{"id":334,"date":"2022-12-21T04:27:02","date_gmt":"2022-12-21T04:27:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/?p=334"},"modified":"2023-07-12T02:59:47","modified_gmt":"2023-07-12T01:59:47","slug":"all-things-small-and-indian","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/2022\/12\/21\/all-things-small-and-indian\/","title":{"rendered":"All Things Small and Indian"},"content":{"rendered":"

I cringe, shifting uncomfortably as the old shopkeeper scrutinises my face and asks, \u201cAre you not Indian?\u201d He throws a cursory glance at my husband, who looks 100-percent Indian.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I\u2019m Indian,\u201d I say. I know what he\u2019s going to ask next.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen why do you speak English? Speak Tamil.\u201d He frowns.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut I can\u2019t. I only speak Malayalam.\u201d Then I ramble on, trying to explain my mixed heritage: We only spoke Malayalam and English at home. I studied Malay because my school didn\u2019t offer Tamil as a second language.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The shopkeeper is determined to have his way. \u201cBut your parents at least should have done something about it. Tamil is one of our main languages here.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We step out of the shop with our purchases, with me feeling irritated. \u201cWhy doesn\u2019t he ask you this question? You can\u2019t speak their lingo well, either.\u201d My husband, a man of few words, withdraws into his shell.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

This scenario is one of many that I experienced in my early 20s whenever I visited the small shops in Little India. Whether buying a saree or some items for the home, I was constantly faced with criticism because of my inability to communicate in the official Indian language of Singapore. I felt like I had committed a crime.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

My mixed Indian-Chinese looks don\u2019t help matters. Strangers invariably mistake me for Malay or some other race. Indian women, upon hearing my name, exclaim, \u201cOh, you\u2019re Indian, you look\u00a0 Malay!\u201d They then start jabbering away in Tamil, and look pretty crestfallen when they discover I haven\u2019t understood much of what they were on about.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

All through my childhood, I grew up feeling inadequate about my looks and identity, even when my identification card clearly states my ethnicity as \u201cIndian\u201d. Somewhere inside me, I thought I didn\u2019t belong anywhere. I saw myself as an ugly duckling, at least by Indian standards. My complexion was neither Chinese nor Indian, while my nose bridge was not perceived as high enough to be an Indian\u2019s. On the other hand, relatives admired my sister\u2019s \u201ctrue Malayalee\u201d features. Once, at a wedding, an aunt commented that I looked like some half-bred pedigree whereas my sister was the prettier one, as she had a nice Malayalee nose. In my young mind, I thought this was what \u2018real\u2019 Indians had to look like\u2013with pointy noses. Otherwise, why would my mum take the trouble to pull the bridge of my nose religiously after every shower in an attempt to make it higher?\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou do this only when you\u2019re young, as the bones will firm up when you get older,\u201d she\u00a0 would say, trying to pacify me as I squirmed in discomfort.<\/span><\/p>\n

We both have similar-looking noses, Mum and I. And they look just fine. \u201cDon\u2019t you like\u00a0 your nose, Mama?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo, who wants a flat nose like the Chinese?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut grandma is Chinese and her nose is flat. She looks okay.\u201d By then, I was completely bewildered.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, trust me, if she had a choice, she\u2019d want a pointy nose as well,\u201d my mum concluded.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Getting married didn\u2019t change my situation. Based on experiences watching my mum, I had assumed at a young age that wives would take on their husband\u2019s cultural identities. So, I assumed my identity as an Indian wouldn\u2019t be questioned after I\u2019d married a \u2018pure\u2019 Indian man. After all, my parents-in-law were the first generation of Indians in Singapore. I was mistaken, however. My culinary skills became a topic of interest at gatherings among newly acquired relations. I became used to the all-too-familiar query, \u201cWhat do you usually cook?\u201d Even though I told them I whipped up all sorts of curries, they remained unconvinced and relentlessly bulldozed me further with, \u201cIs it authentic Malayalee food or some kind of Indian-Chinese fusion?\u201d Despite 31 years of marriage, they still itch to ask such questions. Recently, one of my husband\u2019s relatives asked if I was capable of cooking onam sadhya<\/span>. I replied, why not? Anyone could make it if they wanted to do so.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There\u2019s also an assumption that just because I have an Indian name, I\u2019m naturally a practising Hindu. I have had difficulty with identifying myself as Hindu, although I was born one. I\u2019ve always been comfortable with the idea of Christianity, having attended Bible classes and compulsory mass sessions throughout my years of mainstream education in mission schools. I say \u2018idea\u2019 because that\u2019s how I thought of Christianity. I romanticised the religion, having a long on-and-off relationship with it. I was drawn to it because my close friends were Catholics who seemed to have lots of freedom\u2013at the time, I assumed this was because of their religion. Besides, I was also uncomfortable wearing a pottu or bindi between my eyebrows (I felt it looked so out of place with my mixed features). I was often asked by my Indian ex-colleagues why I wasn\u2019t wearing one\u2014this usually happened when they met me for the first time. The missing pottu will inevitably lead to the next dreaded question, \u201cDo you go to the temple?\u201d Judging from their wooden expressions after my reply, \u201cOnly for weddings and funerals,\u201d I usually deduce that I\u2019ve come down a notch or two (maybe more) in their eyes as a \u2018true\u2019 Indian.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The most memorable of these incidents happened when my daughter was a pre-schooler. On discovering that I don\u2019t pray to any of the Hindu deities, one of my sisters-in-law remarked that I should do so for the sake of the child.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut how?\u201d I was a little puzzled.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou just have to do it, or at least pretend to pray,\u201d said my sister-in-law.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThen you\u2019re asking me to lie to God.\u201d I was flabbergasted.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Growing up, my non-Indian friends and acquaintances had no expectations for me to act like a \u2018true\u2019 Indian\u2013they didn’t expect me to embody stereotypes like having long hair, or wearing traditional clothes and a pottu. Of course, this doesn\u2019t imply I was never on the receiving end of the occasional racist remarks, such as, \u201cHow come you\u2019re not as dark as other Indians?\u201d or, \u201cYou don\u2019t look like a real Indian, your hair\u2019s very short, like a boy\u2019s. Real Indian women have long hair.\u201d To this I was always quick to reply, \u201cChinese women also have long hair. So do the Malays.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Yet I must admit it\u2019s easier to shop at Little India these days. Shopkeepers no longer give me steely looks when I speak English. I believe they\u2019ve become accustomed to both mixed\u00a0 marriages and the rising number of foreigners residing in Singapore over the years. While this does not negate the sporadic, stereotypical comments that still get thrown at me, I\u2019ve reached a stage where I\u2019m less easily riled up by them. This has come after journeying on a yoga\/meditation programme during lockdown in early 2020. The programme taught me to take responsibility for my thoughts, feelings and actions, and stop blaming God or my circumstances for any unfortunate experiences. It also changed my attitude towards others, trying not to fault them quickly but to see the best in them. Naturally, my changing behaviour made me curious to learn about Hinduism, having little to no knowledge of it whatsoever. I started listening to spiritual discourse of the Hindu scriptures by various gurus. This deepened my understanding about Hinduism and I learned to appreciate the religion for what it represents.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Today, if someone asked me to identify my race and religion, I\u2019d say, \u201cI\u2019m a comfortable Indian Hindu.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Ambika Sivadasan is a full-fledged Singaporean. Growing up, she hung out at Far East Plaza\u00a0 after school with her classmates and ate fish and chips at Long John Silver\u2019s. Occasionally, you might still find her loitering around the Orchard Road area in a bid to relive those moments. <\/span><\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I cringe, shifting uncomfortably as the old shopkeeper scrutinises my face and asks, \u201cAre you not Indian?\u201d He throws a cursory glance at my husband, who looks 100-percent Indian.\u00a0 \u201cYes, I\u2019m Indian,\u201d I say. I know what he\u2019s going to ask next.\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThen why do you speak English? Speak Tamil.\u201d He frowns.\u00a0 \u201cBut I can\u2019t. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":689,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-334","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-online-exclusive"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/334","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=334"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/334\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":663,"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/334\/revisions\/663"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/689"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=334"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=334"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aware.org.sg\/growingupindian\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=334"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}