I am the daughter of two immigrants; My mom is from Southern India, and my dad is from Sri Lanka. While both were raised in the United States, they still heavily embraced their culture and language. My dad speaks Tamil and is Hindu, while my mom speaks Malayalam and is Christian.
When I was nine years old, my grandma decided to start teaching me Tamil, a language prevalent in both South India and Sri Lanka. We began by learning prayers and bhajans, then moved on to the alphabet and simple words. I still have my favorite words: ஒட்டகம் which means camel, ஆடு which means goat and அணில் which means squirrel.
I am by no means fluent, but it makes me happy that I understand my culture and can somewhat understand the language. This education from my grandma was also helpful because Tamil and Malayalam are quite similar linguistically and have many cognates, so I could somewhat understand my mother’s side of the family.
Yet, one thing I still battle with to this day is speaking and hearing these languages aloud. I cringe and get embarrassed when I say “Appa,” which I call my dad, while my friends call their dad’s “Dad.” It makes me feel othered and out of the ordinary, which I already feel most of the time.
Being a woman of color is already challenging enough due to the amount of backlash and casual racism South Asians experience on both social platforms and in real life. If I am on the phone with my grandma and she speaks to me in Tamil and I am around my friends, I decide to talk back in English.
I have friends who speak other languages, like Spanish, French, Hindi and Mandarin. I am in awe whenever they speak their language in front of me. I find it beautiful and interesting that people can speak multiple languages. Is it because these languages “sound better”? They are often taught in schools and are more universally known and understood.
I remember a distinct time when I was ten and at a playdate with some friends when my grandma called to see how I was doing. She asked me, “என்ன நடக்குது?” (What are you up to?). I responded, “நான் என் நண்பர்களுடன் விளையாடுகிறேன்.” (I am playing with my friends).
My friends looked at me and started laughing. I got so embarrassed that I ran to return the phone to my dad. Yet, my grandma was so proud of me for responding in Tamil that it made it all worth it. However, ten-year-old me took this as a catalyst to never speak Tamil in public again.
As a 20-year-old, I still get a tad uncomfortable whenever I have to speak Tamil in public. Every Sunday at 6pm, I have a prayer with my grandma, and I have to ultimately sing all the bhajans I know on the phone with her.
I shut my door and sing in the lowest intonation possible so my roommates don’t hear me, and I do not disturb them. Meanwhile, my dad prays with his mother every day and sings loudly and proudly, often waking me up. I find it an immensely comforting sound, though.
I am slowly realizing there is nothing to be embarrassed of. I am lucky to live with two South Asian women in college who never make me feel ashamed about my culture and allow me to be proud and confident. I never feel as though I have to be embarrassed or “lowkey” about talking about my religion, language or culture because they both know exactly how it is. While we are very different and unique in our own ways, we can understand and connect with each other because we are all from South Asia and have very similar morals and values.
In the spring of 2023, I had the chance to return to Sri Lanka for the second time for a cousin’s wedding, which was incredible. The first time I went, I was a pre-teen; while I still thoroughly enjoyed the trip, I did not truly appreciate the rich culture.
This trip was the perfect chance to start deeply appreciating my culture and not be ashamed to wear cultural clothing outside, go to the temple and pray, speak my language, sing my bhajans and not be scared of people finding me weird. All languages are unique and beautiful in their own way, and Tamil and Malayalam are no exceptions.