I Am an Indian American
My early years could have led me to believe I was a "regular" kid in a predominantly white neighborhood: Church daycare, Montessori school, and best friends named Eric and Ally. Then when I was six, I visited my grandparents in India for the first time. Everyone spoke English with a funny accent, macaroni and cheese was unheard of, and my grandmother taught me to read and write a fascinating language called Marathi. By the time I returned home, I became aware that though I had a lot in common with Eric and Ally, I had access to a completely different world than the one I had been living in with them in Tacoma, Washington. Since those years, I have come to appreciate the richness of my heritage as an Indian who was born and raised in America.
I enjoyed participating in Washington's Indian community because it gave me amazing opportunities, like learning to fuse Western and Bollywood dance, sharing my Hindu perspective in my Catholic high school, or even working with scientist and former Indian president Dr. Abdul Kalam and Congressman Jim McDermott. But until college, I didn't realize there was an incredibly good reason I was doing all of these things. Two specific incidents would teach me why my Indian culture is so important and that I still have a long journey ahead to fully understanding the identity of an Indian, an American, or an Indian American.
I enjoyed participating in Washington's Indian community because it gave me amazing opportunities, like learning to fuse Western and Bollywood dance, sharing my Hindu perspective in my Catholic high school, or even working with scientist and former Indian president Dr. Abdul Kalam and Congressman Jim McDermott. But until college, I didn't realize there was an incredibly good reason I was doing all of these things. Two specific incidents would teach me why my Indian culture is so important and that I still have a long journey ahead to fully understanding the identity of an Indian, an American, or an Indian American.
Death of a Generation
Knowledge is said to be eternal. However, it can die if it is not passed on to the next generation. My maternal grandfather passed away when I was ten. Having grown up far away from him, I was unable to comprehend his death emotionally. My paternal grandfather was diagnosed with terminal cancer during my sophomore year of college. This time, I harbored rage and guilt, but I could not figure out why. I hadn't grown up near this grandfather either, so why did I feel different?
ANTH 322, Comparative Study of Death, offered an answer. In this class, I learned that lack of closure in a relationship commonly explains why relatives handle a death in the family poorly. I was unsure whether this was my issue, as my relationship with my grandfather had not been strongly defined to begin. After seeking advice directly from the professor, Dr. James Green, I realized that a weak relationship was precisely the reason I was upset. I knew very little about my grandfather’s life, let alone the lives of my other ancestors. It hit me that if their life experiences—which I can thank for my existence in this world—remained untold to their descendants, they would disappear along with their lives. This was the source of my dis-ease.
I decided to write a memoir of my grandfather. He was alive long enough to provide a few humbling words about his challenging life as an, engineer, entrepreneur, and freedom fighter. After he passed away in the middle of my project, I turned to members of my extended family for accounts of their experiences with him. A great story began unfolding, full of colorful characters and settings. This story would be a prequel to my own life. Writing this memoir helped me connect to my roots; I gained a better understanding of my identity as an Indian born and raised in America. By reflecting on my family relationships as well as seeking help from mentors and relatives, I found a way to cope with my sorrow that was meaningful to me, my grandfather, and the rest of my family. I am honored to have received the Shih Chun and Mamie Kwoh Wang Endowed Scholarship from the University of Washington Honors Program in recognition of this deep cultural experience.
Knowledge is said to be eternal. However, it can die if it is not passed on to the next generation. My maternal grandfather passed away when I was ten. Having grown up far away from him, I was unable to comprehend his death emotionally. My paternal grandfather was diagnosed with terminal cancer during my sophomore year of college. This time, I harbored rage and guilt, but I could not figure out why. I hadn't grown up near this grandfather either, so why did I feel different?
ANTH 322, Comparative Study of Death, offered an answer. In this class, I learned that lack of closure in a relationship commonly explains why relatives handle a death in the family poorly. I was unsure whether this was my issue, as my relationship with my grandfather had not been strongly defined to begin. After seeking advice directly from the professor, Dr. James Green, I realized that a weak relationship was precisely the reason I was upset. I knew very little about my grandfather’s life, let alone the lives of my other ancestors. It hit me that if their life experiences—which I can thank for my existence in this world—remained untold to their descendants, they would disappear along with their lives. This was the source of my dis-ease.
I decided to write a memoir of my grandfather. He was alive long enough to provide a few humbling words about his challenging life as an, engineer, entrepreneur, and freedom fighter. After he passed away in the middle of my project, I turned to members of my extended family for accounts of their experiences with him. A great story began unfolding, full of colorful characters and settings. This story would be a prequel to my own life. Writing this memoir helped me connect to my roots; I gained a better understanding of my identity as an Indian born and raised in America. By reflecting on my family relationships as well as seeking help from mentors and relatives, I found a way to cope with my sorrow that was meaningful to me, my grandfather, and the rest of my family. I am honored to have received the Shih Chun and Mamie Kwoh Wang Endowed Scholarship from the University of Washington Honors Program in recognition of this deep cultural experience.
I Am Neither Here
Nor There
I and six others were the first students from an American university to travel to India on behalf of CRY (Child Rights & You) to work in their headquarters in Mumbai. To commemorate the trip, we made t-shirts that had a map of India. Eager to travel, we posted a group picture wearing the shirts onto Facebook. Family and friends wished us well in their comments. The CRY Facebook page even re-posted our picture to their wall to help us gain support! However, the comments on the CRY page were not the same good wishes we had received before.
The page was flooded with negative comments about the shirts we wore. Unfortunately, we had chosen a map of India that was missing Kashmir, a region that has been long fought-over with Pakistan and is a huge part of Indian nationalist sentiment. Those who expressed their discontent urged us to cancel the trip and even burn the shirts, calling us culturally insensitive. I was infuriated that all our hard work over the course of two years was being shot down. After all, we were traveling for the purpose of child rights, not geographical boundary disputes. Why did any of this matter?
I finally calmed down and thought to myself. There is a reason that so many people reacted negatively. They even didn't want to acknowledge that I was Indian. Everything I thought I knew about my Indian identity was turned upside-down. Although it was a misunderstanding, it was a grave one. I considered why the current state of child rights in India is so bleak. Taking a look at history, I saw that social issues, including child rights, are indirectly a result of India's long history of political and military abuse. Therefore, the issue of child rights cannot be separated from geographical boundary disputes as I had tried to do before. I remembered that my mother grew up in a military family, so I called my relatives that night and spoke with them for hours about the injustices they saw toward women and children. I now knew why I was wrong.
During the trip, we observed one of CRY's partner organizations in a remote village in Latur, where they worked with lower-caste kids in schools. I was so moved by the kids' enthusiasm to attend school in small classrooms with no desks, no blackboards, and one teacher instructing several classes simultaneously. These kids told me that school means everything to them, because they personally wrote charters of demands to the government to have their school built in the first place. I felt immensely proud of these children, for in the most impoverished conditions, they set out to define their identity through education. I too have set out on the right path to discovering my identity, but I am not there quite yet.
Nor There
I and six others were the first students from an American university to travel to India on behalf of CRY (Child Rights & You) to work in their headquarters in Mumbai. To commemorate the trip, we made t-shirts that had a map of India. Eager to travel, we posted a group picture wearing the shirts onto Facebook. Family and friends wished us well in their comments. The CRY Facebook page even re-posted our picture to their wall to help us gain support! However, the comments on the CRY page were not the same good wishes we had received before.
The page was flooded with negative comments about the shirts we wore. Unfortunately, we had chosen a map of India that was missing Kashmir, a region that has been long fought-over with Pakistan and is a huge part of Indian nationalist sentiment. Those who expressed their discontent urged us to cancel the trip and even burn the shirts, calling us culturally insensitive. I was infuriated that all our hard work over the course of two years was being shot down. After all, we were traveling for the purpose of child rights, not geographical boundary disputes. Why did any of this matter?
I finally calmed down and thought to myself. There is a reason that so many people reacted negatively. They even didn't want to acknowledge that I was Indian. Everything I thought I knew about my Indian identity was turned upside-down. Although it was a misunderstanding, it was a grave one. I considered why the current state of child rights in India is so bleak. Taking a look at history, I saw that social issues, including child rights, are indirectly a result of India's long history of political and military abuse. Therefore, the issue of child rights cannot be separated from geographical boundary disputes as I had tried to do before. I remembered that my mother grew up in a military family, so I called my relatives that night and spoke with them for hours about the injustices they saw toward women and children. I now knew why I was wrong.
During the trip, we observed one of CRY's partner organizations in a remote village in Latur, where they worked with lower-caste kids in schools. I was so moved by the kids' enthusiasm to attend school in small classrooms with no desks, no blackboards, and one teacher instructing several classes simultaneously. These kids told me that school means everything to them, because they personally wrote charters of demands to the government to have their school built in the first place. I felt immensely proud of these children, for in the most impoverished conditions, they set out to define their identity through education. I too have set out on the right path to discovering my identity, but I am not there quite yet.