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Born in the USA, but still not accepted as American



Below is an article from the November 1994 issue of the magazine India
Worldwide:
           
            Born in the USA, but still not accepted as American

                         First Generation Dilemma
                            by Shubhada Kambli

I've been asked plenty of times "where were you born?"  I, of course
answer, "Norwalk Hospital."  This response doing nothing to feed images
of exotic locales, the curious then often question about my parents.  So
what am I?  I am Indian.  I am American.  I'm Indian-American.  All of
these "definitions" do very little to define.  

Born in America.  I am a US citizen.  However, few would say I am as
American as apple pie.  That distiction would go to the likes of the
cast of 90210.  I have a friend whose parents immigrated from Sweden. 
Yet she is more readily called American while I, with nearly identical
circumstances, am called Indian.  I, as well as other first generation
Indian-Americans, am in a state of limbo.  In America, we can't quite be
called Americans, despite the fact that it is the land of our ancestors.
 In India, it always has mystified me, as to how (even if I wear Indian
clothes), before I even open my mouth to speak, people can pinpoint the
fact that I'm different.  As a result of being born in the United
States, I can safely say that my parents have done everything in their
power to instill the Indian culture within me, in an effort to fill in
the 20,000 mile gap.  So oddly, I have learned more about the Indian
culture than many of my Asian MTV watching counterparts in India.
(They'd be shocked to hear that, in the land of plenty, I'm cable
deprived).

So it's a tough business being Indian-American.  Wanting to be the same
as your "American" friends, yet still needing to preserve your
uniqueness.  For me, my Indian heritage has only recently started to
take shape.  Before, it was disconcerting to have parents who were
"different."  When I was younger a common question was "why does your
mother have a dot on her forehead?"  Today, I wear a kundka on special
occasions.  I enjoy wearing salwaar kameez, and when I feel brave, a
sari.  My mother would strike up conversations with complete strangers
in the mall, based on the fact that they too, were Indian.  I would go
and feign interest in a rack of clothes, far away.  I would maintain a
good buffer zone between myself and my parents (I think that's just a
rite of passage) when strolling around the stores.  Looking back, in a
world of greed, suspicion and Porsche driving schemers, it's terrific
that people can be so friendly to complete strangers.

The truth is, it is too bad that first generationers were not moving the
same way.  If two Indian-American kids find themselves in the same
vicinity there are three possible responses.  One (the most common one)
is to ignore them, and feel uncomfortable.  Two (reserved for the 90210
aspirers) is to evaluate the other and think to oneself that they are
superior in looks.  The last (and least common) is to say "hi." 
Personally, I believe that it is great to have Indian-American friends. 
If you think that only your parents are the way that they are, you'll
find out that you are wrong.  In my small town, having Indian-American
friends really helped me get to know the Indian culture, and therefore,
an integral part of myself.  So what am I?  This, I can definitively
say.  I am me.

 



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