Children

I met Vasu (Dr. Vasu Singh) after I looked her up on the St Luke’s Physician’s website. I am new to the area and was looking for a family physician. Her face was most familiar and gentle. I did not know her from any other past experience but something was familiar about her. I called her office and made an appointment. When I went to see her, she was very warm and quick to invite me to meet her socially. Sensing a feeling of ease and comfort I shared with her that I did not know any one in the area and have no connection with the “Desi Community, eventually we became friends. Our friendship is in early stages but every time I talk to her she is very receptive, her whole family is like that. Today she asked me if I was interested in joining a local organization called “Lehigh Valley Association of American Doctors of Indian Origin. I told her that I am very interested in being a part of any community form South East Asia, if they are willing to invite me regardless of my race, religion and/or geographic origin. She asked me to write an article on “Desi Kids” growing up in America. I thought for a while. I am a writer, so the writing part is not difficult, but what she had asked for was personal.

I grew up in the city of Rawalpindi in Punjab, Pakistan. My first memories were of green beautiful fields of Punjab, hot tea in mud cups, friendly neighbors and eating a hot breakfast off the stove. One thing was different, everyone spoke “Punjabi” and in my home we spoke pure “Urdu”. My grandmother was still wearing “Ghararas” (a traditional grab of Indian Muslims), she thought wearing Shalwar Qameez was uncultured and against her Hindustani traditions, she would eat Paan and all she ever talked about was Badan-pur and Uttar Pradesh. She talked at length, everyday about her village, her father  ”Nawab Mubin Khan”, her “Hawaily”, and her golden days in India. Her eyes would sparkle when she would tell stories about her journey from Badanpur to Mathura. Nothing in Pakistan could match that. Nothing was as good as India. Food tasted bad, people were not as cultured and atmosphere not as great. We were reprimanded for speaking “Punjabi” or even speaking “Urdu” in a Punjabi accent. My grandmother and my aunt would talk very often that how worried they were that all the kids were going to forget “Pure Hindustani Tehzeeb” and will become like Pakistanis (i.e. Sindhis, Punjabis, Baluchis and Pathans in this case), or the kids would not know how to speak proper “Urdu”.

This was happening at my house. Outside the home, in school, I was called “that Hindustani girl” It was the time when India and Pakistan were at war in 1970. This was very confusing for me that why people would be calling me “Hindustani” when we are at war with Hindustan. Kids in school would not interact with me as often because I was from a “different culture”. I remember so vividly, that one day I invited a friend home; a nice Punjabi girl, after she left  my mother talked about how ill mannered she was and she could not speak proper Urdu and I was told not be friends with her any more, and I should become friends only with people from my own culture. Very strange, as we were all in Pakistan, most of us were form the same religion and we spoke the same language, only with a slightly different accent.

Now, I have made the choice of moving to America. It was a similar choice that was made by my parents and their families, 60 years ago. I moved to America just like many other in my generation, people of Indian origin who became a part of “Desi Community”, much like the “Hindustani Community” back in Pakistan. All the so called “Hindustanis” in Pakistan were from “different Cultures” like, Gujarati, Hyderabadi or Bihari but they all became one community only to alienate themselves more from the “Land of opportunities” for that is what the Indian Muslims of that time called “Pakistan”.

I wonder how my child, our kids, the “Desi Kids” feel about being brought up in America? They are Americans as they were born in America. Just as I was Pakistani as I was born in Pakistan. They are called Indian or Pakistani or Bangladeshi or “Desi” as I was called “Hindustani”. They want to be Americans because that is who they are but they are possibly very confused because after being called all of the above plus some more derogatory names at school, when they go home they are further emphasized by their families that they should never forget who they are and the should not try to become Americans. I feel that we are really afraid that our kids are going to lose their identity. The identity, which our ancestors have already, broken in too many pieces.

I was born in Pakistan, I did not become Pakistani and similarly our kids are born in America and they have not become Americans. They could not be more Americanized than they already are by birth. Yet something is missing.

I still dream about India, a place I have never seen, but I can still imagine small streets of Mathura or wide green fields of my grandmother’s village as I have imagined these places before and I know that I cannot go back. To my grandparent’s horror, I have become every bit of Pakistani; they did not want me to be. I wear “Awami Suits” (A type of Shalwar Qameez, Zulfiqar Ali Bhuto introduced as Pakistan’s national dress), my favorite dish is “Murgh Chholay”(Chicken curry with chick peas, a very authentic Punjabi Dish form Pakistan), I love dancing to the beat of Bhangra, I believe Punjabi is the sweetest language on the earth and I love running on the beaches of Karachi, with makrani kids eating “Chalee” (In traditional Punjab, corn ears are boiled and the smoked in warm sand, this is called Chalee). But in my mind I feel guilty from time to time, as I feel I am doing some thing against my grandparents’ wishes.

I wonder if our anxiety about our kids assimilating too much into American culture will lead them into being a torn soul. Would they dream about a place that they have never seen? Would they go out and be a part of 98% of their peer group or would only hang out with 2% of their own kind?  Would they always be looking for some one from their race or religion or they would have fun running on the beach with other American kids eating corn dogs. I wonder when they do that would they suddenly stop and say to them selves “Stop having fun, as you do not belong here”.

Lost Generation

However there are cultural issues like drugs, sex, violence, and respect. Then there are family values that need to be addressed. As parents we can choose to give every bit of extra time we have left after doing two jobs, cleaning the house, doing laundry, cooking and mowing the lawn, to spend with our children. Embrace them for who they are and what they aspire to be. But no matter what we do, those cultural divides are always present. Have we not learned after dividing and re-dividing the country many times and loosing more then millions of lives that the petty difference within the “Desi community” and global community do not bring anything but loss and hurt. So what values should we leave our children with? Should we let them be who they will be? After all we will be gone and they will be left behind to answer the question.

Muniza Shah, MD