Day 8

This morning I met a new member at my yoga studio, an Indian woman probably about my age. She spoke with a distinct accent, and asked me if I could speak Telugu. Ashamed, I told her I didn't know how to speak any Indian languages, only my parents do. Surprisingly, she still remained friendly with me.

I've always tried to avoid networking with Indian people because this flaw of mine is bound to come out sooner rather than later. I lost my culture at a young age. My parents had decided that their children should learn only English as a first language, so that we would not become confused when we went to school. However, my parents didn't expect that their school-aged children would all wholeheartedly refuse to learn Tamil once we were old enough to choose. Nor did they expect that they would have no support from society in getting their children to act right. According to American culture, which supports and encourages rebellion, we were acting right by choosing for ourselves.

However, I can't honestly call my choice authentic. On the one hand, I truly love American culture. I love freedom, rebellion, the English language, blue jeans, rock music, video games, and the list goes on. On the other hand, I know I consciously chose to identify with my American side and not my Indian side because I feared the racism of my childhood peers. Looking back, I envy the more courageous girls who danced bharatanatyam instead of ballet or wore salwar kameez instead of jeans and shorts.

Were they really more courageous, though, or just more afraid of their relatives than they were of their classmates? I'll never know. And if I choose to embrace my Indian side now, am I doing it to get closer to my true nature or am I doing it for social gain?

Perhaps both. When I show up at a family gathering in a sari and Indian jewelry, it makes my grandmother smile in a way she wouldn't if I showed up in jeans with 14-gauge belly rings in my ears. I've found that dress is a language of its own, a way of connecting, of aligning oneself visibly with another person. It can also be a way of disconnecting, of asserting one's separation from the other person or group.

It's worth playing with--whether or not I manage to actually learn Tamil while my grandmother is alive.