Post Undergrad Life
Me: I think Im gonna start a blog.
My Boyfriend: Oh yeah? About what?
Me: Well…about me I guess.
My Boyfriend: Is there a lot to write about?
Me: I hope so.
Me: Mom Im going to write a blog.
Mom: Aw good for you honey!
Me: Yeah Im excited about it.
Mom: Write about being Indian.
Me: Dad Im going to write a blog.
Dad: Did you write about being Indian?
Me: I havent written it yet.
Well. Im a virgin blogger. A blogger virgin? Ive never blogged before. But from the moment I watched my first episode of sex and the city (secretly ofcourse, my parents didn’t realize that not even basic cable could keep me away from “sex shows”), I knew I wanted to be a writer. Well I wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw…which, thinking back on it may have been for other reasons than her literary skills.
Anyways naturally I went to college and as a freshman changed my major from English…to PreMed. This is I guess where where my parents topic of choice begins. I am Indian. Not the fun kind of Indian. Not North Indian, but South Indian. You go into an Indian restaurant and I promise you that South Indian food is either not on the menu or its in the “lighter fare” section. In other words you do not go to Indian restaurants for South Indian food. The food of my part of India has descriptions like “flat rice cake”, “oat ball” and “tomato soup”. This “tomato soup” is not that comforting goopy red cylindrical squishy thing that comes out of a can of Campbell’s which, after a couple minutes of magic in the microwave, turns into a steaming bowl of creamy goodness. No its more like tomato water. Cream, for some reason, never made it from North India down to South India.
I grew up understanding that North Indians were the “fun indians” and South Indians were the “boring Indians”. I was resigned to my lot in life. I imagined that while I was studying traditional Indian dance and music, all the other North Indians were doing fun things like having parties, falling in love with Bollywood heroes or eating creamy food. It wasn’t fair and for some time I entertained the idea of switching groups. Of walking up to my mom in my mushroom cut and overalls and saying, “Im sorry but enough is enough, Id like to have fun too, please from now on consider me Punjabi”. Mic drop.
Ofcourse I never did this, but I do think I carried this idea of “Im a boring indian” into college with me. Both my parents are doctors, I went to math school in addition to regular school for about 10 years and I didnt realize there was an alternative to a middle part in your hair for a really long time. Too long of a time. It wasnt necessarily my inner dork (and outer dork) that drove me to choose PreMed and second guess my desire to pursue english. There was also a lot of external pressure…a lot of internal pressure…a lot of fear overall. What was I going to do with a degree in English?
Two changes of Major and three years later I have graduated with a degree in Psychology and English. And this is what you do. You look back on those four years and try to figure it out. Try to remember why you did what you did, where you went wrong, where you killed it. Right after I graduated my mom said to me “You know Ive never understood why you ever moved out of the English program”. While her question was rather untimely, considering I was literally holding the degree Id just received, I held back my frustration and instead said, “Well atleast I came back to it right?”.
Ive been told to live with no regrets. None whatsoever. Thats part of what this blog is for me. Its moving forward. Its moving forward with an eye to the past. My frontal vision may not be that great but hindsight is, as they say, 20/20.
So here I am. Doing what I have made fun of so many others for doing. Blogging. I imagine I am the new Julie from Julie and Julia. I will have fans I think? I am funny right? Well, at the very least, I will be real. I promise it wont all be uphill, because that wouldn’t be real. I promise there wont always be a central thesis or message because that wouldn’t be real either. If there is anything my liberal arts education has taught me it is that the most important thing is to be a sponge. To soak the world in as it is, taste it, and then spit it out and try to make sense of what is sometimes nonsensical. Here is my first puddle of spit. I will leave you with that disgusting metaphor.
Until next time,