This post is for all you mixed culture people. And I don’t mean those of you that are half this, quarter that and one 500th something else (unless you’re close to all those roots), I mean people who are quite literally between cultures within themselves (i.e. not simply through genetics).
I shall open with some central European humour. A Hungarian is drinking from a lake. A Slovak sees this and yells in Slovakian: ‘Stop! Don’t drink from the lake, the water is poisonous.’ On hearing the shouting the Hungarian stops drinking and asks the man (in Hungarian) what he just said, to which the Slovak replies ‘Oh, I just said that the water is cold, so drink slowly.’
Yes, I’m sure you’re splitting your sides to that one. But this joke was told to me by someone who is between cultures himself, an ethnic Hungarian living in Slovakia. This is common; apparently, Hungarians are the biggest ethnic minority in a number of central European nations. And being of one ethnicity living in a country with a different one has had its effect on him. ‘To the Slovaks I’m a dirty Hungarian, and to the Hungarians I’m a dirty Slovak. And somewhere between the two is me’, is what he had to say of it. And whilst I can not complain to have had someone describe me this bluntly, my own experiences aren’t so far off.
I’ve grown up as an ethnic Indian in the United Kingdom and by the grace of my parents been well versed in the language, culture and customs of the land of our origins. Whilst that has had many, many advantages, there have, unfortunately, been a number of issues with it too.
Don’t get me wrong, for the most part it’s great. I am equally comfortable in either country because I speak both languages fluently. Most of the time in India people can’t tell I’m from abroad. Their arrogance leads them to say they can tell when they do know, but 99.9% of the time on the street etc they haven’t a clue. Most of the time I don’t like to bring it up; I remember catching a train once with my cousin, sitting down and chatting for a while with him and the passengers after which he divulged I was not from India, something which irritated me but did lead the passengers to praise my grasp of the language, saying that they would not have known unless told that I was from elsewhere (which was a turn up for the books).
But it has also been a hindrance too. It does make it difficult internally for you to decide upon an identity when you’re slap bang in the middle of the two cultures. This does not necessarily happen if you are of one ethnicity living in a country with a different one. Often, people fall into two camps; either they spend all of their time with their own community and don’t integrate at all with the rest of society or they completely embrace the host nation, losing any heritage or cultural integrity, both of which are more harmful than taking the middle ground, as both indicate either fear (of losing or gaining something culturally) or all round discomfort of some aspect of the life you have. What’s happened with me is I’ve straddled the two, trying to take in the good aspects of both ways of life to enrich myself. But by doing so you have to be prepared for the pitfalls.
For starters people can’t put their finger on you (because many need to put people in boxes for them to make sense of you). As a result they approach you differently. Some Indians, particularly the younger ones, are intimidated by me. They find my straddling terrifying. As a defence mechanism they try and put the country I live in down, or they their inferiority complex makes them show off. They will speak to me in English (even when there is no need to do so) and then correct me when I speak Hindi for the most minor of faults (there was one time when I was told that ‘namaskar’ should not be used after noon. This is not true at all, and was nothing other than a display of arrogance). This is described in more detail in the English disease of Indians.
In the UK, almost instantly after hearing that my roots are from abroad, everyone immediately thinks I have an Indian accent (one that I didn’t have the second before I told them). I have lost count of the number of times white people have told me that my English is very good. Well, of course it’s good, you morons, I’m a native speaker!
Then there is the stigma of introducing yourself. It’s nearly impossible to get right; if I go for the ‘I’m British’ route and say nothing else, I am accused of not respecting my origins (which can lose you a lot of respect with certain people) or you can go for the ‘I’m Indian in origins’ route, which has its own problems. Firstly people may think you’re a foreigner despite the British accent and treat you differently but it’s also used as an argument that descendants of immigrants have no love for the nation they grew up and therefore should leave. Yes, I’m talking about the BNP.
So there you are, stuck between a rock and a hard place. I’ve learned to accept that ultimately neither nation will fully see me as just a person. I am, for those that actually like this aspect of me, a novelty, one way or the other. For the Indians, a guy who grew up in the west but can keep up with the best of them conversationally but still not quite one of them. For the Brits, another immigrant who should be mollycoddled and mocked because his parents came from a ‘poor’ nation who has had the privilege of being ‘civilised’. Most hold their tongues and don’t actually say that last bit, but their sentiments on how things are done over there and of my religion etc give it away.
Yet, for all my anger and irritation, I am thankful for being this way. Many British people of South Asian origin tell you an anecdote about the first time they went back to the land of their parents and spoke their ancestral language broken only to be interrupted by relatives who spoke ‘the Queens English’ and so they sheepishly switched to that themselves. I can say, with great pride, that I tell the OPPOSITE story; my relatives, assuming that I couldn’t even say hello in the language start with English only to receive a response in perfect Hindi, after which we sheepishly switch to the local language. The feeling is wonderful and I have to thank my parents profoundly for the gift they give me. Another time one of my cousins who grew up abroad asked me if we were told by our relatives in India that we spoke English too fast, to which I responded ‘We never spoke in English so we never found out.’
We straddlers have an important role to play in the development of the modern world; to help the melding of different customs and ideals of the world.
Multiculturalism is a beautiful thing when done correctly, truly the way to advance the human race. But the balance is very important. If you surrender yourself and your roots to your surroundings, you’re merely assimilating and there’s no exchange, just capitulation. If a few individuals, in whatever form, keep that culture preserved then they give a beautiful resource to the rest of the world, which the world can tap into in its purest form at any time. That needs to survive in assimilation. Otherwise you get a ‘melting pot’ that is of no use to anyone.
I felt this most astutely in my travels to the US, arguably the biggest melting pot of all. For me, it’s a bit of a graveyard of cultures. So many Germans immigrated there but the American ‘pretzel’ is horrific and bland, nothing like the noble ‘bretzel’ you get in Germany. Not to mention all the other food that’s been changed beyond repair *shudders*. On top of that, so many people over there are so keen to raise their kids ‘American’ (cos it’s the greatest somethingorother in the world apparently) they forget all about the beauty of the nation they came from. The result? You have all these people with really interesting names and interesting relatives but none of them have a clue about it. Knowing so much about the land of my fathers (and mothers), it does sadden me to think they’ll not know about that when it has enriched me so much as a person.
In short, I hate the way I am seen and some of the internal confusion that being of two cultures gives you, but I can live with it when I have gained so much. हिंदी एक बोहुत सुंदर भाषा है, और मुझे बोहुत आनंद है के मई उसकी प्रयोग कर सकता हूँ | Besides, we’re the ones that will help ensure the gems of wisdom, literature, etc from our adopted nation are passed on in the future. But we’re also open to other experiences, other ideals too. And that isn’t celebrated nearly as much as it should be!
So what am I? I am a person, first and foremost. But if you need classification, I’m British Indian (or Indian British if you prefer). In every sense of the word.
I may not fit in, but who cares? I’ll be at the crossroads of true progress one way or the other. Suck it, Griffin and Cameron!
Regards,
नमस्कार
The Vedic underdog
वेदों का व्यक्ति
