"I don't deny being Indian and I don't rely on it." -Mindy Kaling
From kindergarten through eighth grade, I wore my hair in two braids every single day. I had no choice in the matter and for most of that time, I didn't mind. In the sixth grade, I moved to a new school. Still scoping out the social scene, I had one friend. At the time, she was the only "popular" Indian girl. One day at recess, one of the popular boys told her that he thought I was cute -- despite my braids. My friend relayed the message, which destroyed me. Her words still echoing in my mind, I went to the bathroom, stood in front of the mirror, and stared. Before I knew it, my hands came out of nowhere and violently tore out my braids. Once the deed was done, I ran my fingers through my hair, crimped from braids. Before leaving the bathroom, I came to a misguided conclusion: I looked American. Maybe because none of the non-Indian kids wore braids, maybe because all the young girls in India wore two braids to school, I associated the hairstyle with my cultural roots. I questioned how other people -- Indian or not -- saw people who look like me.
Throughout my childhood, most of my closest friends were Indian (the confound is that 70.8% of my high school is Asian). It was an unconscious decision and once in a while I wondered whether it should bother me. I finally got my answer in my high school Psychology course. Research has shown that similarity increases liking. Not just similarity of superficial things like genres of literature or lunch meats, but opinions, interpersonal styles, experience, and values. We go further to involuntarily make negative assumptions about people who don't share our beliefs, adopting an uncontrollable repulsion towards them. I felt connected to my Indian-American friends because I could be pretty sure that their Indian parents were like mine, making them learn Bharatnatyam or forbidding them to talk about dating (let alone date).
College was the first time I realized that not all first-generation Indian-Americans had similar upbringings to mine, in a city and school that was primarily Asian, where my ethnicity was not just tolerated but celebrated. They weren't unequivocally accepting of other Indians and it was the first time I questioned the way in which I identify with my culture.
For the next four years, I observed Indians actively segregate themselves from other Indians. I learned about "Browntown," a paradox in which the people who defined the term wouldn't readily associate themselves with it. I observed Indian girls sabotage other Indian girls, but never girls of another ethnicity. I was told by Indian boys that they hated "dealing" with Indian girls. I listened to Indians brag about the number of non-Indian friends they had, or worse, clarify that all their "real friends" were white. I became most self-conscious of my ethnicity around people who shared it.
For the next four years, I observed Indians actively segregate themselves from other Indians. I learned about "Browntown," a paradox in which the people who defined the term wouldn't readily associate themselves with it. I observed Indian girls sabotage other Indian girls, but never girls of another ethnicity. I was told by Indian boys that they hated "dealing" with Indian girls. I listened to Indians brag about the number of non-Indian friends they had, or worse, clarify that all their "real friends" were white. I became most self-conscious of my ethnicity around people who shared it.
Entering the working world, things changed again. I was the only Indian in my Associate class. I suddenly felt proud of it. People were interested in my culture and came to me to learn about it. There was some inexplicable bliss in being someone's "first Indian friend" or discussing Indian beliefs and traditions. It was a foreign feeling.
Last weekend at dinner, a friend mentioned that she immediately feels uncomfortable when she is the only white person in any given setting. Interesting, I thought. Why is it the exact opposite for Indian-Americans (or maybe all first-generations)? Why do we desire to be the only one? Maybe because we see each other as competitors rather than collaborators. Maybe because there are so many of us that the bond no longer feels unique.
As I rode to a soccer game the next morning, I mentioned to my teammates that people in India automatically know that I am not a native. "I'm basically rejected by both native Indians and first-generation ones." One of the girls, a third-generation American of Korean descent, didn't understand where I was coming from (figuratively). "For me, it's the opposite. Koreans speak to me in Korean and I just stare blankly. I hate when people here ask me where I'm from. I'm American, I don't see it any other way." She was visibly frustrated by the situation; I didn't know how to feel about it. Later in our conversation, I learned she was a Harvard graduate and immediately created my own representation of her in my mind (that she must be extremely smart and/or talented). Call it a stereotype, but it certainly wasn't related to her ethnicity.
As I rode to a soccer game the next morning, I mentioned to my teammates that people in India automatically know that I am not a native. "I'm basically rejected by both native Indians and first-generation ones." One of the girls, a third-generation American of Korean descent, didn't understand where I was coming from (figuratively). "For me, it's the opposite. Koreans speak to me in Korean and I just stare blankly. I hate when people here ask me where I'm from. I'm American, I don't see it any other way." She was visibly frustrated by the situation; I didn't know how to feel about it. Later in our conversation, I learned she was a Harvard graduate and immediately created my own representation of her in my mind (that she must be extremely smart and/or talented). Call it a stereotype, but it certainly wasn't related to her ethnicity.
Once on the soccer field, the girl I was marking asked me whether I too had gone to Penn based on my shirt. She was visibly excited, as was I. Imagining her having had my college experience, I felt instantly connected: Graduating from the same college opened up the possibility of so many other shared experiences.
It turns out she went to Penn State but the prospect of similitude helped me better understand the issue of race for myself. Building a bond over race is like building a bond over going to the same college. But when you are not actually from your family's country of origin, the race-bond is far weaker. The quality of being a first-generation Indian-American is not enough to fabricate a positive (or negative) bond. Depending on where you were raised, your childhood, your friends, your parents, your education, and a slew of other factors, we may or may not be compatible -- despite our shared Indian roots.
If you ask me to describe myself, I will tell you that I'm a writer; I'm a dancer; I'm a psych geek. I'm intellectually curious and appreciate clean and intuitive user experiences in the real and virtual world. And if you ask me where I'm from, I won't be offended. I'll happily tell you that my family is from India and that I was born in Mountain View, California. From there I hope we will delve into meatier conversation. I will probably clarify though, that I don't eat meat. Some Indian-Americans do. But I don't.
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