At the Intersection of Birth, Residence, and Religion

As a child, I read a fair share of books about second generation immigrants facing culture clashes and identity crises (the prototypical example being The Joy Luck Club). Even though I am a second-generation immigrant myself, I never faced any angst about my identity, and hence couldn’t understand what these books were aiming at. Even throughout high school, as I fought my parents for freedom and independence, I never really felt like that reflected on my identity, it was just my parents’ way of raising children.

Self-awareness slowly began to rise in college, as I realized how much American pop culture I was clueless about, and when I was first asked if I was American. In answer to the latter, I said ‘no’, mostly because I have always thought of myself as Indian, and I don’t identify with many inherently American traits (I read somewhere that the average American is obese, monolingual, and doesn’t hold a passport). However, upon hearing my reasoning, one friend challenged me with “well would you identify more with an Indian girl your age or an American one?” A great question, and obviously I would identify more with an American, which finally made me concede that I must be American after all.

The third prong of my identity comes from being born in a Sikh family. I was raised as a devout Sikh for more than half my life, until I realized I believe in science more than supreme powers, and declared myself an atheist. At this point, in my mind, I completely shed my Sikh identity. This is all old news, however, so why bring this up now? Last month, my parents held a Sikh prayer recital, called an Akhand Paat, in honor of my graduation. After spending two entire days with my extended family volunteering and listening to prayers at our local church, I realized that I will always be a Sikh, whether or not I believe. I found my lips automatically moving to the hymns that defined my childhood Sundays, and despite being Atheist, I got a great sense of peace, community and family bonding by being there.

So finally, at age 22, I can understand what an identity crisis is, and say happily, that I have solved mine with the below pie chart.

Yes, I am that bored at work.

:-)

My tête-à-tête with Miss Austen*

Of the three books I picked up with my “no internet after 9pm” rule, my instincts drew me to Pride and Prejudice first. I could sense the drama and taboo locked between those covers, and I was sure I would appreciate it. With my limited knowledge of the book beforehand, I expected the entangled “love”** stories to appeal to the romantic in me, however the book surprised me when I found myself engaged on several other levels.

The first and foremost was the intense pride and feminism evoked by every one of Elizabeth’s unorthodox actions. Admittedly, the desire to prove female independence and equality were a factor in my decision to become an engineer, but aside from that, I don’t feel any strongly feminist emotions on a daily basis. As a matter of fact, I often find feminists rather irritating, mostly because I believe a proactive, doing mentality goes leagues farther than the passive, complaining route in promoting equality. However, this was all thrown aside as Elizabeth, with a strong will and love for her sickly sister, ran the five miles to Netherfield in the storm, despite the impropriety of a young woman doing such a thing. One of my favorite lines from the book is when she arrives at Netherfield, with the bottom of her dress covered in mud, and Mr. Darcy notes that she looked beautiful, despite her face being “flushed with glow of exercise,” where a footnote then explained that exercise was considered improper for upper class women, as it indicated working in the field. I felt this great surge of pride in Elizabeth, and Mr. Darcy himself gained brownie points for shunning society’s expectations and admitting (if only to himself) his attraction to such a rebel.

This leads me to my other point of surprise. There was something incredibly attractive in the defiance of taboo in such a repressive culture, where simple gestures, such as Mr. Darcy’s uninvited visits to Mr. Collins’ parish, raised eyebrows. As Mr. Darcy’s and Elizabeth’s relationship progressed, I found the conversation during their racy rendezvous as exciting as a sexual encounter, and was often nothing short of turned on. Besides a very enlightening look into my own sexual psyche, this book let me rest assured that even in the most repressed of times, people had no trouble getting their yayas.

Needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed the book, and will probably continue down this line with Sense and Sensibility someday, if not soon.

*Upon researching, Jane Austen was the only (and hence oldest) sister, so would have gone by the name Miss Austen, according to the rules stated in her book.

**I use this word with caution, because I do not believe that any girl in this story actually loved her suitor/husband, with, of course, the exception of Jane.