Lost in Migration: The Journey from Confusion to Confidence

It was the fall of 1977 in a small Canadian town twelve hours north of Toronto and one little girl was on the cusp of a new exciting adventure – the first day of school. She awoke, as several children did all across town, to get dressed and be initiated into the world of learning. When she reached school she saw a long line of children with their parents; she was with her father. The only problem was that everyone was staring as she approached to join the line. Some little boys and girls started whispering to their parents. What was the matter she thought? Is there something on her clothes? Is there a strange animal following her? But they weren’t looking at her. They were focused on her father--rather, they were focused on his red turban and full black beard. Who was this strange, mysterious figure? He didn’t look like anyone these children had ever seen. Was he a magician? A wizard? Did he have magical powers?

The truth was much less mystical; he was just one of the many South Asian men who had migrated to North America to provide his family with a better life.

This was the first of many experiences I would have with being different and confused about my place in the world. You see, the problem was that, just like the rest of those kindergarteners, I grew up on a daily diet of Sesame Street, Read Along, and cartoons. I had no idea I was any different from all the other Canadian kids. I had never stopped to think that my dad was not the same as everyone else’s. What do you mean your dad doesn’t wear a turban? What do you mean your mom doesn’t make rotis for you every night? It had not occurred to me until I was pushed out of my Indo-Canadian nest that there was a world very different from my own out there.

My parents did not fully appreciate what would be lost when they migrated from east to west. They focused instead on what they would gain: a higher standard of living and better opportunities for their children. But what their children lost, by being born and raised outside of India, was a connection to their ancestral culture and its myriad of traditions. My parents did not anticipate that I would not have a bond with all their relatives in India. More specifically, I was never given a sense of place in the world. I was trapped between two vastly different cultures. My life at school was that of any typical Canadian student – talking about the latest TV show, playing at recess, reading TigerBeat magazine and gazing at the latest teen heartthrob. My life at home was that of any typical Indian child – my mother in her salwar-kameez, bindi on her forehead, in the kitchen making a good Indian meal for her family, and my parents reinforcing the importance of studying hard and getting good grades so that my older brother, sister, and I could become doctors, lawyers or engineers.

I had no problem fitting in with my classmates who were all white or Native Canadian. I was well liked by my teachers and made friends easily. No one seemed to care that I was a few shades darker and my parents came from a far away land. But I did. I hated eating Indian food every night. I asked, why can’t I have hot dogs? I hated that my mom walked around town in her salwar-kameez. Why can’t you wear a skirt like everyone else’s mom? I hated that I had two very long braids that the kids teased me about by using them to play mini-double dutch. Why couldn’t I have a short haircut? I hated it when my mom used to make me wear Indian clothes for my class photos. I hated it all. I did not want to be “unique” or “different” or “special.” I just wanted to be like everyone else.

When I was thirteen, my family moved to Toronto. Toronto is renowned for its multiculturalism and is a top destination for new immigrants. Indian, Chinese, Caribbean, Ethiopian, Korean, Japanese, Polish, Russian, Australian, Columbian—you name it, we’ve got it. For the first time, I met other South Asians living in Canada. I met South Asians who recently emigrated from the subcontinent as adults, South Asians who came to Canada as children, and those who were born here. I tried to make friends and just assumed I would fit in because we all looked the same.

I hung out with my sister’s group of Indian friends but I soon discovered that we did not have much in common. The girls always wanted to talk about Indian movie stars, and Indian clothes, and Indian boys they had crushes on. I, on the other hand, had only seen one Indian movie (the classic, Qurbaani) wore Indian clothes only against my will, and always had crushes on the white boys in my classes. It was a strange situation—this time, I was not “Indian” enough.

I started to get a sinking feeling that I did not fit in anywhere. As a teen and young adult, I was never quite “white” enough either. I was never quite as free and rebellious as my white friends. My parents were unreasonably strict at times, but I still respected them and had an appreciation for their moral code. I was at home at a decent hour and always studying so that one day I could make my parents proud with my professional job. That left very little time for partying and all the fun stuff my friends were doing outside of school.

I spent my teens and twenties in Toronto, mainly steering clear of my Indian heritage. I had very few South Asian friends even though Toronto is home to so many. I avoided temples, Indian Bollywood star shows and any other Indian events, opting instead for U2 and Madonna concerts and all the Hollywood entertainment. After graduating from business school, I went on to a career in investment banking, a field notorious for its predominantly white, male employee base. I felt fairly comfortable in this environment, except for the fact that I often could not relate to my colleagues’ upbringings. I did not “go to the cottage” in the summers, golf, or ski. And I certainly didn’t fit into the white boys club. I had the occasional South Asian or Chinese male colleague, and several white females worked at the firm, but I never had another colleague who was an Indian female. I always secretly wondered where they all disappeared to after high school or college.

Somewhere along the line, and I cannot say for sure exactly how, I gained an appreciation for my Indian roots. Maybe it is simply what happens as you mature and stop constantly trying to fit into someone else’s definition of who you should be and how you should behave. I now embrace those things that I appreciate most about both cultures.

Ironically I met and fell in love with an Indo-American. We married last year and have settled down in Tulsa, Oklahoma, a predominantly white city with a small but tightly-knit Indian community, made up mostly of well-educated professionals who came here for work reasons. Although neither my husband nor I is particularly immersed in the Indian culture, we had a traditional Indian wedding, with fully traditional Indian clothing and food, and an excellent Indian DJ. It felt so right and I would not have done it any other way. In Tulsa I still don’t have any Indian female colleagues at work but I do spend more time socializing with other South Asians. Last weekend, I spent Saturday at a white friend’s bridal shower (where, once again, I was the only Indian female) and Sunday as a volunteer for the Tulsa Indian Association’s Independence Day picnic. I felt completely comfortable at both places.

Now, as I reflect on my youth filled with confusion and my search for an identity, I realize that I am like so many children of immigrants, no matter the country of origin, who I met along the way. My life is a balancing act on an infinite spectrum of possibilities between completely Indianized on one end and completely Canadianized (or Americanized) on the other.

Some children of immigrants completely reject their parents’ culture in a quest to melt into the majority. Others reject all that is North American and surround themselves only with all things Indian - friends, food, and entertainment. I for one, wholeheartedly reject both these extremes. I am somewhere on this spectrum, admittedly more on the “Canadianized” than the “Indianized” side, but I’m much more confident now than I was when I was trying to fit into someone else’s predefined notion of who I should be and how I should behave. I’ve taken the best that both worlds have to offer and made it my own. But most of all I have come to realize that I identify first with being human and female, and then with being a unique mixture of my place of birth and my deep-rooted ancestry.

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