Finding the middle way

I grew up as the son of immigrant parents, a statement many in the United States can make. But very few can assert that they were raised without knowing their native language. For me, what began as a hope for better assimilation ended up as a full-blown absence of one of the most integral parts of my culture. And what initially seemed an important but perhaps indiscernible loss quickly became something painfully obvious in my life.

Much of the time it was somewhat comic; I was simply made fun of or teased and then things moved on, much the way young children quickly accept the new kid with glasses. But there were those few experiences that quickly highlighted the reality of my situation. Being distanced from a religion that could have given me spiritual strength and missing out on conversations with a dying great-grandmother were instances where the lack of language was a great loss.

I was faced with a dilemma: accept or adapt. Accept the way you are and live with the consequences of being American before Indian or adapt and work to learn Hindi despite the handicap you started with. Unfortunately, being a boy of tender years, I chose the easy way out, to accept my plight and deal with the ramifications.

Yet early on, it was I who was at an advantage amongst my Indian peers. After all, who but I had the least visible accent and who but I had the best English. I grew up nearly all-American (besides my eating habits) and I was the one ethnic kid who could talk to his parents without the sniggers of kids who heard foreign language being exchanged.

But alas, my perceived advantages did not last. For times changed; the world began to embrace new cultures and alter old perspectives. There was now as much a need to stand out as to Americanize. And as time passed, I wished that I, too, knew my culture and my heritage.

Now it was I who was embarrassed to talk to my parents only in English and it was I who could not stand out with my accent. Again, I was faced with the choice, to accept or adapt. Much as I’d like to say that this time I adapted, that I finally learned my language. spoke to my relatives in Hindi, and even learned a little about my gods, I can’t honestly admit that’s true.

Still, with the additional years of experience that I had, I knew I couldn’t once again accept my fate. So this time, I defied the dichotomy; I chose the middle way. I accept that I am an American before I am a desi, that I may never be “truly” Indian because I do not know Hindi. But I won’t give up trying to adapt. So pile on those Bollywood flicks, pass me some more of that subsi or chaval (vegetable and rice) and speak to me in Hindi all you want. I can’t guarantee I’ll speak it back to you but I can guarantee I’ll never stop trying to learn how.