High School Graduations

          

              May is the month of  High School graduations in the United States. All around me that is all I heard for a few weeks in May. Such joy and relief in the voices of 12th graders who are finishing up school and their parents. A graduation ceremony complete with a cap and gown! Followed by graduation parties with graduation cakes hosted by their families, graduation dinners, the whole nine yards before they start prepping for the college that they have already chosen or the college that has chosen them. I couldn't help but start thinking of my own son's turn in a few years and wondered where his party should be hosted and who to invite. As I pondered on those, I thought of my own 'graduating' from 12th grade in India and how different passing out of 12th grade was perceived back then. What kind of a High school graduation did we have in India?  A cap and a gown, a walk to get our diploma? A party?  Ours was completely different.

           I graduated high school about 25 years ago under tremendous stress . Stress towards finishing strong and scoring the magic number which was going to determine which line of specialty I was going to go in my life. Well, that kind of pressure really starts in tenth grade as we look upon the public exams! The '10th grade public exam score' paves way to where you are going-Science or Math or Economics or Commerce. Then the '12th grade public exam scores' seal the deal for you. Between the exams and the results, we were enrolled in medical college coaching classes, to prepare for the entrance exams. Everyone involved  had their tunnel vision glasses and worked with a focus. The 12th grade results pretty much determines what you will eventually major in. I have never heard of anyone being able to change their major midway, like in the US. For those who were successful in acquiring a seat in a medical college, their future was clear. They were becoming doctors! For those who did not, we moved on, dusted off the disappointment and enrolled in Arts and Sciences and graduated after 6 six years with a Master's degree. There were plenty of options and we all succeeded in different areas in the end. But we all started off vying for a medical seat or an Engineering seat. I do not know why. Looking back,I wished I had never tried to become a doctor. The dream of becoming one was fascinating but the grueling process of studying for and writing entrance exams and being turned down only proved that that cake was not mine to eat. Sure, I am all for Grey's anatomy and its doctors but I have never envied their jobs or their lives.

          25 years later, from the news I get from India, nothing much has changed. More stress, more pressure to perform better, score better, get into that Medical/Engineering college. I find it interesting to see parents my age, who underwent such pressure and stress themselves would willingly subject their own children to this again. And yet they do. As our children battle it out to get the best scores- to win among the highest scoring children- to the quota systems- to battling the courts to relax NEET requirements......what is it that makes us be this way? To impose such high standards on our children that they risk cracking under pressure. Is our greatest wish to do the best for our children ...more a vicarious attempt at realizing our failed dreams?  Sure, it is a competitive world out there, I get it. But at what cost do we keep pushing our children? In the end, a handful get selected, and a bunch get rejected......and chided(for not getting selected).

          How would it be if we just threw them a party at the end of their 12th grade and called it a Higher Secondary school graduation? Invite all your extended family so they can congratulate your kids for the 12 years of hard work and diligence. How about we do not make them feel like failures for not making the cut that last year of  Higher Secondary school. How about we tell them there is so much more to life than Medical college or Engineering College? How about we tell them, "we did not make it into Medical or Engineering college, it is ok if you did not, either. You can still major in something else and be happy like we are with our choices". After all, there are enough doctors and engineers in this world to take care of us.It's time we took care of our own.

Then came grace

            When I moved to the US as a young wife and mother 14 years ago. I was a bit apprehensive but I had imagined it would be no different from the first 2 times I had been here. Once when I was 14, sheltered by my parents-safe and secure. The next time when I was 24,I was at an educational institute that took care of all my needs and requirements. This time as we arrived in Indianapolis, I was in for a rude awakening. I was the caretaker. I was one of the 2 parents. I was the mother who with the father had to figure out living in another country with a baby. I hadn’t quite dwelt on that until I started living it. Gradually, it sunk in.

             It wasn’t as rosy as I had imagined. While my husband went to work at his new job in the new country, I was dealing with my son-who was 6 months old, figuring out what to feed him(Gerbers baby food), watching him sleep(in his crib), and when he was awake watching him watch kids’ shows on TV. It was a bit frightening when I thought the one of the Wiggles guys was cute!! and when I knew every truck and crane by name  in Bob the builder and when I was able to sing all Barney’s songs by heart. Sure enough, there were days that seemed to limit me to the four walls and got me to wonder if this was it. Where was my Jeremiah 29:11? Where was my dream of a career? There might have been a bit of panic, I am sure of it.

           Then came an interesting change of scenery. We went to church. The church that had a steeple which was visible from our window. Stepping beyond out comfort  zone of known people and stepping in that church of strangers was probably my saving grace. That same day, we were treated to lunch by a couple. That evening, a lady from the church showed up at my door to say hi. She noticed my empty apartment and made calls to her friends in church. In a week, our apartment was fully furnished down to a vacuum cleaner.

            I slowly started making friends in my church and joined MOPS(Mother of Preschoolers). I was alarmed to see many of the women at MOPS were Stay-at-home moms too but these ones were happy and jubilant! I was tired and in shock! I gazed in awe at them and their joy as I battled my 'newness' in motherhood and my 'newness' in this country.  I was buffeted by pangs of homesickness. I missed being familiar with everything and everyone. Then came grace in the form of 2 women, who became my buddies-who drove me places with my son, chuck-e-cheese's, the mall, chick-fil-a and had us over for play dates with their kids. One special lady, introduced me to the world of  Scrapbooking. One lady sought my help during her pregnancy to manage her daycare that she ran. And so it began.....life got better. I made more friends. We traded recipes and stories. Traded laughter and hand me downs. Slowly, my walls of loneliness began to crumble and soon enough I was involved in Bible studies, MOPS leadership, church choir, Sunday school  and my family became part of a wonderful small group at church.

            This was a far cry from the fears I had imposed on myself-that I was going to be cut off from civilization, I'd be all alone in this new country and be the sole caretaker of my son during the day. That church was indeed my saving grace. Saved me from loneliness and gloom, taught me to find joy in motherhood and unbeknownst to me, taught me to be a better wife.
             It happened again when we moved to Colorado. Another church, another MOPS, same story. A family invited us to their house that evening. And so the story goes. Deep friendships that have formed since that first day ten years ago.. Our sons are best friends and our daughters share the same birthday. We are one big family.
             Thanks to your open hearts and arms that made us comfortable. Thanks to trusting us enough to open your doors. Thanks to looking past the 'newness' in us and welcoming us, nevertheless. Thanks for being our friends. Thanks for taking that first step with us.

Stating the obvious about the election year

         I love those election campaign commercials! Said no one ever. So why do we put up with it? Just because the politicians are rich enough to buy airtime and have access to our phone numbers, why should we,the people, put up with it? Can't we do something to reject them? Pass a bill to block this power play? To see and hear the same commercials over and over again, droning out everything else, does seem a bit redundant. And no, watching it or hearing it one more time is not going to change my mind. No matter how I look at it, I am not voting for any of them. So I cry out.

            To be honest, I love the election year in the United States. Love watching the delegate count, Super Tuesdays coverages, every news anchor getting so heated up about every political issue on the plate, yet ignoring the rest of the world as if no one exists outside of the United States. As for myself,  if I could help it from here on out till November, I'd be content to watch just one channel (and ABC on Thursdays for Grey's).  Altho' by now I wish we knew who exactly the nominees were, but that's not happening anytime soon for at least one party. And so we await a contested convention. Seriously, can't wait.

           Sure, we find ourselves in a very bizarre election year.... where the youngest candidate is 45 and the oldest 74. That is not the bizarre part of it. The 'bizarreness' part is where one party is scrambling to stop the front runner. Not the other party's  front runner but its own. I have never heard that and I bet you haven't either. What do you call someone who feeds fear and hatred of minorities to the paranoid? The front runner of one party. The 'front runner' is not a politician they say, he is an 'outsider' which is why people love him. What do you call someone who, potentially, does win the election under a party banner and gets into the white house? A politician. I have also heard this particular candidate using absolute degrading words to define the other candidates (of the same party and of course, even worse words for the opposite side) and I have heard better from school kids and teenagers who get into a fight. To imagine this front runner being the next president  makes me realize I am not good with imagination.

            Like I said, even if I were to vote, I wouldn't know if I would want to. I hate guns and I hate abortions.  I don't get how one can be pro-gun and pro-life.  Someone said that it is comparing Apples to Oranges. Really? Is it? To me both represent death. I don't get how one can be pro-life and anti-refugee. On the other hand, I don't get how pro-choice means you can choose anything  you want to do or be. I don't get how one can deny climate change.  I don't get the uproar about a female president/ vice -president  in the United States, either. I come from India that has had a female President, a female Prime Minister and a female Chief minister and to top that the parliament has 33% allotted for women. No matter what you think of male chauvinism in India, we have had women in leadership and India is doing just fine. After all, are we all not created in God's image. Were we all not born of a woman?

            If everyone who says they will move to Canada if a woman or this bad mouthing front runner becomes President  were to keep their word, I envision an immigration crisis in the North for the first time.  And what are we gonna do, build a wall and have Canada pay for that?

 

The power of being bilingual

            I am bilingual. I speak English and தமிழ் (Tamil).If reading a few other languages and understanding a bit of them counts, I'd be a polyglot. Cue my 3 years of French in school, some Hindi and picking up Spanish here and there. Either way, I can get away with using  one other language handily. I can use it to my advantage and can smooth out the kinks in my life effectively. Against common belief, every time I slip into my mother tongue,Tamil with my husband I am not talking about you! Well, at least most of the time. It is more about ourselves, that we don't want you to hear and it is not always about you. You just have to take my word for it. It could also be the fact that it is so much easier to blurt something in my own language, than to figure out that word in English. It is a comfort to be able to have that bond in public to be able to share something among us. We are not seeking to disrespect the company, we are not thinking that far ahead. We think of ourselves and quietly share a moment. Call it an intimate moment.                   

            Being bilingual to me goes both ways. Sometimes, English is my saving grace. When we run into another Indian somewhere and you find out they are from another part of the country, we respectfully resort to continue speaking in English since we don't know a lick of the language that they speak. Their language, is as foreign as my language is to you. Every southern state in India and many northern states have their own language. Not a different dialect. It is not Montana and Texas accents. It is just plain different from each other with its own alphabet, grammar, rules, epics and folklore. How many languages are there in India? I might range from 50 to a few hundred. I really do not know.

            Now, getting our kids to be bilingual was hard and easy at the same time. The more we spoke to them in Tamil, the more they understood. It came to a point where my husband and I could not converse in Tamil without being interrupted (in English) by my children about their opinion on the topic. What language could we learn that the kids would not understand? But they do try speak it and struggle with pronouncing Tamil words which then begs the question, does it make them bilingual or not? Google 'Aziz Ansari goes to India' and watch the 2 min. clip. You will get an idea.

            I find it hilarious that my son is learning Spanish. He speaks it and writes it well enough to get a good grade. That should cover what he is missing out on his mother tongue speaking skills, right? I am curious to see him putting his Spanish to practice one day and yet eager to see him become fluent in Tamil, his mother tongue.

                   I agree, it can be rude to speak another language in front of others who do not understand it. I came across that myself when I visited another country and when people spoke around me, I could swear it was about me! But what could I do? Shut up and put up. But the longer I was quiet, I did understand that mango in English, is mangaa in my language and mangaa in Tagalog, a language native to the Philippines. That was as far as I got. I do believe there more common words. Bahasaa Indonesia and Bahasaa Malaysia are languages indigenous to those countries and Bahasaa means language in Sanskrit (and in Tamil). Can't help to then wonder about Tamil and Sanskrit knitting all these east Asian languages together, that you just want to go grab a Rosetta Stone and learn another language. And you say, "Talagaa??", "Apdiyaa?" or "Really?". It all means the same anyway.

                All this blogging got me wired up on how old Tamil was, the internet places its origin somewhere around 600-300BC. One of the oldest languages in the world. Astounded and humbled.

                

What Easter means to me

               

             In India, the Lent season starting on Ash Wednesday and ending with Maundy Thursday and Good Friday was precious to my heart. In so many ways, I miss the revival meetings through out the lenten Fridays that prepares our heart toward the Holy week.  I miss the seven sermons preached on a hot Good Friday afternoon-one sermon for every word spoken by Jesus on the Cross. Not to mention the early morning Easter services complete with communion. Great beautiful memories! 

        When we had moved to the US and my kids were much younger, they came to me a few days before Easter and asked if the Easter bunny was going to bring goodies. They had heard kids in school talking about it. Really? I had recently adjusted to the concept of Santa and his gift bringing. I had even programmed my senses to embrace the tooth fairy but this Easter bunny was just pushing my limits. So I banned him. "NO!NO!NO! You want goodies, I will take you to an Easter egg hunt", I said. We have not missed an egg hunt ever since. It was such fun to watch the kids go crazy! Not so much the parens who willfully bring the kids to the egg hunt and complain about too much sugar in their systems. 

              I have wondered why we celebrate Easter with eggs and bunnies in the US? To such an extent, some kids think the eggs hatch bunnies! The bunny is a mammal, thank you very much! and no there is no connection whatsoever to Jesus and bunnies and eggs and chocolate. I hate the fact it is all pooled together with Easter and we royally miss the point of this glorious day. On the third day after Jesus died on the cross, he rose again from the grave. Easter is the day we celebrate to remember that he rose from the dead and forgave us of our sins.  

              I get it, eggs and bunnies signify Spring and new birth. Is it just a convenient marketing strategy for retail stores and supermarkets to combine it with Easter since they all fall close to each other? But, come on. Between the time change last week, the incessant snowing this week, I have had enough anyway.

               I celebrate Easter for what it is, Jesus. His death, His resurrection, His Love and His forgiveness. Thank you, Jesus. 

The day I ate Mexican!

            Several years ago, when I visited the United States, I went to dinner with some of my friends. The group of friends I had gone with was a funny bunch. The whole time while we waited for the waitress, they laughed about their time as a waiter/ waitress. One guy said how some people would order Quesadilla as "kwesadiLLaa" and the whole table erupted into laughter. Soon enough, the waitress showed up and we began placing our orders. When my turn came, I promptly checked my menu, like what I saw and said, "I'll have the "chicken faJEEtaas". Said it like it was written and my table for some reason became absolutely quiet. The waitress was polite but hey! I knew something was up.

               Sooooo, I came to learn how to pronounce Juan and tortilla, Jose and sopapilla with the silent j's and l's. And still knew enough to say John, Jesus and Joseph. Knew my difference from a Margarita and a Martini. When my son started learning Spanish, I picked up a few words and tried striking up a conversation with anyone that I was sure knew the language. Once I forced my child to say "Muy Bien" to a waitress , when my son whispered that she was asking what my daughter's name was in Spanish. Awkward!!! You think?

                Did you know there is a TV show called India in Spanish??? What are chances?? Did you know the Spanish they speak in Spain is different from the Spanish spoken in South America, Central America or Mexico? When I am in a pinch for Indian groceries, I walk down the Hispanic aisle in the store and am able to gather most of the stuff  I need. Cumin and dried chillies are such an intricate part of my cuisine as well. Salsa is almost tomato chutney and tortilla is an easy chapati.

              My favorite dinner to bring to a friend is, naturally a Cheesy Enchilada casserole and they look at me wondering, "Nothing Indian?"     Nope! Sorry, I seem to lean toward Mexican cuisine over Indian myself. I'd rather make Tacos in a jiffy or a Taco salad for a campout. It's pretty much always a toss up between Chipotle and Qdoba. Go figure!

            With all this talk of immigration, and deportation and building a wall, I really do wonder if America will survive without Mexican food.  Is it possible to love the food and hate the cook? I guess anything is possible.

                                  

My delight and dilemma of being an Indian woman in the United States

          And so it has been every day of my life here in the United States, not that anyone cares, really. But I care enough to have noticed a few points and have come up with enough to write another post in my blog.

             It is indeed, delightful to be recognized as an Indian here in the United States. People are always interested in our accents, where we come from in India, what brought us here, and how long we have lived here. Some are curious about how many languages we speak and if our children speak it.  So there is never a dull moment when we meet new people, there is always something to talk about. I love it. Through my several trips to a few countries over the years, I have found myself to be a representative of  India that I have even memorized some statistics and can almost always knock the ball out of the park with that. Recently, I was invited to a book club (not mine) to talk about India. It was a delightful 3 hour discussion! Every time, my book club(which is the #1 in the world) reads a book on India, I am thrown a bunch of questions and I just love handling them. At those moments, I am fully aware that I have survived the move to another country, survived the culture shock and am living this dream in a country that I have embraced with all my heart and now telling intrigued friends about the country I am from. When a friend visits from out of town, sure, let us meet in a Indian restaurant..., when friends come over, sure it is Indian food. When I misspeak or be flagrantly inappropriate, "Oops! I am sorry, I am from India. English is not my first language". So yes, I do milk it a bit ;)

           And every coin has two sides, does it not? This other side is my dilemma. Some are quite obvious and in my face while others can be very subtle. Either way a delight can turn to a dilemma in a second. Say for example, when I am chomping at the bit to give a smart quip and someone turns to me and asks, "Is that how it is in India?". Suddenly, I go from having anything remotely intelligent to say to being labeled as a citizen of another country. Slowly, the air has deflated from the intelligent moment to agreeing with my Indianness.

           Or when I am mistaken for the one other overweight Indian mother in my son's school....it leaves me to wonder if that is how I am viewed. Not for my genuine niceness(!?) or my intellect(!!??)but for my Indianness. Or the random stranger who tells ,"Oooh! I want to go to India and do yoga" ....probably has no idea I am not into yoga. Never was, never will. Forget the strangers, when I am in deep, serious conversations with my friends and the topic suddenly veers to, 'Indian food'. Or the never ending questions of  'Did you have an arranged marriage? 'Was it arranged when you were kids?' or 'when did you learn to speak English?' There it is again. All my energy and thought now hangs on me handling my Indianness. I still muster something. Sometimes smart, sometimes sassy. But I always hold my chin up.

          You have to understand that when I say dilemma, it is NOT death, it is just a dilemma. It washes over in a while and I am fine again. Ready to be delightful and to ready be delighted with life. It is a fine balance (no, not the Indian book). It is a tight rope walk. I am proud to be an Indian. Proud to flaunt it in a foreign land. Proud to prove that it can be done.

          It's just that when I am asked to prove it over and over again, it gets a bit old.