[01] Sometimes I'm alone...sometimes I'm not
I grew up in two countries and a third one I created for myself. Population 54 million, one billion, and one, respectively.
I speak like a South African, I shake my head like an Indian, and somewhere along the way, I couldn't pinpoint where I was from. I was one way at home and a different way at school. Among the precious few places I could allow all of me to exist was inside a story. Constantly hitched to some bold and bravely snarky character, my young identity was hungry for ways to be seen.
Sometimes I'm alone
When I was a young girl, my thathaiya told me stories about kings, demons, gods, and men and all their great adventures. Every night, as my nanamma fed me dinner and prepared me for bed, thathaiya would resume my favourite story from whichever point I'd fallen asleep during from the night before. My favourite voice in the world. The one that lovingly, carefully constructed ancient worlds of battles, romance, morals, and politics from my very first days in this world.
"appudu, vanarasainyam thoti, Ramudu, Lakshmanadu, Sita ki vethiki theesukoniravadaniki Lanka ki vellaru..."
Translation: And then, with the Monkey Army, Rama and Lakshmana went to Lanka to rescue Sita.
To me, the Ramayana, the most famous rescue mission in the world, was my favourite story. How brave Rama and his loyal brother Lakshmana gathered up forces to vanquish the Asura king Ranava and rid the world of evil. Oh yeah, and rescue Sita only to immediately test her virtue (which she passed with flying colours), and then, on the basis of someone else's judgement about said socially-constructed virtue, ditch her in a forest. Oh yeah, did I mention she was pregnant when she was unceremoniously dropped off in said forest?
Yeah. This little girl grew up to wonder why that bit was glossed over. Over and over again until it became a mere filler episode of this great story.
As a teenager I noticed how legendary Indian women written by men were sensitive, beautiful, crafty, brazen, resourceful, brave, and yet always played second fiddle to the main characters: the men. I was tired of their main character POV. Surely each of these women had rich, incredible lives — but no one who looked like me could tell me their stories. Not my thathaiya, not my grandmothers, nor any of the books at the school library. My Indian identity was...stunted. I had a deep knowledge of All the Important Stories that All Indian Children Know, but they couldn't guide me into my Indian womanhood.
Sometimes I'm not
Granted, most of my reading during school featured caucasian girls and their awesome adventures — there were very few books about girls of colour at the place where I got my books. Nonetheless, I felt a genuine kinship with characters who prized the written word (nerds, basically): Liesel Meminger, Annabeth Chase, and Tessa Grey. Even though these books were either about or heavily featured young boys, these girls were written to be people with stories before they were written to be females with roles.
This was a marked change. And it left a deep, lasting impression.
As a teenager, my globalised identity enjoyed the dominance of presence and privilege of recognition that my Indian identity didn't. I had no basis for this version of me to be perceived in a way that wasn't tied to men — and, over time, to my own detriment and heartbreak, even by me.
Sometimes I'm alone
Then, during my penultimate year of high school, I met an Akka. She looked like me, she spoke the same languages I did, she loved Gulab Jamun just as much as she relished Tiramisu. She had read everything, had grand adventures, and dated openly; she was confident and moved through life prioritising her growth. She had embraced her identities in a way I'd never seen before.
She challenged me to perceive myself. All of it. And learn to love myself as a person first.
Hello
Representation goes a long way. In that Akka, I could see myself choosing a new way of being.
Since then, I've sought out the women who look like me to tell me about the world as they see it. Built on the shared, lived experience of Being an Indian Child, growing into an Indian Girl, and graduating to Indian Woman, I know we see the world similarly. Now, characters like Kate Sharma, Devi Vishwakumar, and Kala Dandekar help me define and undefine myself better — they are imperfect representations of Indian women, but they are portrayed as people first.
Authors like Chithra Banerjee Divakaruni bring characters like Sita and Draupathi, to the fore and keep them there. The young Indian woman gets to see herself as a multifaceted person and knows that the main character's POV is now her own.
I still speak like a South African, and I still shake my head like an Indian, but somewhere along the way, I recognised myself as whole.
Glossary of Terms
- Thathaiya: Grandfather
- Nanamma: Paternal grandmother
- Akka: Older sister