Not brown enough. Not white enough
I'm half white Scottish and half Indian making me a delicious - yet to many people, confusing - shade of caramel. I grew up in the ‘80s and ‘90s in a single parent home with my sister and our Indian dad, going to a very white school by day and working in his curry houses by night.
I was the token brown kid at school who never fitted in. The problem was I didn't feel particularly brown. Whatever that means. Yes, I smelt like curry a lot of the time - which I only realised through persistent taunts and note passing, thanks, Suzie - but we weren't brought up particularly Indian or Hindu. We had the odd Ganesha or Shiva statue in the house however we rarely went to temple or did poojas at home. We never learnt Hindi as dad didn’t have time to teach us and we just wanted to speak English to be ‘normal’. There wasn’t much of an Indian population where we lived and given that our father’s priority was to clothe, feed and educate us I think the cultural elements that our family in India hold so dear just didn’t transcend to our childhood. Saying that though, I can now look back and identify many of his beliefs, teachings and general ways as being very Indian.
Making us onion sandwiches for our lunchbox.
Constantly feeding us - and any friends that came round. The words “but Mr Puri I’ve already had my dinner” meant nothing to him.
Telling us to pray to our ancestors and remember where we came from.
Teaching me the cost to sales ratios for a batch of pakoras.
Dragging me round shop after shop chatting to various ‘aunties’ and ‘uncles’.
Being more passionate about India beating Pakistan in cricket than anything else in his life.
Not being full blown Indian was ok with me when I was a kid. If anything I just wanted to be called Sara Parry or some other basic anglicised version of my name. Apols to any Sara Parrys out there, no actual offence meant. I hope you love your name as much as I love mine now.
When I reached my 20s I began to become my true self and I also started to embrace my identity. I finally started to meet other South Asians who I at least had something in common with and through whom I realised that maybe my upbringing wasn’t too strange.
Although not everybody gets it. Now I live in a very diverse society where I have numerous South Asian friends, some who I get ‘you’re not brown enough’ vibes from whether or not that’s intentional.
I can't speak Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu or any other language expected of me. My understanding of Hindu and Indian cultural practices and traditions is vague. I don’t have a huge extended family that my life is intrinsically linked to. I can’t do the dance moves. My strongest brown card is my knowledge of Indian cooking (thanks, chef dad for something) but even then with family and regional differences I often feel like I'm still a fraud not knowing the 'real' way to make a dish or how to roll a truly round chapati.
What gets me though is that I’ve met plenty of South Asians who might know a tradition or practice but not really understand the meaning or really care about the significance. I’ve met plenty of people who say they’re not going to teach their children Punjabi or Hindi. Writer Nikesh Sukhla said that he feels a loss from not learning his mother tongue due to shame at school. He’s now trying to get his kids to learn Gujarati as he now understands the importance of it to his identity and that of his family and roots despite only having a very basic understanding of the language himself.
In India I’m often strangely seen as the perfect brown. Where darkness is a sign of poverty and pale skin is sought after as it emanates the beauties of Bollywood I am an enviously perfect shade of beige. My family in India don’t understand why I want to be in the sun to get darker when they’re all hiding in the shade to minimise their colour.
Recently a white friend seemed shocked when I identified as non-white. Her response “but I just think of you as the same as me” was probably well meaning enough but it essentially summed up everything that I struggle with in relation to my identity. I’m sure they were saying this with the best intentions but it speaks volumes for the attitudes that mixed raced or lighter skinned people of colour can face which leads to that sense of not belonging anywhere. Yes, I am half white and I won’t ever deny that but it is so important for me - and others - to understand both sides of my story. I’m aware of the fragility of my roots and that my narrative can only be as strong as I am allowed to make it. To anyone from any diasporic community, especially mixed race people, it’s vital that we connect with where we came from so that not only we understand it but also so we can represent on behalf of others.
The future of the UK is going to be a lot more people like me - those that don’t fit into a defined box on an equal opportunities form. I am not ‘mixed - other’. I am a reflection of both sides of my heritage. I am exactly as brown and as white as I should be.