The multiplex dimensions of “going home”

Being the child of immigrants is a whirlwind experience. If that was not convoluted enough, being a second-generation Canadian is a whole theme park on its own. The ups, downs, and everything in between are experiences wherein we constantly find ourselves being pulled in two or more directions. This is because our identities are structured upon foundations with occasionally intersecting, but otherwise contradictory, values, virtues, ideals, and ways of life. 

Take my predicament as a mere pebble in the plethora of generational realities faced by the children of immigrants across North America, if not the world. The works of television and film created by famous second-generation celebrities such as Mindy Kaling can attempt to illustrate the disorientation that one may feel in response to the challenges of bridging cultural divisions. Equally important, however, is the fact that these stories and experiences bleed across time, cultures, and ever-changing societal norms and expectations. In short, no one size fits all. Individual stories can be interwoven together to reveal more elaborate themes and should never serve as the overarching narrative on their own.

I had the privilege and opportunity to “go home” this summer, to the place of my ancestors, where everyone looks and sounds a lot like I do: India. There I reconnected with my family and friends after more than seven years, turning 21 surrounded by those whom I have exchanged innumerable WhatsApp video calls and messages with over the years. My people. When I first landed, my family picked us up from the airport, as relatives often do. Yet, when we got in the car, I put on my seatbelt and was immediately met with a snicker. Why? Wearing seatbelts (a reflex in Toronto) is a widespread practice and often required by the law. In India, however, authorities have only recently begun issuing fines to people for not wearing seat belts, and even then, only to those seated in the driver and front passenger seats. From then on, for the duration of my 45-day stay, I noticed how cognitive dissonance and disorientation can become part of the immigrant experience. 

Political correctness, diversity, inclusion, and general etiquette or politeness are all significant parts of what it means to be a productive citizen in Canada, at least according to what I have come to notice as a university student in Toronto. And while some embody these values and ideals more fiercely than others, they are part of conversations by our society at large. Step into India, however, and many of these Western societal expectations and beliefs prove to be in their infancy in how widely accepted and understood they are there. The demographic makeup of India also plays a vital role in determining and explaining their more conservative attitudes. Yet, this is not to discount the fact that Indian society has rigid and widely followed codes of conduct—especially when it comes to ceremonies, tradition, hygiene, business, and every other facet of life. 

Nonetheless, the disorientation experienced by immigrant children boils down to how contradictory or different these values can be in the competing parts of what constitutes our identities. For example, consuming dishes in India requires the diner to eat with their right hand. Using a fork or spoon is not necessarily frowned upon, but as I came to be reminded, your family will never hold back when telling you how ridiculous, pretentious, and out of place your behaviour comes across to others. The Thali, for example, is a dietary tradition which involves using a large metal plate that has several smaller metal bowls placed in it laden with multiple accoutrements. In this setting, one must use their hands to eat. Eating with your hands must also be done in a particular manner and is a sensory experience that many Indian children learn from a very young age. Of course, this is once again influenced by socioeconomic status and other factors, yet this practice is uncommon in the Canadian milieu. Thus, what must an Indo-Canadian individual do when served a Thali at a pricier/upscale establishment in India? God forbid their parents had decided eating with one’s hands was uncivilised growing up, and thus had never partaken in this practice before. Lo and behold, this is an area of disorientation that few have gracefully overcome. 

From a rather early age, it is made obvious to immigrant children that the opportunities and experiences that we can have in this new place that we call home, far away from our cultures, traditions, and sometimes even our family, are boundless. Yet when I go home to India, the nuances of the cultural assimilation into Canadian society can result in me feeling as though my experience as a North American is devalued and negligible. My conversations are more unfiltered; opinions on even the most controversial topics are polarised; and sexism, covert racism, and a plethora of other taboo activities are just a part of everyday existence. If you try to bring it up or address these disorienting observations, one becomes stuck. Stuck between two continents, countries, belief systems, political organisations, identities, cultures, and sometimes, even realities. It is usually at this point that my ‘Canadian-ness’ would show, which would almost immediately prompt ridicule or being brushed off with something along the lines of, “This is India, not Canada.” That would usually do the trick to deal a blow to my confidence or fill me with rage. 

This time, however, was different. Although the occasional misogynistic comment found its way to my ears, something about being older and a little wiser told me not to engage in a battle to the death over mere conversation. I realised that sometimes, as the children of immigrant parents, we eventually learn to embrace every disorienting thing that makes us who we are. Instead of treating my reality as constantly attempting to glue together supposedly fractured parts of my identity, I have learnt to treat them as separate canvases. Both mirror different circumstances, socioeconomic conditions, incredibly different histories, and ways of life that sometimes align but are otherwise surprisingly divergent. So, as “going home” and “coming home” are fulfilling and glorious in their own unique and awe-inspiring ways, I have come to embrace that the state of disorientation is not always a bad thing.