Sweets, Treats and Things That Matter When You're Young

VOICES

Shoumili Tarafder '26 is an avid synchro and speed swimmer. She competed this spring in a duet at state for Blake. She enjoys reading, being outside and spending time with friends and family.

When I was younger, I tried to keep my culture and school life as far apart as possible. Being one of only two Indians in third grade, it was easy.

On birthdays, we could bring a treat to share with class - mates. “Normal” kids would bring cookies, brownies or anything their moms baked.

The day before my birthday, I asked my mother to make a strictly American sweet. Knowing she is an incredible baker, I thought she would say yes. I was very wrong.

My mother had gone to the Indian market that morning and brought home a box of rasgulla, a spongy, syrupy sweet that melts in your mouth. She told me to bring it to class.

I refused. She insisted, telling me I would be introducing my classmates to something new. After lots of convincing, I gave up and accepted the box.

The next day my nerves were through the roof. I anxiously handed my teacher the box of sweets, cellophane crinkling in my shaking fingers, praying everything would end well.

I watched as my teacher placed a syrupy confection on each child’s napkin, fidgeting as the students took a bite. “Ew, what is this?” “It tastes like butt!” I was mortified. I sank into my seat, wanting to dis ap pear as my classmates laughed and spit it out. Tears welled as I wondered if it would be reasonable to move to Australia.

I rested my head in my arms on my desk. Then, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. I looked up and saw a boy standing over me with half the rasgulla in his hand.

“Hey, I thought it was great!” he said with a toothy smile. At that moment, above the laughter and comments, this was the only thing that mattered.

That kind line stuck with me. Ever since then, I have never been afraid to introduce my culture to others.