Column: Washed Away

MEGHANA VINJAMURY copy editor Dear Reader,

My story starts on the first day of sixth grade, when a new friend asked me, “Wait if you’re South Indian, does that mean you use Fair and Lovely because you’re kinda light for one?”

As I walked out of the science classroom that day, these words echoed around my head. I hadn’t encountered this stereotype in elementary school, but it seemed to be a memo I didn’t get; that a south Indian with my skin tone must be using skin bleaching products. I felt like a fraud even though I went to a school where South Asians were a majority because, from first impression, everyone assumed I was Punjabi when I wasn’t. And I felt like I had to play along with that narrative to fit in.

Fast forward to the Monday after Diwali 2016, as I shared the traditions my families followed to celebrate, I received odd looks from people all over the classroom. I was told these weren’t actual traditions since they weren’t celebrated in North India. I felt this urge to be more North Indian to feel “normal” and validated. I thought I had to lose touch with my Southern roots so I wouldn’t be ashamed anymore, so I wouldn’t have to feel out of place. Regardless of having a closeknit community of family friends who spoke the same South Indian language as me, I attempted to hide my South Indian traits when I was around them as well. In Telugu culture, a half-saree is the typical traditional attire for a teenage girl. Instead of wearing one to the various poojas (prayers) as I had been before, I ditched them for lehengas. Lehengas are typically associated with North Indian culture, but I felt safer in them as thoughts of people seeing me in something different from their stereotypes filled my head.

Somehow, I made it through middle school, but I left with a more “northwashed” version of myself, losing touch with my South Indian roots. I thought presenting myself as more North Indian in high school would make me feel “normal,” but that was far from true. This time I felt like I couldn’t express anything traditional without being judged, so I attempted to whitewash myself, taking everything a step further. From not going to poojas when I had the chance to and rarely celebrating Indian festivals, I lost connection with my culture aside from speaking the language and watching movies. At the same time,

though I was decently fluent in Telugu, I was compared and shamed for not speaking as fluently as others around my age and for being unable to read or write it. This left me, once again, in a state of confusion, giving me flash“ backs to what I had been told in middle school. I encountered my worst fear, feeling out of place, neiYET I FELT BROKEN, LIKE I HAD LOST PART OF MY IDENTITY IN MY SEARCH ther cultured nor fully whitewashed. Once quarantine hit, all I was surrounded FOR COMFORT, TO FIT IN. MEGHANA VINJAMURY ” by was my family: the only people I felt like I could truly be myself around. Yet I felt broken, like I had lost part of my identity in my search for comfort, to fit in. At the beginning of quarantine, I made it my primary goal to fix how whitewashed I was. Starting off, I made it a point to learn Hindi so when we went back to school, I could assimilate with my North Indian friends, and I did. I was able to understand the language through listening to Bollywood music and watching more Bollywood movies, but I still felt lost because I wasn’t truly connected to my culture. And so it began; I explored almost every aspect of Telugu culture– from food, movies, and music to nearly everything you can think of. I cooked Indian food when I could, started to wear half-sarees more often, and started learning more about the culture from my parents. Between my mom telling me stories about her childhood and my dad explaining the various traditions we partake in every year, I didn’t just learn about Telugu culture; I was finally immersed in it for once. I’m happy to say that I have never felt ashamed of my culture since then, and although I still delve a bit into North Indian culture, I make sure that some aspects of my Telugu or Southern culture shine through. Looking back, I’m not writing this to explain my story because, in reality, I’d rather forget the way I felt back then. Instead, I’m hoping that at least one person can relate or be seen by it. You don’t have to be South Indian or Telugu like me to relate because most ethnicities are defined by stereotypes and are boiled down to just one part of their culture. Regardless, the helluva ride this experience took me on showed me how diverse Indian culture could be irrespective of the limited distinctions guided by compass directions. Yours truly,