Teizeen:
Standing in the queue at the entrance to one of the great Rajput Palaces of Jaipur, I am about to pay the entrance fee (which is higher for tourists, and lower for Indian citizens), and I am asked, "Are you Indian?" Which means, am I an Indian citizen? Was I, or were my parents, or my grandparents born in India?
To reply "No" would deny my Indian heritage, and the answer would be received with confusion because of my obvious Indian-ness. After all, I look Indian. To say "Yes" would be easy, but I would be pretending in order to take advantage of cheaper entrance fees (they don't check you passport, so this is easy to get away with). In addition, being and looking Indian goes hand-in-hand with speaking Hindi (especially in northern India), and my limited Hindi-speaking abilities would automatically expose my pretend-Indian character if I were to say "Yes, I am Indian."
And so, I often find myself telling the story of my heritage to the people I meet who look at me, assume that I am Indian, but then find out and are surprised that my Hindi does not quite pass the test. I explain that my ancestors - 5 generations back - moved to East Africa (Kenya), and we have been there ever since, and that this is my first visit to India. To counter my lack of Hindi skills, I proclaim my fluency in Gujarati. In this way, they are suddenly impressed and somewhat enlightened by the fact that a local Indian language has survived for 5 generations in the far off continent of Africa.
If we add my American husband to this mix of Indian-Kenyan-non-Hindi-speaking-Gujarati woman from Kenya, their enlightenment reverts back to confusion. In order to explain Ryan standing by my side, I have to add an addendum to my heritage story to explain that my family and I now live in America.
Inter-racial marriages in India are extremely rare and not condoned. Responses to us walking down the street range from innocent curiosity to disapproving looks (the latter may just be my imagination since I don't really know what they are thinking). We are often greeted with ominous stares from people who are either not shy about staring, who have never seen such a sight and are genuinely caught by surprise when they see us, or whose parents never told them it is rude to stare.
However, it is difficult to know, without asking, what people really think of us. I actually cannot stand being stared at, and because it makes it uncomfortable, I over-inflate what they are probably thinking in their minds (even though they haven't said a word to us): I think that they probably think that I have diluted my Indian heritage by traipsing around with an American husband, and I am therefore no longer worthy of posing as an Indian and being allowed to pay cheaper entrance fees!
I am slowly getting used to the stares though, and have decided to either respond by (1) glaring right back at them, (2) asking Ryan to glare at them since they are staring at his wife, (3) giving them a big unexpected smile, or (4) keeping my eyes on the ground 24/7 so that I can't even know who is staring at who. The latter option, however, might inevitably land me in a dangerous spot between rickshaw drivers, scooters, bicycles, cars and buses since pedestrians never have the right of way in India - so if I look down, I'm game to be sandwiched between a number of possible moving vehicles.
Standing in the queue at the entrance to one of the great Rajput Palaces of Jaipur, I am about to pay the entrance fee (which is higher for tourists, and lower for Indian citizens), and I am asked, "Are you Indian?" Which means, am I an Indian citizen? Was I, or were my parents, or my grandparents born in India?
To reply "No" would deny my Indian heritage, and the answer would be received with confusion because of my obvious Indian-ness. After all, I look Indian. To say "Yes" would be easy, but I would be pretending in order to take advantage of cheaper entrance fees (they don't check you passport, so this is easy to get away with). In addition, being and looking Indian goes hand-in-hand with speaking Hindi (especially in northern India), and my limited Hindi-speaking abilities would automatically expose my pretend-Indian character if I were to say "Yes, I am Indian."
And so, I often find myself telling the story of my heritage to the people I meet who look at me, assume that I am Indian, but then find out and are surprised that my Hindi does not quite pass the test. I explain that my ancestors - 5 generations back - moved to East Africa (Kenya), and we have been there ever since, and that this is my first visit to India. To counter my lack of Hindi skills, I proclaim my fluency in Gujarati. In this way, they are suddenly impressed and somewhat enlightened by the fact that a local Indian language has survived for 5 generations in the far off continent of Africa.
If we add my American husband to this mix of Indian-Kenyan-non-Hindi-speaking-Gujarati woman from Kenya, their enlightenment reverts back to confusion. In order to explain Ryan standing by my side, I have to add an addendum to my heritage story to explain that my family and I now live in America.
Inter-racial marriages in India are extremely rare and not condoned. Responses to us walking down the street range from innocent curiosity to disapproving looks (the latter may just be my imagination since I don't really know what they are thinking). We are often greeted with ominous stares from people who are either not shy about staring, who have never seen such a sight and are genuinely caught by surprise when they see us, or whose parents never told them it is rude to stare.
However, it is difficult to know, without asking, what people really think of us. I actually cannot stand being stared at, and because it makes it uncomfortable, I over-inflate what they are probably thinking in their minds (even though they haven't said a word to us): I think that they probably think that I have diluted my Indian heritage by traipsing around with an American husband, and I am therefore no longer worthy of posing as an Indian and being allowed to pay cheaper entrance fees!
I am slowly getting used to the stares though, and have decided to either respond by (1) glaring right back at them, (2) asking Ryan to glare at them since they are staring at his wife, (3) giving them a big unexpected smile, or (4) keeping my eyes on the ground 24/7 so that I can't even know who is staring at who. The latter option, however, might inevitably land me in a dangerous spot between rickshaw drivers, scooters, bicycles, cars and buses since pedestrians never have the right of way in India - so if I look down, I'm game to be sandwiched between a number of possible moving vehicles.
Oh, Teizeen. I wish I could give you a hug. (And maybe sit you down with my trilingual Hungarian-American Hispanophile immigrant Catholic-but-pro-gay-rights-and-women's-rights roommate.) Don't get smashed by a bicycle!
ReplyDeleteTeizeen dear, I love your descriptions and the entertaining way you have of communicating what is happening around you. Keep it up!Phuppijee
ReplyDeletehi teizeen , you have a natural story telling style . i hope one day you will write a novel,
ReplyDeletesafdar
I know what it's like for people to assume you're a local based on how you look, only to be surprised/confused when you start speaking, thus resulting in the need to recount your origins every time you speak with someone! It's a great way to get into a conversation with strangers, but it can get old after awhile.
ReplyDeleteEven though I speak Spanish, my accent always gave me away, sadly. But having the Mexican boyfriend was helpful for blending in!
It's really fun to read your blog, now that I'm finally catching up! I agree - you have a great voice that makes it easy for me to picture what you're experiencing.