Growing up with cultural crisis

I was born in Kerala, India. A state very famous for its backwaters and greenery and possibly, a flagbearer for societal changes much contradictory to its national capital of New Delhi.

I have only lived in India for six years of my life- and that too in 3 year intervals. When I was three, my parents moved my younger brother and me to Nigeria. I loved living there- owing to the substantial class divide that existed between natives and expatriates. We were seen as rays of hope that will change the existing disparity in the country. Nevertheless, my parents made sure that we did not treat anyone differently. I vividly remember my mother being okay with us eating our food with our servants on the floor at lunch time. She never served them food- not out of distaste, but out of respect. She used to say that they need to have enough food to kill their hunger and if she serves them, they would feel guilty for seconds. This was not the scenario in many other Indian households across Nigeria.

At the age of 8, my father moved us back to Kerala so that my mother could give birth to my younger sister with her family nearby. Dad stayed back. I remember missing Nigeria so badly. In fact, the plan was to go back to Nigeria when my sister was a couple of months old. That plan never saw light. Fast forward 3 years, we moved to a land of opportunities and lots of sun - MELBOURNE. MCG, partying, trips, neat city drives, the attractions were endless.

As we started going to school, life changed for me. Being the eldest daughter in the family, babysitting was an unpaid chore. The aim was to study well, get a decent job and have a decent family. Let me tell you, none of these were my aims. I was always a goofball. My aim was to fly the rocket, become an airhostess, be a model, be adulated and the list goes on and on. My parents knew what it was to be underprivileged and they did not want us to experience that. Going out to white parties were a strict NO! They weren't sure if boys would make a pass at me, if I would get drunk or worse if I found a white boyfriend. So, even though I was invited to school friends' birthday parties, I would not be given the permission. Initially, I would cry and then I learned to lie to my friends and tell them I am doing things that weekend, where, in reality, I will be sleeping or watching lame cartoons with me sister (Tom and Jerry is never LAME).

I never understood why my parents thought that I could not go to parties but my 2 year younger brother could go out. I used to sit down and think. Eventually, I asked my mother and she told me it is because we are new here and we do not know what to expect. So I quit blaming my parents and I would go to my Indian friends birthday parties.

In a few years time, I started hating going to parties all together. I started becoming restless talking to white people. I kept on thinking "I might not be good enough for them". By this time, my parents loved living here and honestly, they had more white friends than we ever did.

Having white friends our age meant going out to parties, clubbing, having boyfriends, wearing short clothes, going to beach, going on small holidays. All of these meant, we would be outside our parents' vicinity and they would not know what we were up to. Honestly, if were were doing any of the above mentioned activities, they rather not know about it. These kind of restrictions made it hard for me to be friends with non-Indians. Eventually, I started channelling my energy into other things so that I would not have to worry about my social life.

The fact that I have not experienced life like my Australian counterparts made it hard for me to socialise with them. My self esteem was low and I started to pile on weight. It came to a point that I would much rather prefer wearing Indian kurtas over dresses. I started feeling uncomfortable. I mean, I was the kid who used to hate when my mother used to wear Indian kurtas to church or shopping- eeeekkk!!

I prefer to wear dresses over saris, makeup over bindis, eat sausages over rice, go to beach over church, watch a good romance on TV rather than seeing the camera panning out to a flower field (typical in Indian movies). Although I prefer these, it does not mean I hate the Indian counterparts. It is still very much a big part of my life and identity. It just does not mean that I should only like Indian things over Australian things. Both are my countries, both are my cultures.

Having to live in this kind of a multi-cultural identity makes you appreciate other ethnicities and diversities- but is also makes you want uniformity in life. Now that is not too much to ask, is it? So next time you see a first generation migrant kid in your school or university, remember, they have their own demons to work out.