There\u2019s a way people have nowadays of stylishly hiding their roots and acting as if they don\u2019t even recognise their mother tongue. To those of you who think whitewashing your cultural identity is cool and classy, let me tell you that the cracks show through the best of acts as there is no way to cover up this caramel skin and be a pretty white girl who seems to fit perfectly into the teen culture of London. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I don\u2019t know if it was the insecure immigrant in me or one of the weird stages of adolescence that hated it when my parents used to speak Hindi in public. I think it was mainly because my dad used to and still does speak at an embarrassingly loud volume and my mum refused to accept the fact that this is not India and she can\u2019t bargain with the customer assistant when it comes to paying the final bill! In one of our monthly visits to Tesco, the only place in which we could find turmeric powder at the time, I remember crossing paths with a few girls from my school. In such moments I wished for the floor to open up and swallow me, because my parents even breathing was humiliating and I just didn\u2019t want to be seen in World foods aisle buying ten bottles of Maggi sauce!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I think the most annoying thing about growing up as an Indian kid in a foreign country is trying to manage the dual personalities. I could never find the balance between being British enough and eating with a knife and fork gracefully or being Indian enough, knowing very well that without using my hands mutton and rice simply doesn\u2019t taste the same. It\u2019s not as if I left that Indian side of me and stopped watching Yeh Jawaani hai deewani whenever life felt mundane, I just didn\u2019t want anyone to know I preferred Bollywood over any Hollywood blockbuster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was constantly at war with myself through my teenage years, so I found myself in many insecure places and being very ungrateful for all colours that so beautifully existed in my life. I was the reason for my confusion and I had created such a complicated maze for myself that I didn\u2019t even realise when my two personalities faded into one. It wasn\u2019t an exact moment that I started to love being different but I know I began to pick out the little things I had gotten into the habit of doing. Why did I feel the need to straighten my hair? Why did I always post pictures of burgers and not of the steaming butter chicken that arrived at my table on a meal out? It took time to realise I had nothing to fear and falling for the way I looked in emerald salwar suits was okay; there was no need to be ashamed. My hair could be free from all the forceful straightening and it was finally okay to let the puzzle pieces find each other and complete me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The knots I\u2019d self tied held me captive in my gori-desi ladki saga and it\u2019s the feeling of shame that now reminds me I really thought I could shy away from the roots that run like veins through my body. I\u2019ve learnt there doesn\u2019t need to be an ideal balance when it comes to displaying who I am and what I stand for, there does however need to be a representation of all things that make me the way I am today. A proud representation of my Bihari quirks combined with that Delhi flare I carry around, because I value those things just as much as I value my British intellect. Nothing about you can be erased. You\u2019re stuck with the memories that have latched themselves onto frames around your house, \u2018aaah that\u2019s home\u2019 your parents say and damn it, you\u2019re stuck with that gorgeous glow your skin tone emits when the golden hour visits. I guess it all just depends on how you see it. Are you stuck or uniquely blessed?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
There\u2019s a way people have nowadays of stylishly hiding their roots and acting as if they don\u2019t even recognise their mother tongue. To those of you who think whitewashing your cultural identity is cool and classy, let me tell you that the cracks show through the best of acts as there is no way to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":89,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/72"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=72"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/72\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":113,"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/72\/revisions\/113"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/89"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=72"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=72"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diya.shandilya.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=72"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}