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These days, whether it’s through some passing remark or a very intentional conversation, I find people are surprised to find out my parents are immigrants. “You mean, they’re both Indian?” or, “They actually immigrated here?”… “Do you speak the language?”
I mean, I get it. My current lifestyle doesn’t exactly scream, “Daughter of immigrants!!”
In college, I chose to be a part of a mostly Caucasian Christian student group. I married a Caucasian man. We now attend a mostly Caucasian church in one of the most Caucasian cities in the country. I did choose to study abroad in India during college, but even that was basically the most Caucasian experience ever. Although it was incredibly personal for me, it didn’t escape me that while most Indian friends I had growing up visited this country to see old relatives, my first time was with a group of 19 other American college students, as tourists.
I made those decisions, and I wouldn’t change a single one of them. I feel comfortable in this world. I honestly can’t imagine any other one. I am after all, an American. But I’m also deeply, wholly, incredibly Indian. In ways that are hard to explain to other Americans.
I know the difference between a sari and a kurti. The smell of Indian spices don’t remind me of Indian take out, but home. I have an acquired taste for Indian sweets that even those with the most varied palette would find gross. Because that’s what my American upbringing consisted of.
It’s why books like this are so good for me to read. Growing up bi-cultural is an interesting thing. I feel like some either ignore it completely and live life exactly how they are living it, while others spend their entire life trying to figure out just what that means for them. I’d say for the most part I belong to that former group. This is my life, I chose it, and I really am truly happy with it. It’s where I belong. But when I read books like this, they give me pause. They help me to see how vibrantly unique my upbringing was, but at the same time, how it binds me to millions of other Americans I’ve never even met. They help me to understand my mother, who is still such a mystery to me. They help me to understand who I am, and that it’s a beautiful thing.
If you are a child of immigrants, or just want to broaden your horizon, I wholeheartedly recommend this book. I know I didn’t give any of the plot away at all, but like I said in my first “book review,” I don’t exactly know how to give book reviews :)
