One of the things I remember most about my childhood is the awkward conversation following the question “So, where are you from?”
“Oh, I’m from here.”
“No, where are you from…?”
I would, in the end, say, “India.”
It took me awhile to understand that most people, from looking at the color of my skin, wanted to know what my ethnicity was rather than where I was born. And that made me different. Except then, I didn’t really know how different.
I have been influenced by my family, home, and culture in many ways. I grew up in a small town almost an hour east of Dallas. My parents came here from India, making me a first-generation Indian-American.
My grandfather was a humble schoolteacher who settled his family in the hectic city of what was Baroda, …show more content…
My home is not just any old house; it’s the only Indian house in an otherwise Caucasian neighborhood. Where the other houses have dining rooms, we have a “mandir ni room” that houses a small temple where my grandmother lights a diva every morning without fail, praying for the safety and longevity of her family. Where most people light candles, we fill our house with the aroma of incense, whose smoke flows freely throughout, carrying our prayers to the gods. And in September, when everyone else puts on their oversized sweaters and drinks their pumpkin spice lattes with extra soy, we prepare for the auspicious holidays of Navratri and Diwali. We drape ourselves in the rich, colorful fabrics of home, adorn ourselves with ornaments heavy with their own symbolic past, and between our freshly threaded eyebrows, we fix a bindi with the precision of artists. We gather with friends and family to perform pujas and pray for wealth, prosperity, and safety in the upcoming year. My culture has taught me that even though I am different, I should be proud of these differences. It has taught me morals, which in turn have taught me integrity and the importance of
“Oh, I’m from here.”
“No, where are you from…?”
I would, in the end, say, “India.”
It took me awhile to understand that most people, from looking at the color of my skin, wanted to know what my ethnicity was rather than where I was born. And that made me different. Except then, I didn’t really know how different.
I have been influenced by my family, home, and culture in many ways. I grew up in a small town almost an hour east of Dallas. My parents came here from India, making me a first-generation Indian-American.
My grandfather was a humble schoolteacher who settled his family in the hectic city of what was Baroda, …show more content…
My home is not just any old house; it’s the only Indian house in an otherwise Caucasian neighborhood. Where the other houses have dining rooms, we have a “mandir ni room” that houses a small temple where my grandmother lights a diva every morning without fail, praying for the safety and longevity of her family. Where most people light candles, we fill our house with the aroma of incense, whose smoke flows freely throughout, carrying our prayers to the gods. And in September, when everyone else puts on their oversized sweaters and drinks their pumpkin spice lattes with extra soy, we prepare for the auspicious holidays of Navratri and Diwali. We drape ourselves in the rich, colorful fabrics of home, adorn ourselves with ornaments heavy with their own symbolic past, and between our freshly threaded eyebrows, we fix a bindi with the precision of artists. We gather with friends and family to perform pujas and pray for wealth, prosperity, and safety in the upcoming year. My culture has taught me that even though I am different, I should be proud of these differences. It has taught me morals, which in turn have taught me integrity and the importance of