said through his sobs.

The curious thing is that my son carries an Indian passport, but because he was born and brought up here in the Kingdom when he visits India he feels like a foreigner. The culture, values and customs of that country are alien to him.

He belongs to a generation of immigrants who have spent their whole life in the Kingdom and are as a result loosing their cultural identity. They are not Saudi nationals; but in their "home" countries they are also considered alien.

So where do they belong?

The parents of this generation children have also not infrequently been living outside their home countries for as long as 20 and 30 years, typically visiting "home" only once a year for a month or so. Such long absences have resulted in dramatic changes to their habits and behavior. Moreover, their friends, relatives and fellow countrymen treat them as foreigners as well.

Zamir Hasan, a former Saudi Aramco employee, has been living in the Kingdom for 53 years. He is a Pakistani national with an Indian wife and a Saudi son. Hasan first migrated from India to Pakistan in 1948, when the Subcontinent was divided. After a year’s stay in Pakistan he got a job with the then Aramco, and in 1949 he arrived in Dhahran. Since them he has lived there, working for various companies.

"I have lived in Pakistan for only one year since I arrived here. Now tell me: where do I belong? I hardly know Pakistan. I’d already left India. But the only thing that’s clear in Saudi Arabia is that I’m a ‘foreign worker’, despite my 53 years here," he said.

Hasan is one of thousands of Subcontinent expatriates who have lived in the Kingdom for more than four decades but still carry the tag of a foreigner.

It is not the question of nationality or travel documents, but the lack of acceptance. Neither the host country nor the expatriates themselves have taken the initiative to bridge the gulf that still exists between them. Their relationship remains strictly one of sponsor and employee.

A subcontinent expatriate became "Rafiq" (friend), while other expatriates became "Siddiq" (again meaning friend).

When the term "Rafiq" was coined for the Subcontinent expatriates several decades ago, it was done out of affection and reverence. But over the years its meaning has changed and it has taken on derogatory connotations. It is a term that affluent expatriates would never accept.

The blame for the cultural gaps lies with both groups, but mostly the expatriates. It is normal for locals anywhere to be apprehensive about foreigners, who at first seem like intruders. It was the task of expatriates to try and break the ice, but hardly any such attempts were ever made.

The residential compounds and labor camps divided on national lines increased the gap further and chances to interact with the locals in social and other events diminished. In festivities, good times and bad times, these expatriates kept themselves in isolation.

Osama Al-Qahtani, a Saudi Aramco employee, who lives in Dammam Iskan, says that he has worked alongside an Indian colleague for 15 years, but still feels like he hardly knows him.

"I invited him a couple of times to my home but he never accepted the invitations. I always get a feeling that he does not want to mix with us," he added.

The expatriates tend to blame Saudis.

"Their arrogance never allows us to mix with them on a social level. They look down on us and even if we are working elsewhere, all of them consider themselves our sponsors," said Nafees Alam, who has been in the Kingdom for 16 years.

It is indeed a fact that some Saudis do have a sense of supremacy and a feeling that they are somehow masters.

For the latest generation of expatriates born and bought up here in the Kingdom, this is where they belong. They mix in this society because it is the only one they have ever known. However, even they get frustrated when they are reminded that they do not "belong" to this place because in the end they are and always will be "foreigners".

"Your passport and your nationality are irrelevant. What is important to me is that this is the place where I was born, where I received my education and which is the only place I can call my home," said Sanya, a student at the International Indian School who was born in Alkhobar and has lived here all her life.