Throughout childhood, most people stray from the idea of being unique. We try as hard as we can to be similar to our classmates and to have as many things in common as possible. We end up molding ourselves into a person who is a little less of us and a little more like our best friend, our sister or whatever we saw as “normal” at the time.
Growing up as a first-generation American, I have always felt the divide of being an American-born Indian. Stereotypes have followed me throughout my entire life, and up until now, I have done everything in my power to disprove them. Little comments and jokes have made it clear to me that no matter what I do, I will never be exactly the same as the classmate sitting next to me, but I have learned to embrace that.
The immature second-grader in me will always be a little nervous before opening up her thermos filled with kadhi chawal and her tiffin with laddu and kaju katli at lunchtime. Now, I’m excited to share my food with others, have friends over for dinner and encourage them to try new things. My younger self would have avoided inviting friends over because of having to explain to them that we do not wear shoes in the house, or that I speak to my grandma in Hindi. Now, as my peers and I have matured, I realize that these things are only as big of a deal as you make them.
As I have gotten older, both me and my love for my culture have grown. The embarrassment turned into embracement, the modification of my name turned into correcting my teacher’s pronunciation and the dislike for my tan skin has turned into a love for endless summer days of laying out in the sun.
Growing up in an area where Indians are a minority, I have felt unseen and underrepresented for my entire life; however, recently, my sisters and I participated in a Bollywood dance show for the first time in over 10 years, and I had the opportunity to witness a community that never hesitates to celebrate their culture. Once a year, my family and I dress up in our traditional Indian attire to celebrate Diwali: we go to a party and sing and dance to songs that I am glad are unique to me and my family. While I used to be proud of having no differences among my friends, I now aspire to point out these differences between us and welcome them with open arms, excited to learn more about one another.
My grandparents are currently visiting from India; my nights are filled with reminiscing over photos of theirs and my parents’ childhoods, my parents’ wedding and my siblings and I’s visits to India over the years. Not only do these photos help me create an invisible string with my grandparents, but they let me learn about the people who made our family what it is today: generations through generations of Indian pride, tradition and culture.
Along with this, social media has given me the chance to see that I am not alone. I always knew that there were other first-generation Indians in the world, but seeing them talk about their experience growing up has done what no one ever could — it made me feel seen. It feels like I have finally found that middle ground between forcing myself to fit the mold of both sides.
I am Indian, and I am not ashamed to say it, I am proud to be learning more and more about my culture every day. I am proud of little me for not giving in to the risks of losing my true identity to social norms. I am proud that I live in a city where being an immigrant is common, where the idea of being from another country is not foreign. I am proud to say that I have fallen back in love with my culture.
