I load the dishes after a take out dinner of mooli parathas and chhole. Pattu is at the table by the kitchen, her MacBook open, a note card by the side muttering to herself. The whole scene is incongruous. I have never seen any of my girls actually do school work at home. I finish up my chores and edge closer to her. She is trying to pronounce Hiranyakashipu. Suppressing my impulse to laugh, I break it down into syllables for her, stressing the appropriate parts. On her note card are points about why we celebrate Holi. The mythology behind it and other talking points a quick google search throws up.
I knew the story of Prahlada but was unaware of its link to Holika or Holi. As I circled the room to digest my meal, I learned from my daughter. Growing up, Holi was as distant to me as Ramadan was. A festival or observance other people in far away places celebrated. Later, I stayed away from crowds or colors on Holi because to me it was yet another occasion for men to sexually assault women in the name of religion.
After Pattu was done rehearsing for her little spiel on Holi, I asked her why she was tapped for this effort. She was the token person of Indian origin and therefore asked to take ownership of this Indian thing they were doing in school to celebrate Spring. I loved it. We spent the rest of the evening listening to Rang Barse and Balam Pichkari.
This morning, I saw a note on Threads by (I think!) by a white person asking why writers should shy away from writing characters of other ethnicities. “Aren’t we are all human?” she mused. I bit back my impulse to engage and scrolled past that post. It made me revisit my interaction with my child the previous night. Indian is a broad identity. It subsumes thousands of distinct identities within one. My daughter talking about Holi is just as weird as me talking about it. I did not grow up doused in color or eating gujias or drinking thandai. What I do know is staying up all night for Shiva rathri or eating baked sweet potatoes with jaggery.
The differences in our experiences is what makes us qualified to narrate certain stories. Sure, I can google and put together a document on a festival I have no idea about. What will make the difference is when I speak from experience, when the words are tinged with emotion, when I describe that particular flavor of sweet and salt or the warmth of food on a cold night. Research can alleviate the lack of experience to a certain extent but it begs the larger question, why should I be telling stories when people better than I in that area can do a good job?
It reminds me of the representation in Never Have I Ever or Bridgerton where Indian is taken to mean an amalgamation of the entire subcontinent therefore pleasing no one. What would have been better is getting hyper specific and then hiring someone with that specific experience to write that character.
It brings me back to the novel I am working on. I have a male lead who is of a different ethnicity. I am relying heavily on 2-3 years of observational knowledge to craft this character. I think a lot before deciding on first person vs third person to tell this story. Using multiple points of view is something I find challenging and satisfying but I know each time I speak for a different gender or a different ethnicity, I carry within me the burden of doing the work, of putting myself in their shoes to create this narrative that hopefully rings true. Is it going to be possible for me to have a K-pop idol validate my narrative? A girl can dream.
I don’t claim to have answers, just the understanding that it takes a lot to step in another persons shoes and then be humble enough to know I may never get it right because I am not them.
Leave a Reply