A Decade of ramblings
So it's been 10 years. I've shared my thoughts on what to give people as gifts, some recipes for your dining pleasure, how i think snaps instead of buttons is stupid on men's shirts, and some other random stuff. For those of you who've been along for the ride, thanks for reading, caring, and/or possibly enjoying! If you're new, welcome! Now go read another post before this one. Yep. I'm gonna get personal and I'm going to ramble. And this might be long.
I grew up in St. Louis and the St. Louis metropolitan area. There isn't a big Indian population there, or at least there wasn't in the 90's. Most people in the suburbs, especially on the East side, had never interacted with, much less seen, anyone of South Asian descent. Most adults only knew of the Beatles exploration and subsequent bastardization of Indian culture. You gotta remember, Yoga wasn't prevalent in the Midwest at this point.
So there I was, the brown kid on the block. The one that had to be good at math and science, because Indians were good at that. Placed in "gifted" programs, because I must be inherently more intelligent. Guess what? I'm not good at math and never have been. Science? I love it, but I don't excel at it as a academic subject. I found my way in the niche crossroads of the two in data and behavioral science, for a short while, but I really loved books.
In second grade, my teacher (Mrs. Wetzel) read the first Boxcar Children book to the class. I went home and pleaded with my father to get more of the books. He bought me 10 or so. I read them in succession in a few weeks. They are still on my bookshelf, if my daughter cares to read them.
But academic expectation didn't define my pre-collegiate years alone. As time passed, more South Asians joined the ranks in my small town, but I can't speak to their experience. I don't know how many were ridiculed for having a "weird" name (I vehemently wanted to change my name for years to a more "white" name. Thank God I made some friends who showed me that my name was beautiful, and I henceforth embraced it). I don't know how many were ridiculed for having a religion with an "elephant god," or "worshiped cows." Mind you, I"m still a Hindu and never cared to change that. I don't know how many people were told, "We're gonna kill all you camel jockies," in the High School hallway. That was 9/11, so I understand it to an extent, I guess.
That's also when I realized that the color of my skin defined me to a lot of people. I heard Muslim slander, and I was lumped in to it. Shit, until I heard Russel Peters say it, I had no idea that anyone else had ever been called "dune coon." I knew that a lot of us had been called and still are called, "sand n*gger." Much like Hasan Minhaj, I briefly dated a girl who, among other reasons, stopped seeing me because her parents and some of her peers felt it bizarre, uncouth, and possibly unrefined to be with a person of color. Racism, I learned, seemed as American as apple pie.
Through my few years on this third rock from the sun, I've been blessed to have a beautiful, intelligent, diverse group of friends. I learned from them and I still do. I grieved along friends, as I learned about the non-textbook Black experience. I was stunned by the treatment of Asian-Americans in World War II. I grew ashamed of being a proud American when speaking to my indigenous-American friends. Shit, I remember having a high school teacher that alluded to a notion that Jewish people deserved the Holocaust. I wish I were joking. I'm not.
As I've aged, these things haven't gone away. Racism still hangs out. My family isn't some shining example, either. Indians aren't great about it. India has a long history of a caste system, which is systematically classist and racist. India sells skin whitening products, because “dark skin is ugly.” Indians go so far as to hate on other Indians as lesser for skin color or place/position of birth. Indians have a racism problem. And Indians will be the last to admit it. The older generations in my family say they hate racism, but don’t like that I choose to live in diverse neighborhoods because “the presence of a black population must mean it isn’t safe.” Yes, I deal with this shit in my family, too. The only black at our table growing up, was the pepper. I don’t like it. I speak against it. It’s awful. But it’s here. I was raised with some bias. I’ve tried to purge my mind of these thoughts and notions. I think I’ve done a decent job of it. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying.
Food gave me my first escape. It never mattered who stood next to you in the kitchen as long as they did their job. People were people in that steamy, greasy room. Gender, sexual orientation, skin color, attractiveness... None of that mattered. So a goofy Indian kid was just a regular guy. For the very first time. The culinary world isn't an oasis for everyone. There are still huge gaps, but my little ecosystem worked. For a while it gave me some success. For a while, it gave me happiness. For a while, it was a dream.
Over the last 10-12 years, I've tried my hand at a lot of things. I've done a lot of different jobs. People used to joke that they had no idea what I actually did for a living. Sometimes, I wasn't sure. I trusted the wrong people and had some failures. I saw a guide in someone who firmly believed women couldn't hold respectable positions in the corporate realm (I ran from his ass as soon as I could). I worked for a company that said I was family, but as soon as I needed that familial touch, they showed me that they didn't actually care. I worked alongside friends, and learned that sometimes, that doesn't work. I started a company in 2010. It's still here. It doesn't make me much, if any money anymore. My daughter owns 1/2 of it. The articles of corporation give her full control if something happens to me, without a tax burden.
Now I have a family of my own. My wife is an amazing, brilliant, beautiful woman that has and does support me through every peak and valley. We share the honor and blessing of our daughter. Our daughter is this tiny, wonderful girl that's my everything, my life. My wife is a beacon of love in storms, and my daughter will hopefully learn this strength from her.
I'm still worried that my daughter will grow up and possibly live in a world where implicit bias will define her upbringing in our schools, among her peers, and in the eyes of government entities like police. She won't live in a systematically oppressive society like our black friends. She won't have the worst of it, or I pray that tides don't change so that she will.
I hope that one day, years from now, I can tell her my story, unedited, over an ice-cold Coca-Cola, Gujarati snacks, and apple pie. Unedited, being the key. She'll be the first to hear it unfiltered, because she's the only one that needs to hear it as so.
Thanks for a decade of listening to me ramble, you guys.
I grew up in St. Louis and the St. Louis metropolitan area. There isn't a big Indian population there, or at least there wasn't in the 90's. Most people in the suburbs, especially on the East side, had never interacted with, much less seen, anyone of South Asian descent. Most adults only knew of the Beatles exploration and subsequent bastardization of Indian culture. You gotta remember, Yoga wasn't prevalent in the Midwest at this point.
So there I was, the brown kid on the block. The one that had to be good at math and science, because Indians were good at that. Placed in "gifted" programs, because I must be inherently more intelligent. Guess what? I'm not good at math and never have been. Science? I love it, but I don't excel at it as a academic subject. I found my way in the niche crossroads of the two in data and behavioral science, for a short while, but I really loved books.
In second grade, my teacher (Mrs. Wetzel) read the first Boxcar Children book to the class. I went home and pleaded with my father to get more of the books. He bought me 10 or so. I read them in succession in a few weeks. They are still on my bookshelf, if my daughter cares to read them.
But academic expectation didn't define my pre-collegiate years alone. As time passed, more South Asians joined the ranks in my small town, but I can't speak to their experience. I don't know how many were ridiculed for having a "weird" name (I vehemently wanted to change my name for years to a more "white" name. Thank God I made some friends who showed me that my name was beautiful, and I henceforth embraced it). I don't know how many were ridiculed for having a religion with an "elephant god," or "worshiped cows." Mind you, I"m still a Hindu and never cared to change that. I don't know how many people were told, "We're gonna kill all you camel jockies," in the High School hallway. That was 9/11, so I understand it to an extent, I guess.
That's also when I realized that the color of my skin defined me to a lot of people. I heard Muslim slander, and I was lumped in to it. Shit, until I heard Russel Peters say it, I had no idea that anyone else had ever been called "dune coon." I knew that a lot of us had been called and still are called, "sand n*gger." Much like Hasan Minhaj, I briefly dated a girl who, among other reasons, stopped seeing me because her parents and some of her peers felt it bizarre, uncouth, and possibly unrefined to be with a person of color. Racism, I learned, seemed as American as apple pie.
Through my few years on this third rock from the sun, I've been blessed to have a beautiful, intelligent, diverse group of friends. I learned from them and I still do. I grieved along friends, as I learned about the non-textbook Black experience. I was stunned by the treatment of Asian-Americans in World War II. I grew ashamed of being a proud American when speaking to my indigenous-American friends. Shit, I remember having a high school teacher that alluded to a notion that Jewish people deserved the Holocaust. I wish I were joking. I'm not.
As I've aged, these things haven't gone away. Racism still hangs out. My family isn't some shining example, either. Indians aren't great about it. India has a long history of a caste system, which is systematically classist and racist. India sells skin whitening products, because “dark skin is ugly.” Indians go so far as to hate on other Indians as lesser for skin color or place/position of birth. Indians have a racism problem. And Indians will be the last to admit it. The older generations in my family say they hate racism, but don’t like that I choose to live in diverse neighborhoods because “the presence of a black population must mean it isn’t safe.” Yes, I deal with this shit in my family, too. The only black at our table growing up, was the pepper. I don’t like it. I speak against it. It’s awful. But it’s here. I was raised with some bias. I’ve tried to purge my mind of these thoughts and notions. I think I’ve done a decent job of it. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying.
Food gave me my first escape. It never mattered who stood next to you in the kitchen as long as they did their job. People were people in that steamy, greasy room. Gender, sexual orientation, skin color, attractiveness... None of that mattered. So a goofy Indian kid was just a regular guy. For the very first time. The culinary world isn't an oasis for everyone. There are still huge gaps, but my little ecosystem worked. For a while it gave me some success. For a while, it gave me happiness. For a while, it was a dream.
Over the last 10-12 years, I've tried my hand at a lot of things. I've done a lot of different jobs. People used to joke that they had no idea what I actually did for a living. Sometimes, I wasn't sure. I trusted the wrong people and had some failures. I saw a guide in someone who firmly believed women couldn't hold respectable positions in the corporate realm (I ran from his ass as soon as I could). I worked for a company that said I was family, but as soon as I needed that familial touch, they showed me that they didn't actually care. I worked alongside friends, and learned that sometimes, that doesn't work. I started a company in 2010. It's still here. It doesn't make me much, if any money anymore. My daughter owns 1/2 of it. The articles of corporation give her full control if something happens to me, without a tax burden.
Now I have a family of my own. My wife is an amazing, brilliant, beautiful woman that has and does support me through every peak and valley. We share the honor and blessing of our daughter. Our daughter is this tiny, wonderful girl that's my everything, my life. My wife is a beacon of love in storms, and my daughter will hopefully learn this strength from her.
I'm still worried that my daughter will grow up and possibly live in a world where implicit bias will define her upbringing in our schools, among her peers, and in the eyes of government entities like police. She won't live in a systematically oppressive society like our black friends. She won't have the worst of it, or I pray that tides don't change so that she will.
I hope that one day, years from now, I can tell her my story, unedited, over an ice-cold Coca-Cola, Gujarati snacks, and apple pie. Unedited, being the key. She'll be the first to hear it unfiltered, because she's the only one that needs to hear it as so.
Thanks for a decade of listening to me ramble, you guys.
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