Carrying On: “Jai No” for this Hoya

I am a failed Indian. At least, that’s what another Indian girl clearly thought when she told me I was saying my own name wrong. “No, no—it’s pronounced ‘Sath-in-derr, not ‘Sat-in-dur.’ You have to soften the ‘t’ and roll the ‘r’ more,” she explained. There I was, a freshman sitting in my common room, seething with rage. Who the hell did she think she was, being that abbrasive when I had merely introduced myself out of politeness?

It is because of people like her that, for the third year in a row, I avoided the South Asian Society ‘s table at last Sunday’s Student Activities Commission Fair.

I have no evidence that the girl I met in the common room was even in the SAS, but I avoid it because I cannot help associating any South Asian group on campus with the negativity I feel from people who let me know that I am not “Indian enough.” These feelings have been building up for 20 years now. I one day hope to travel to India and discover my roots on my own terms, but I am simply not ready yet. I also do not believe I should be pushed to do “South Asian” things or that others like me, people who feel more comfortable in America than their country of origin, should feel that pressure. When it comes to something as personal as identity, I think it is better to take your time so that, when you finally decide to take that first step to learn more about your heritage, it will come from the heart and not from an insincere effort to be a “true” South Asian, whatever that is.

Don’t get me wrong—I know my extreme aversion to the SAS is absurd. It’s a pity, really, since the SAS actually has a lot to offer. The group puts on Rangila, the immensly popular annual dance show, for example. It’s a beautiful event—or at least that is what I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know what it’s actually like because I have never seen or been a part of it.

Every first-generation immigrant experience is different, and that can lead people who were born and raised in the U.S. to feel less American and more South Asian or, as in my case, feel more American and actually intimidated by the other part of their identity.

For example, as a toddler I started out speaking Punjabi, but I gradually abandoned it for English. I grew up a religious Sikh, but became an agnostic. I disliked my “more” Indian cousins and would retreat into myself whenever they came over. On the other hand, I eat Indian food with my hands, and I touch a book to my head as a sign of respect if I accidentally touch it with my foot (most South Asians will tell you that knowledge is sacred). If I am nervous or scared, I have a habit of privately saying “Waheguru,” the Sikh term for God.

The contradictions hardly stop here; my identity is complex, just as all identities are. So, if you’re like me, before you join a cultural club, I hope you really stop and think about it: are you joining because you are genuinely interested or because you just sort of feel like it’s what you should do? If it is the latter, please do not join. Respect the complexity of your identity and recognize that being South Asian—or whatever you are—is not a mandate on who you should be.

For those of you who feel ostracized for your lack of cultural consistency, consider Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India. Nehru was a passionate advocate for an independent India and suspicious of what he deemed to be the “perpetually imperialistic West,” but he was also a Harrow- and Cambridge-educated agnostic who was wary of intensely devout Hindus. Though he was widely beloved, he had his shares of critics for being something of an “English gentleman,” a term that has been used to describe him in various biographies. So, the next time some overly enthusiastic South Asian makes you feel crappy, slam Nehru in their face. Yeah, I bet they didn’t see that coming—an Americanized Indian who knows more about Nehru than they do.

However you choose to confront those who criticize your cultural identity, remember that it is important to be patient with yourself and take your time to understand who you are. In the meantime though, it’s all right to continue neurotically shunning SAS and cringing with rage whenever you think of some girl you met as a freshman in your Village C West common room. Isn’t accepting who you are cathartic?