I HEART e-bay

Now there's a sight I'm used to seeing. Checked out a Grizzlies game last night. THE F-ING GRIZZLIES. I've seen "them" over 60 times before and unfortunately (for Memphis) last night was no different. Had to keep reminding myself that they're a .500+ team this year. A blowout wasn't what I had in mind when I grabbed the tix off e-bay, but for 15$ for killer seats, I'm not complaining.

Our Two Lives...

As I read this on Avni's blog - I felt the need to also share it as my own. In a recent edition of Newsweek Jhumpa Lahiri shared her view of what many of us have struggled to explain to others. Here are some snippets That I particularily identified with.

My Two Lives
By Jhumpa Lahiri

I have lived in the United States for almost 37 year and anticipate growing old in this country. Therefore, with the exception of my first two years in London, “Indian-American” has been a constant way to describe me. Less constant is my relationship to the term. When I was growing up in Rhode Island in the 1970’s I felt neither Indian nor American. Like many immigrant offspring I felt intense pressure to be two things, loyal to the old world and fluent in the new, approved of on either side of the hyphen. Looking back, I see that this was generally the case. But my perception as a young girl was that I fell short at both ends, shuttling between two dimensions that had nothing to do with one another.

.....

I also entered a world my parents had little knowledge or control of: school, books, music, television, things that seeped in and became a fundamental aspect of who I am. I spoke English without an accent, comprehending the language in a way my parents still do not. And yet there was evidence that I was not entirely American. In addition to my distinguishing name and looks, I did not attend Sunday school, did not know how to ice-skate, and disappeared to India for months at a time. Many of these friends proudly called themselves Irish-American or Italian-American. But they were several generations removed from the frequently humiliating process of immigration, so that the ethnic roots they claimed had descended underground whereas mine were still tangled and green. According to my parents I was not American, or would I ever be no matter how hard I tried. I felt doomed by their pronouncement, misunderstood and gradually defiant. In spite of the first lessons of arithmetic, one plus one did not equal two but zero, my conflicting selves always canceling each other out.

....When my husband and I were married five years ago in Calcutta we invited friends who had never been to India, and they came full of enthusiasm for a place I avoided talking about in my childhood, fearful of what people might say. Around non-Indian friends, I no longer feel compelled to hide the fact that I speak another language. I speak Bengali to my children, even though I lack the proficiency to teach them to read or write the language. As a child I sought perfection and so denied myself the claim to any identity. As an adult I accept that a bicultural upbringing is a rich but imperfect thing.

While I am American by virtue of the fact that I was raised in this country, I am Indian thanks to the efforts of two individuals. I feel Indian not because of the time I’ve spent in India or because of my genetic composition but rather because of my parents’ steadfast presence in my life...Everything will change once they die. They will take certain thing with them – conversations in another tongue, and perceptions about the difficulties of being foreign. Without them, the back-and-forth life my family leads, both literally and figuratively, will at last approach stillness. An anchor will drop, and a line of connection will be severed.

I have always believed that I lack the authority my parents bring to being Indian. But as long as they live they protect me from feeling like an imposter. Their passing will mark not only the loss of the people who created me but the loss of a singular way of life, a singular struggle. The immigrant’s journey, no matter how ultimately rewarding, is founded on departure and deprivation, but it secures for the subsequent generation a sense of arrival and advantage. I can see a day coming when my American self, lacking the counterpoint India had until now maintained, begins to gain ascendancy and weight. It is in fiction that I will continue to interpret the term “Indian-American”, calculating that shifting equation, whatever answers it may yield.

"You know that guy from the Verve..."

I was out for lunch and heard some guy saying this into his phone. What are the chances of that? I felt like screaming "I was there too!". Bittersweet Symphony was a surprise part of the opening act, we had no idea he was going to open for Coldplay! Yes Coldplay! Such a great show and great company. Really great company, life is good right now.

There seems to be a theme...

I've been busy this past week. Life is a bit blurry right now. I feel like everything is passing me by, that I'm not really participating in anything but have my hands in everything. I feel like a spectator in my own life. I felt ill for the past few days (the usual cold, sore throat) and yesterday I found myself telling a colleague "I'm going to a rest tonight", like its a movie or dinner that I've penciled in. But yet I'm trying to do more. Daily Show, Coldplay, Knicks, Football, Trips, Concerts, Events. I'm making new friends who I don't really have the time for. Sigh. Anyway, gotta run, Nets game tonight.

Disclaimer: I know I'm generalising, I accept it

They'll never get it. After a wonderful dinner, we sat eating kheer. Up comes the subject of someone who married an American Born Indian, an ABCD - "totally ABCD" was the comment made.

They'll never understand. They've never been spit on, never had to remove their turbans in order to get a job. Their educational credentials were recognized. They haven't been called a paki, or had their kids isolated because they're brown. They are served coffee at every restaurant they walk into. They don't realize that everyone's mom and dad have both an english and indian name because having an ethnic name on a resume was a one way ticket to the bin. They haven't spoken to the hords of cab drivers who have PhDs.

I felt the same way in NL, I never had to endure the very prevalent prejudice faced by immigrants from the colonies. I had the accent of a foreigner and the height of a Northerner. I still don't understand why expats are better accepted than our our citizens.

Anyway, these thoughts are all a bit of a jumble. I couldn't sleep.