“American-Born Confused Desi” or “ABCD” has become an increasingly popular polarizing term. First coined as a somewhat derogatory term for first-generation South Asian youth, who are born and raised in the U.S.A. and have no consistent answer to the question, “Where are you from?,” are now proudly identifying themselves as Indian-Americans.
This is part of our identity. We struggle to straddle the Pacific, stay true to two countries, two cultures, and ourselves. Bollywood music finds its way onto our iPods; A.R. Rahman listed between A$AP Rocky and The Black Keys. Our inflections on Hindi words and syllables roll easily off our tongues and keep our roots alive on our lips. We grow up eating Oreos (or for some, Parle-G) with processed 2 percent milk in our chai, and spend summers in India where the milk with paper-thin whey still floating on top is delivered in plastic bags to the four-floor bungalow.
The term “ABCD” is no longer an insult, an identity in limbo, floating between India and America, and unsure of which direction to swim. Instead today, “ABCD” is a community, whose members have embraced the label and relate to each other through times of dissonance between Indian and American cultures.
Our identity as a bi-cultural community refuses to choose between two rich heritages, instead we continue to strengthen the bridge we create between the two worlds. I can attest to this because I’ve found a comfortable place between the two. I no longer have to hide my saris from my non-Desi friends because they can’t wait to wear one at the next Desi wedding, and henna is more culturally accepted than ever. Indian food too is becoming the norm take-out for a cozy night in.
And thanks to women likeMindy Kaling, Nina Davuluri and Priyanka Chopra, Desi names are becoming household names. Bollywood dance is no longer just a foreign concept because we are bridging the gap through Bollywood workout classes like Doonya and tapping our feet with Nicole Scherzinger’s “Jai Ho. Some may see our culture embedding into mainstream Western society as cultural appropriation, but I see it as a step forward in establishing who we are as a community. For me, “ABCD” is an identity that has given me a middle ground, an identity somewhere in-between America and India, and the freedom to explore all facets of our cultures, a privilege I feel lucky to have.
Contrary to its intended origins, I no longer wince at the term “ABCD,” implying that I simply have not found an authentic identity, but I proudly claim it as my only identity. And no one can take this away from me, not even Louisana Governor Bobby Jindal.
Mrittika Ghosh is a first-generation Indian-American from Michigan, whose family is from Kolkata. She’s currently a high school senior who likes to read, write, spend time with friends and travel.
NAKED: The Honest Musings of 2 Brown Women was born in the autumn of 2018, when Mimi Mutesa and Selvi M. Bunce began sharing their poetry collections. It was scary, beautiful, and terrifying when they decided to trust each other with their most intimate thoughts. Not only did they feel relieved after doing so, but Selvi and Mimi also felt more seen as women of color. They embarked on their publication journey, so others may feel as seen as they did on that fateful autumn.
“Ingrown Hair” deals with the themes of societal and family pressures that are reflected throughout NAKED. Mimi and Selvi have always written for themselves. They see poetry as an outlet, and their poems exemplify their personal frustration and vulnerability. “Ingrown Hair” speaks to Selvi’s experience with the societal pressures of South Asian women, such as getting married, being a good wife, becoming a good mother, and leading a certain kind of life.
There is something strange beneath my skin
telling me to build a house,
make a home,
mother children.
I am not sure how to reconcile it.
My mother was strong
and a mother after all.
My philosophy has been to spend my time
on myself and the world.
I have always thought
I could simply address the thing under my skin
when it finally crawled out.
But when my family starts guessing
who will get married first, and my father
has been saving wedding money for years,
I begin to wonder
if I will have to pluck it out.
The opinions expressed by the guest writer/blogger and those providing comments are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Brown Girl Magazine, Inc., or any employee thereof. Brown Girl Magazine is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the guest writer/bloggers. This work is the opinion of the blogger. It is not the intention of Brown Girl Magazine to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual. If you’d like to submit a guest post, please follow the guidelines we’ve set forth here.
“Confessions to a Moonless Sky” is a meditation on the new moon and guilt. I wrote it when I was living in Dallas and was driving back from a dusk prayer. The new moon terrified me on that drive. I was diseased by the knowledge that my partner, at the time, had seen the worst parts of me. There’s immense shame in this piece—it seized my self-image. If the moon could become brand new, then I could start over.
I often ponder on the moon’s reflective nature and pairs of eyes. I’m hyper-fixated on how I am seen by others. Unfortunately, the brilliance of seeing your reflection in another person leads to negativity. After all, those who are too keen on their own reflection are the same people who suffer from it. It is possible to use shame to fuel one’s retribution and personal growth, without becoming consumed by it.
We can look to Shah Rukh Khan succumbing to alcoholism in his own sorrow and then later imbibing his sadness in Chandramukhi. “Confessions to a Moonless Sky” is a lesson for us: Don’t be Shah Rukh Khan in Devdas, instead embody pre-incarnation Shah Rukh Khan in Om Shanti Om!
Sometimes when the moon abandons the sky, I wonder if I drove her away.
If she comes back, will she be the same? How I wish she would come back new, truly new! That way she’d have no memory of the sin I’ve confessed to her. You noxious insect. Sin-loving, ego-imbibing pest. You are no monster, for at least a monster has ideology, it sins with purpose. You sin just to chase ignominy.
But the moon won’t say that, she never does. She’ll just leave the sky and return days later, slowly. And I’ll wonder if she’s new, perhaps she won’t remember my past confessions. What does it matter? Were the moon replaced with one from a different god, I’d drive her away, too.
I organize play dates for my children. They’re friendships remind me of when I was younger when Fridays were consistently set aside for my friends. Now, it seems play is indeed meant for childhood and work is for aging adults. We often can’t find time for ourselves, let alone our friends, who are busy working mothers like ourselves. Or we moved into unreachable corners of this globe, far away from any means of physical communication. It’s fair to say, it’s hard to stay close to friends like when we were in college. Nowadays, it’s easier to travel, but more difficult to bond with others. “My Friend” asserts that we should not end let our friendships fall by the wayside. Even with physical distance and conflicting schedules, we keep our friendships close with kind words on phone calls, regular FaceTime calls, or even encouraging social media comments. Friendship doesn’t end once we become adults.
The opinions expressed by the guest writer/blogger and those providing comments are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Brown Girl Magazine, Inc., or any employee thereof. Brown Girl Magazine is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the guest writer/bloggers. This work is the opinion of the blogger. It is not the intention of Brown Girl Magazine to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual. If you’d like to submit a guest post, please follow the guidelines we’ve set forth here.
