I was about seven years old when my family and I moved from our home in New Delhi, India, to a suburb of Chicago, Illinois. My story is much like those of the many immigrants before me. My parents decided to give up the lives they had established in India in order to give my siblings and I a better life. As the youngest member of the family, I had a much easier time adjusting to the local American customs than my parents.
The labels of the containers in your fridge rarely match the contents within.
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Only one of the three Ragu jars in the fridge actually has Ragu in it; the other two are filled with your mom’s homemade ghee.
The statement, “No thanks, I’m full,” is not a part of your culture.
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Your parents’ way of showing they love you is by asking you if you’ve eaten yet. But you should still expect your dad to give you the “starving children in Africa” speech when you inevitably can’t finish the 3 heapfuls of rice he put on your plate.
You scoffed at your friends when they complained about getting grounded
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Your mom had a different use for slippers when you talked back to her or got in trouble at school.
You have a passion for the arts, but you’re a probably STEM major
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Your parents always told you to go with a “safe” major like Engineering or Pre-Health.
You’ve learned how to lead a double life
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You have perfected the art of sneaking out of the house after your parents go to bed, so as to get around your ridiculously early curfew and still manage to have a social life. You know better than to tell your mom about your latest crush. As far as she knows, you are 100% asexual and have never had a sip of alcohol in your life.
The Lunchbox Moment
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As lunchtime rolled around, your classmates pulled out their enviable Lunchables while you revealed your mom’s home-cooked daal and roti. This was often followed with disgusted stares and statements on the “smelliness” of your meal. Like any other adolescent, you just wanted to fit in, so you eventually begged your parents to let you buy hot lunch every day.
Communication is difficult
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You never had “the talk” with your folks — and maybe that’s for the best. Your parents’ conservative upbringings translated to them disregarding the possibility that you may be sexually active or drinking at parties. While these are undoubtedly uncomfortable conversations to have, you sort of wish you could come to them about your problems without the fear of being disowned.
Growing up, my siblings and I loved poking fun at our parents whenever they butchered the pronunciation of common English words. I remember being ashamed to be seen with them in public because of their limited understanding of American customs. I hated stopping by the grocery store on our way home from church functions, because I didn’t want people staring at me for wearing traditional indian clothes. I still struggle with feeling out of place when I talk about my culture with my non-immigrant friends, and I still have to remind myself that my background is as unique and valid as anyone else’s.
It never occurred to me how hard it had probably been for my parents to leave their families behind and start from scratch in a foreign country. Now that I’m a little older, I’ve finally seen how far they’ve come, and how they’ve become more open-minded over the years. I may never fully understand their conservative values or what they’ve endured as immigrants, but I have grown to appreciate how much they have done for us.