Viraj's Blog

I open by asking you this: What is "South Asian"/"Indian" culture?

Is it food? Is it dancing? Pretty clothes? Bollywood?

The short answer is yes, kinda. In my experience, that while these are the images that come to mind, people are usually hesitant to admit it because they realize that culture extends so much beyond that. It is also Indian culture to push your kids to their breaking point when it comes to academics. It is Indian culture to promote a government run on corruption.

Yup. That's culture too.

I've never hesitated about my ethnic identity. I've always known that, above all else, I am an Indian. (The "American" came closer to my sophomore year, but I still always say "Indian" first.). I'm not sure when it happened, but I think pretty early in my college experience I started to equate being Indian to being in the Indian Student Association. Almost as if being part of this group made my own ethnic identity more legitimate. I still don't think this is illogical. Being part of the ISA gave me a certain legitimacy as an Indian (American) student on this campus.

"I can talk about Indian things because I'm in the ISA and that proves I know things and that I can talk about them."

I'll say this first and foremost: it is through this organization that I continued to explore "What it means to be Indian". However, if anything, my experience in the group only made me realize that my definition of Indian is drastically different than how the organization defines it.

For the ISA here, and everywhere else in the country, being Indian (as defined by American student groups) is a.) a garba, b.) a "secular" cultural show or two, and c.) living a binge lifestyle. A lot of schools have a Gandhi week which, ironically, contradicts pretty strongly with items b and c.

I had a love/hate relationship with my three years in the ISA. I owe a lot to this organization. I met my two best friends through their involvement in the group. I learned how to network and developed invaluable leadership skills. The doors that being an active member in ISA have opened have been something of a dream.

Along with that gratitude, however, I must admit that I never felt like I was truly a part of the ISA here. I had some fancy titles, some well-known friends, blah blah blah. These aren't retrospective statements- I have written privately throughout the years about this complex social structure that *is* the ISA.

As I said before, I realize now that I equated a lot of my own ethnic identity to my position within the ISA. This year, when I officially (partially voluntarily, but mostly not...that's important in this context) no longer considered myself part of the group, I felt a sort of lost ethnic identity. I still do, I think. I don't know how it feels to be Indian. Growing up, I had rarely any Indian friends, and absolutely no other friends "of color". To quote Prashanth, "I never had to think about the fact I was Indian until I came to UofI".

So, herein lies the dilemma. It is through ISA and my interactions with ISA students that I developed a very real salient ethnic identity, but it is that identity that I formed which ultimately also drove me away. In my own personal attempts to expand the definition of "Indian" as created and reinforced by the 15 or so people that run the group, I was met with lots of resistance. The events I wanted to put on simply didn't appeal to the same number of people that the 4 major events of the year do, and that decreased its legitimacy. Since they didn't meet the criteria for an assured turnout, I was asked to cancel the event before even giving it a chance.

What about those events (a poetry reading, a fellow board member's attempt at creating a media outlet, etc.) made them not "Indian" enough for the ISA to support? I am equally perplexed and frustrated at this thought.

And, I wonder what happens to other students when their tenure is done with this group. The students that get involved with the group (enough to take a leadership position, anyway), are clearly very secure in their own ethnic identities. How are their own ethnic identities altered when they no longer have the additional identity of being in an official ISA, which legitimizes their experience as Indian American students? How is the framework of "Indian" altered to accomodate for the sudden absence of these aesthetic cultural displays?

These are just questions I'm throwing out there. I don't have answers for them nor do I expect it any time soon, but writing out this helps me to sort it out. Thanks for reading :)


Note: I realize that what I said may offend some people. I am simply expressing my opinion and, by posting it, it means that I want to be challenged on what I think. Again, I'll reiterate that I have a profound respect and appreciate for the ISA and the hard work they do, but I also maintain that I, as an involved student I have the right to offer these reflections of my experience.

I would appreciate any thoughts!

I have about 6 drafts of posts started, but I just cant seem to find a way to finish them. Or, rather, to post them. I'll deal with that later.

In the mean time, I started (re) reading some poetry lately- reading so much critical theory can sometimes take the magic out of a lot of daily experiences. This poem, by Pablo Neruda, is one of my favorites...it reminds me to live with passion and makes me realize that others have done it in the past.

Enjoy!

Love Sonnet XI

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Soneto XI

Tengo hambre de tu boca, de tu voz, de tu pelo
y por las calles voy sin nutrirme, callado,
no me sostiene el pan, el alba me desquicia,
busco el sonido líquido de tus pies en el día.

Estoy hambriento de tu risa resbalada,
de tus manos color de furioso granero,
tengo hambre de la pálida piedra de tus uñas,
quiero comer tu piel como una intacta almendra.

Quiero comer el rayo quemado en tu hermosura,
la nariz soberana del arrogante rostro,
quiero comer la sombra fugaz de tus pestañas

y hambriento vengo y voy olfateando el crepúsculo
buscándote, buscando tu corazón caliente
como un puma en la soledad de Quitratúe.