Asexual Desi in the United States (POC Profiles)
Hey there! Thanks so much for making space for this! Iām a second-generation immigrant, born to two South Indian (Hindu, Tamil, Brahmin) immigrants. I grew up in a part of the United States that had a large Asian American population, but not a huge South Asian population ā at least, not until later.
Beauty Standards
Skin color and colorism have been discussed a lot already, so letās talk about hair! My hair has always been very thick and curly. When I was little, my mom would cut it super short ā but then at some point, I put my foot down and insisted on growing it out. From then on, until I learned to do/experiment with my hair myself, my dad would spend half an hour each morning just braiding my hair. For most of elementary school, I was the only non-White kid who had hair like this, and as a result, it became incredibly important to me to straighten my hair at every possible opportunity.
To add to this: in the 90s and early 2000s, one popular perception I was raised on was that curly hair = unclean and unprofessional, at least in the U.S. Unfortunately, I internalized that a little too hard, to the point that, even when naturally curly hair has become more widely accepted, I still struggle to feel comfortable and confident in my appearance when I donāt take that extra time to straighten my hair. Iām working on it, but progress is slow!
Food
I was raised vegetarian (not very strictly) in a region and at a time when vegetarian/vegan options were not super commonplace. I didnāt have a ālunchbox storyā because my mother had cousins that also grew up in the U.S. who advised her to send me to school with sandwiches and pasta salads for lunch ā though I do remember another Indian classmate who brought roti sabji to school once and the other kids gave him shit for it.
In hindsight, the āIndianā food I used to eat at home was actually a mishmash of cuisines from both North and South India. Dals, roti, and yogurt rice were super common (yogurt rice is currently one of my top comfort foods!), and my mom got into a habit of making a vegetable side dish with every meal (cauliflower, potatoes, and cabbage were especially common). Every so often, weād also eat dosa with chutneys and sambar ā though the amount of time and assembly required meant that we reserved this for special occasions. I also grew up eating eggs, though my parents never did (theyāll eat desserts with eggs baked into them, though). On the day of each new moon since my grandfather died, my parents have also insisted on eating only sattvic foods (though loosely interpreted to mean: just no garlic or onions), though they never insisted that I follow this as well.
I canāt stand most Indian sweets, except for gulab jamun and jalebi. Almost everything else makes me gag. When I was a kid, I figured I would one day acquire a taste for them, but somehow that never happenedā¦? For the most part, my familyās accepted this as a weird quirk of mine, but over the years, there have been some aunties and uncles who said this made me whitewashed and ātoo American.ā
My family also celebrates primarily with food! Birthdays, holidays both American and Indian, even Motherās Day and Fatherās Day meant either going out to eat or cooking a special (frequently non-Indian) meal.
Language
So fun fact: I forgot how to speak my native language! Yes, it haunts me to this day.
Initially, I grew up speaking both Tamil and English. I was also a terribly shy and quiet kid ā so when I was in kindergarten, and I was spacing out a lot and not following directions properly, my teacher saw me speaking in Tamil to my grandparents when they came to pick me up at the end of the day, and assumed that I couldnāt speak English. Iām my parentsā first child, and they hadnāt been in the U.S. for very long before they had me ā so when my kindergarten teacher brought this up with them, they panicked and insisted on speaking only English at home, just to stamp out any doubt that I wasnāt fluent in the language. (Another fun fact: I had a half-White friend then who also didnāt say a word her first day of kindergarten! Her parents were advised to take her for counseling and speech therapy.)
I donāt blame my parents for this at all ā they were first-time parents with a young kid in a new-ish country; how were they supposed to know how to handle pushy, racist teachers? They just wanted me to do well in school, and they did the best they could with what little they knew of how to navigate the system.
Eventually, I reached a point where I could no longer speak Tamil, though I could still understand it. Right now, I can comfortably watch Tamil movies without subtitles and understand all the family gossip, but thatās about the extent of my knowledge of the language. Itās a point of insecurity for me ā when so much of culture and identity is supposed to be tied up in language, I canāt help but feel like I screwed up somewhere. Iāve met a small handful of other Desi peers in similar situations, but it still feels incredibly isolating.
Identity issues
My nameās not difficult to say, exactly ā but itās not super intuitive for people unfamiliar with Indian names to get right away. Naturally, when I was younger and living in an area less densely populated by other South Asians, this meant that people were less likely to make an effort to say my name right.
For pretty much my entire life, Iāve had a āpreferred mispronunciationā of my name ā not the way my name is actually supposed to be pronounced, but if youāre going to mess it up, then Iād prefer that you mess it up in this particular way. Almost every Desi kid I went to elementary, middle, and high school with had a preferred mispronunciation; the only people who didnāt have one were people with really easy to pronounce names like āNeesha.ā Heck, we referred to each other by preferred mispronunciations, even though we all knew perfectly well how to properly say each otherās names properly!
Come college, I decided to try introducing myself to people with my name as itās actually pronounced. It was a strange experience, because I didnāt anticipate how exhausting it would be to have to break down that pronunciation over and over again because it was still difficult for people unfamiliar with Indian names to get it right away. To complicate things even further, I still went by my preferred mispronunciation academically and professionally.
This is by no means a universal opinion, and I donāt intend to speak for anyone but myself here, but: I donāt hate my preferred mispronunciation of my name? At this point, itās just as much a part of me as the actual pronunciation of my name.
Dating and Relationships
Most of my relatives were connected with their spouses through arranged marriages. They would be introduced through their parents, and then they would spend several months texting, emailing, and talking to each other before announcing to the family that theyād agreed to marry each other. There are some exceptions to this, however: my parents and a few other aunts and uncles met for the first time just days before their wedding; on the flip side, I also have some aunts and uncles who had love marriages. The impression I got was that my parents would generally be okay with me dating and marrying a non-Indian person, but Iād have a fight on my hands with my extended family ā though they, too, would eventually come around.
I didnāt know I was asexual until I was in my twenties. Until then, Iād assumed that I was just doing what was expected of me, as a āgood Indian girlā ā I didnāt date anyone when I was in high school, though I had a few crushes here and there; I dated a White boy when I was in college, and then another Southeast Asian boy after I graduated, but neither relationship lasted for very long. It wasnāt until I was in my early twenties that I got to a point where I was comfortable and confident in my sexuality, where I could say things like: āI could die a virgin and have zero regrets,ā and: āI could never get married, never have kids, and I would be totally fineā without feeling like I was doing something wrong.
⦠and then came my mid-20s. By the time I was done with grad school, my family ā both parents and extended ā started clamping down hard on the fact that I was still single, that I hadnāt expressed that much interest in dating. They felt personally responsible, assuming that theyād somehow given me the impression that because they wouldnāt have approved of me dating when I was younger, that somehow convinced me to never try in the first place. It has been intensely uncomfortable to dance around this topic, and pretend Iām just delaying this part of my life until I pass xyz milestones.Ā
Realistically speaking: I donāt think I could ever use the word āasexualā to describe myself to anyone in my family, even my parents. My parents at least are pretty open-minded, and theyāre making a strong effort to wrap their heads around LGBTQ+ issues, but theyāre not there yet. This is not a conversation Iām ready to have with them. A part of me has resigned myself to having to lie about this part of myself when the day comes where my family deems me ātoo oldā to still be single, and⦠Iām sorry, this is not terribly optimistic. I donāt have an answer for this part yet.
Things Iād like to see more/less of
Just more Desi characters in stories that arenāt inherently about them being Desi! Y'all have no idea how excited I was to see a character named Jeevan Choudhary at the core of a post-apocalyptic story like Station Eleven, playing a pivotal role that isnāt necessarily contingent on him being Desi.
Iād also love to see more loving, supportive Desi parents! Itās so common to see strict parents who want their children to follow a certain path, who then serve as obstacles for those children to overcome as they pursue their dreams ā both in Western and Indian media! It would be nice to see the opposite, for once.
Iād also love to see more sci-fi/fantasy stories centered on Desi protagonists ā and not as āthe smart oneā in the group.
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