Sudha's Snack : Born Again in the USA

By Sudha Narasimhan

My parents came to the US in 1970.  They moved to Jersey City and worked in NYC in various jobs to make ends meet. They were a part of an enormous emigration of South Asians who came to the US, seeking a better life. Mom and Dad were very excited to be a part of the American Dream. They wanted my life to be everything that theirs was not back in India: full of promise, opportunity, and happiness. Ironically, now they want me to be a dutiful Indian housewife.

I am thinking this has to do with being 32 and single.  For example, when I was 21 and talked of my dreams to be a filmmaker, my comparatively progressive parents were supportive. They practically gave me a director’s chair as a college present. “You will make Mummy proud- you’re going to be like Spielberg!” said Mom, as I left for college. Yes, Mom speaks in third person from time to time. Now, because I have not made Jurassic Park for Indian people, Mom thinks I have failed in my abilities to make a name for myself. The only way I can save myself from sin, public embarrassment and familial shame is to get married to some dude from the old country. Either that, or start rehearsing for my after life as a cockroach.

Why this cultural regression on my mother’s part?  I think it has to do with hormones. Or maybe because of India’s globalization. Or because my cousin’s husband just got a new SUV and this makes me look even less accomplished. OK, so I am not a famous filmmaker, but now as the wife of Ranjit, I can live a comfortable life with a Honda Civic, make chapathis all night and watch Ranjit's mustache get thicker and thicker? I wish I were directly from India so that I would find someone like Ranjit attractive, but alas, I just don’t. And, Ranjit deserves someone who can appreciate him for who he is. I would just be complaining that he mispronounces “cafe” by saying CAY-FFFF. Instead, I am chasing after emotionally unavailable Indian-American men who are so compatible with me culturally, but suffer from the problem of commitmentitis. Just like a true American.

I think my parents mean well - their intentions are good. They just want me settled in life- this experience is something I share with all of my friends. However, I just wish Mom and Dad would live in 2007 America and not 1963 India. By the way, Dad thinks butter is the cure-all for all wounds and physical ailments. He tried to put some on my arm the other day. Is that from India too?