In the early 1970's. My mother was pregnant. She was the eldest daughter, and my father was the eldest son, this was the first grandchild, and my grandmothers, both of them went ballistic in their efforts to ensure that this would be the smartest, best looking, sweetest grandchild. Before said baby was born. In typical Indian tradition, they plied my mother with sweetmeats cooked with fragrant clarified butter and coconut water. They read Indian mythological tales aloud to her belly. And they didn't let her eat anything bitter, sour or spicy. It was a superstition that these things would lead to a sweet tempered, smart baby, but also- a light skinned baby.
And lo and behold, in the beginning of the next year, my mother gave birth to an exquisite baby- with skin like a magnolia blossom, with large doe like eyes, delicate features and a sweet, dutiful temper. Time revealed that she ended up awfully smart and hardworking. The first girl child in my father's family in eight generations, she was hailed as though Lakshmi- the goddess herself had been born
That would be my sister.
Half a decade later, my parents wanted another child. Unfortunately, my father had been posted to some strange place in northern India. My mother was stressed- she drank coffee, she craved strange foods she never had- especially a rather wierd combination of chocolate ice cream liberally sprinkled with pickles. When she went into labor, the relatives gathered outside, awaiting any good news. My father was excited that he had been allowed to be in that room with his wife, and as soon as the baby was born, the doctor handed him his "bundle of joy". My father- an army major then, was so overcome by the blood, he passed out. Only the quick actions of the OB-GYN who grabbed me while he plumetted and hit the ground hard saved my from meeting a similar fate.
He recovered and took me out to the hoardes of waiting folk.
"Aiii...what is that?"
"This is the child. She is a record baby in this hospital. She weighed 11 pounds"
"She should have won the record for ugliness. I thought the fool doctor had thrown away the baby and wrapped up the placenta."
"I told you, you should have sent her to Bangalore where we could have watched her diet."
That baby- was me.
Now what has this to do with race, some of you may wonder. After all, aren't all Indians somewhat dark skinned? Alas! You wouldn't believe how important even the most minor fluctuations of skin color are. And how exceedingly significant these become in the context of our "wonderful" caste system. As a scion of a Brahmin family, most of my family is pale. You could mistake many of them for white- some even have grey and blue eyes. However for all of their pretentions to Aryan like purity, they- like many other so called "pure races" have had a bit of "other" in them. Maybe to them, I was the epitome of the Dravidian one of their ancestors interbred with. And they tried hard to rub it away from my skin with lemon juice and sugar. It burns and bleaches- and it satisfied their conscience that they were doing something.
But then, I went to London where a few shades don't make much of a difference. My alabaster skinned sister, and me - we were both...well Darkies. Though to be fair, my sister was often mistaken as "French" or Mediterranean which earned her- from some quarters at least- more derisiveness.
I have since then lived in 28 countries around the world. Muslim countries, white countries, secular countries, Asian countries, developed countries, developing countries, countries where people still poop in the fields. I have found that there is no where where someone, someplace is not scapegoated for the ills that befall their country. You have black anger and white resentment here? Well join the club. Muslim anger and Hindu resentment, Immigrant resentment and white anger, white resentment and white anger, brown resentment and brown anger. Hell, I met two brahmins who loathed each other because one came from a community that are rice. ("It is all the fault of the rice eaters")
And among all of them have been some great people, and some...well douche bags. Resentment and anger both have legitimate roots- which is why a wise man once said in front of a dewy eyed group of students that understanding something does not mean defending it. You can hold actions as despicable, even if you hold the emotions that led to them as valid. It is what those emotions led to that matters. That wise man was Dalai Lama who spoke spontaneously to a bunch of us at Dharmasala when I was a few inches into teenagehood. He was talking as I understood it, about things like nuance, about shades of grey. I didn't buy much into it. I was 13 years and too inclined to think that things were more dualistic than that. I am much older now.
People are not but end up being defined into the patriots/prejudiced or egalitarian/apologists. You cannot understand the other side's grievances without being dubbed a traitor to some extent to your "group". You cannot defend your own groups actions without being labelled a racist, nationalist, or simply ignorant by some other camp. Someone is catering to either of them, fueling fears and divisions, and ultimately, it is an age old rule that segmentation is perhaps the easiest way to conquer a large enough niche. For a brand- wonderful, for people? That makes me sad.
And that is perhaps why I had to listen to the Obama speech a few times. I "got" it. And I am getting it even more these days.
I am now married to a white man. His family have never said anything racist towards my ethnicity. The only Indian they know is their doctor. So, I guess that positive archetype helped.
We have a son. He would be considered Multi racial. He looks white, except when his dad and him play in the sun, his dad becomes a bright orange red, and peels for a few days. My son turns brown like toast. My son has an affinity for Johnny Cash and bollywood numbers. He is one of the very few Americans who gets cricket, and prefers it to baseball (good he does or I'd have disowned him!). But he will grow up one day, and often this country forces people to make a choice.
If my son has to disavow his Indian roots to fit in, or if he has to stop "being American" to discover more deeply his cultural identity as partly Indian, neither would be fair. Like one of our candidates, he is neither. He is not just both. He is greater than the sum of those two parts. Like each one of us is greater than our race, religion, or creed.
And yet, every day we have to choose which of what we are "more" of. We Kossacks have made our peace with that. Afterall we are adults now. But for those who are still making the journey, or for whom the journey is yet to come, my advice is, you don't have to pick. You don't have to choose. You don't need to dignify anything that is an either, or an or- because most answers do not fit into those two clean boxes. I am not Indian, and I am not American. I am definately not American Indian, I guess...but I am neither one of the two. And whatever your ethnic origins may be, there is nothing that confines you completely to them. I didn't becomes less Indian for leaving my country and settling down in USA. I am not less American because my ancestors did not come here- willingly or unwillingly, many generations ago.
You just are. More than what you appear to others and not just what you seem like to me. More than what your friends or family say, more than what you write, speak, think and claim. I see you with my prism of experience. And I am always going to be subjective about it. So are you. We are both right. We are both wrong.
Why is it so hard to "get"?