If you’ve ever felt too Indian for Americans, too American for Indians, or simply caught somewhere in between…
Welcome.
I think you’re going to feel right at home.
I was born in May 1966 in Ahmedabad, India. 18 months later, my father had left with $8 in his pocket for America to find a job and a place for our family. So, in May of 1968, my mother, brother and I arrived at John F. Kennedy Airport – just two days before my second birthday.
I grew up in Queens in the 1970’s, when there weren’t many Indian families around. Queens was diverse, but not in the way it is today. Most people I encountered had never met someone from India. This led to quite a bit of questions and comments between the American Indian and the Indian American.
“Do you live in a teepee?”
“Can you make it rain?”
“Do you ride on elephants?“
“Why does your mom have a red dot on her forehead?“
And if I wasn’t called Pocahontas, I was called a “Hindu” – and told to go back to my country!
The funny thing is, I was never confused about which Indian I was.
I was reminded of that as soon as I got home.
Home life meant Indian food for almost every meal, Indian movies, Indian music and lots of dancing. I was expected to speak Gujarati fluently, pray daily and embrace my parents’ beliefs and values without question.
I was also expected to learn how to cook, clean and sew.
But I dodged that bullet early on!
I was, well trying to fit in and be a cool American.
But that wasn’t easy.
My mother didn’t speak English, so we weren’t just dealing with a generational gap. There was a cultural and language gap too.
Oily hair, clothes from the clearance rack at Alexander’s didn’t quite make the cut.
Even lunchtime was tricky. The girls didn’t want to sit next to me because my chutney sandwich smelled.
And, well…it was GREEN.
Thank God there was no social media.
Without realizing it, I learned to adapt. I learned how to become whoever each world needed me to be.
I’m sure many of you have your own version of this story.
I call myself and IBCD…Indian Born Confused Desi.
Not because I didn’t know who I was.
But because I was constantly trying to figure out where I belonged.
And Then I Grew Up…
Fast-forward several decades.
I’m a wife, a daughter-in-law, the mother of three grown boys, a mother-in-law and a very blessed grandmother. I’ve navigated family gatherings, weddings, babies, funerals, holidays, and more Indian customs and traditions than I could possibly count.
You’d think by now I’d know what I’m doing.
Nope.
Instead, I think I’ve graduated.
I’ve gone from an IBCD to an IBCSD…Indian Born Confused Sandwiched Desi.
Because now I’m sandwiched between the generation that raised me and the generation I raised.
My parents taught me one way to think.
My children challenge me to think another.
And somewhere in the middle…
There’s me.
I know all culture and families deal with generation differences, but there is something particularly complicated about being Indian American.
We inherited thousands of years of traditions, beliefs, customs, rituals, holidays, family expectations and cultural rules.
Some are beautiful and meaningful. Some bring families and communities together.
And some make me stop and ask:
Why am I still doing this?
Does it still make sense for me?
That’s where my confusion comes in.
Because I’m 60 years old now. Wow, when did that happen?!
When exactly do I get to decide what’s right for me and my family without worrying about critics, gossip or offending a family member?
And that’s why I’m writing this blog.
To help navigate around my confusion. Because sometimes I’ve gotten off the traditional road and done things my own way.
And that can get…awkward.
I can never quite tell whether people truly believe in every tradition – or whether sometimes it just feels safer to keep doing what we’ve always done.
Because when in doubt, most of us seem to Desi.
Anyway, I’m not here to give advice. I’m not looking for advice. I’m not even venting.
I’m simply sharing my thoughts, my experiences and, mostly, my own confused state of mind.
Maybe you can relate. Maybe it will offer a different perspective. Or maybe you can have a chuckle at my expense.
One thing I do know – I love being Indian.
It’s just a matter of how Indian I want to be. So…
To Desi or Not to Desi.
todesiornottodesi.com 