Poems About Being Indian in America

This is a collection of poems written in 2018, chronicling my experience as an Indian-American woman.

October 31st is part of this collection and was previously published here.


The Color of My Skin is Brown

My skin has never been white as snow

My eyes are not deep pools of crisp blue

My hair is not the color of golden honey

        

No, my skin is brown

My eyes are brown

Even my hair, yes this too is brown

 

         My tongue

               Voice

           Hands

         Toes

         Heart

           Mind

         Soul

         Is brown

        

I am brown and I am proud

But I am American and I am proud

 

I am red white and blue

I am green kesar and white

I am salt and pepper

I am cardamom and spice

I am JT, Bruno and Nelly

I am Jagjit, Sonu and Lata

I am t-shirt and jeans

I am salwar kameez

 

There is half of me standing here

Half of me standing there

But I am always whole

        

 I am always whole

 The color of my skin is brown

 But I bleed red white and blue just like you 


Taboo 

It is taboo to be different

 

If the other girls

Wear Uggs and Northface

Wear Patagonia and bangs

Sperries and chacos

Then I will too

 

Because

It is taboo to be different

 

If the other girls are white

But like to be tan

Then I will be too

I’ll sit outside and bake

And feel my skin get darker and darker

 

The same skin that

Had me stand out

So sharply in all our school photos

The same skin that now needs to be darker

Because

The other girls want it that way

 

Because

It is taboo to be different

 

If the other girls listen to One Direction

And Justin Bieber

And Selena and Katy Perry

Then I will too.

Even though they were awful

Like screeching cats

Overplayed

But no one likes sitar music, Riya

No one cares about Jagjit

Don’t be weird

 

Because

It is taboo to be different.

 

One day

I took a risk

I bought 4 million dollars in stocks

I dove off a cliff without a parachute

I didn’t put antiseptic on a scrape

I wore

A kurti to school.

 

It was the day of Diwali

I was mad that I had to go to school

I missed my brother who

Was at college

My father was in India

It was just me and my mom

And I had to go to school.

So I wore a kurti.

 

It was long, past my knees,

It was bright, red and blue

It had tiny mirrors

It smelled like home.

 

I had on a parka, and

When I walked through the doors

I felt small

Scared

Why did I do this?

I should have brought a change of clothes.

 

People walked by with headphones

Barely noticing me

But I felt like the world’s eyes were on me

And only me

And they were angry

 

Because

I know it is taboo to be different.

 

My head down

I walked to my locker

Dreading the moment I’d walk into class

I stripped my jacket

My protective shell

My armored cave

My heavy veil

 

I walked down the hall

Arms crossed over my stomach

Shoulders drooped low

I walked by the crowds gathered

Outside homeroom

Chatting

Rapid fire English

Did anyone know it was

Diwali? No

They didn’t care

 

It is taboo to be different.

 

I passed underneath the open doorway

Into first hour math

With Mrs. Prentis

Asian, accented, a kind soul

I dropped my backpack

Into my seat

 

My friend J

Yelling across the room

SLAYYYY RIYA

Huh?

 

Heads turn to me

Nod approvingly

Turn away

J asking me about my outfit

Whats it called

Why today

Is there something special

Its so beautiful

Cool

Walked away

 

No one really

Cares? What I wear?

They think its cool

Go you

Tell us about being Indian

Dance in our cultural show

Share your music with us

Share your food with us

Oh! We love biryani

I want a sari too.

 

Is it so taboo to be different?


Validation

 

This morning

PNC Bank wished me a

Happy Diwali

 

On a tiny monitor

With sparklers

Diyas

My brown people

Wearing brown clothes

 

Is this validation?

 

My grandfather told

He was proud of me.

When I got my maize and blue letter

Told me he expects nothing

Less of the women

In his family.

 

Is this validation?

 

Husbands celebrate Karva Chauth

With their wives

Families celebrate Karva Chauth

At all.

 

Validation?

 

I played garba alongside

3 white women

dressed in my clothes

my greens

and reds and

golds

 

Validation?

  

Water with my name on it

Spilled over a silver rim

Toward the moon

On Ahoy Ashtami.

 

Validation?

  

A Bollywood movie played

On the big screen

Flashing colors

Burlesque music

Cheezy puns

Hindi

But they didn’t laugh

They cried, like they were meant to

 

Validation?

 

My 25-year-old cousin

Turned 26

27

and now she drinks when

We’re together

Even when the boys are there

She doesn’t get dirty looks

She doesn’t get yelled at

She doesn’t bring dishonor to

The family 

Just like the boys

 

Validation?

 

I haven’t been asked

Where are you from from

From

From

In a long time.

 

Validation?

I see more brown X’s

Than Y’s in my

EECS 183 class

 

Validation?

 

My white friends watched me dance

To dhols and bajes

And they said it was beautiful

They said it was cool

 

Validation?

 

Drop by drop

Step over step

One by one

Day by day

I feel the validation

I sought.

 

I feel my roots stretching

To fill the space hidden,

Left open,

In between my white bones

And brown skin.

I feel the color in my cheeks

Rushing to fill in the rest of my face,

The rest of my neck to my arms, toes.

 

Is that what it takes?

To feel as brown as I am,

As white as I should be

To feel as not inferior?

 

Is that what it takes for

Validation?