identical question
the eternal question...who am I? Not in the cosmic sense...but in a more human one.
Born in Malaysia, of South Indian Brahmin Iyer parents. Raised as if in a Western country...thought to think, not cook, and to read, not clean. A constant source of worry for my orthodox grandmother, who was convinced I will not be a proper daughter-in-law, and will suffer after marriage, for not knowing how to cook/sew.
Exposed to a very Malay, very Muslim world. Observing the Muslim weekend at school...Friday and Sat, not Sat and Sun. Inviting stares during Ramadhan when I eat/drink outside, since being Brahmin, my skin colour fits that of the Muslim Malays, than the more commonly seen darker skinned Tamil South Indians ( seen in Malaysia as representing the only Indians Malays know of ).
Knowing, reading, speaking, writing in English as if born to it. Having it as the only thing that brought the limelight on me during school days...especially among the Malay majority, for whom English seemed an unending, incomprehensible challenge.
Constantly reading books and seeking worlds that seem the most remote from home...Enid Blyton to Carolyn Keene to fantasy novels to Shakespeare to Grisham.
Finding myself in a little expected English Literature class in A-levels. It felt like I'd suddenly found gills while blinking about in water for the past years of my life. I breathed and indulged.
Chucked into Australia as a result of a very long educational crisis. Realising almost immediately Law wasn't for me.
Progressing within myself when I did a Creative Writing degree immediately afterwards. Being around like-minded people, feeling at home, and yet isolated at the same time. For though I was with my intellectual kin, I wasn't with my cultural ones...I was usually the only Indian...and definitely the only Malaysian Indian around.
It gets me, even now.
And I find myself seeking long forgotten paths to my cultural hometown - movies in Tamil, on Tamil poetry, educating myself on Tamil history, and how my Indian culture influenced that of the now alien Malay culture in Malaysia, my birthland.
How now, even with a Permanent Residency here, I am less Australian than ever before. How I flit about corners of my mind reserved for my Indian side, my Malaysian side, my Western side. How I browse through books in stores looking for that obscure author who might've just caught the essence the mental web I inhabit.
Do I pose this question to the eternal Tamil poet Bharati, my ancient kin, or to Tunku Abdul Rahman, the Father of Malaysia, who so readily embraced the 'others' in Malaya as his own, or to my Audrey Hepburn-like friend Katie Miers, who is convinced my presence in Australia enhances the city I live in, and by that the nation I've chosen to adopt?
Born in Malaysia, of South Indian Brahmin Iyer parents. Raised as if in a Western country...thought to think, not cook, and to read, not clean. A constant source of worry for my orthodox grandmother, who was convinced I will not be a proper daughter-in-law, and will suffer after marriage, for not knowing how to cook/sew.
Exposed to a very Malay, very Muslim world. Observing the Muslim weekend at school...Friday and Sat, not Sat and Sun. Inviting stares during Ramadhan when I eat/drink outside, since being Brahmin, my skin colour fits that of the Muslim Malays, than the more commonly seen darker skinned Tamil South Indians ( seen in Malaysia as representing the only Indians Malays know of ).
Knowing, reading, speaking, writing in English as if born to it. Having it as the only thing that brought the limelight on me during school days...especially among the Malay majority, for whom English seemed an unending, incomprehensible challenge.
Constantly reading books and seeking worlds that seem the most remote from home...Enid Blyton to Carolyn Keene to fantasy novels to Shakespeare to Grisham.
Finding myself in a little expected English Literature class in A-levels. It felt like I'd suddenly found gills while blinking about in water for the past years of my life. I breathed and indulged.
Chucked into Australia as a result of a very long educational crisis. Realising almost immediately Law wasn't for me.
Progressing within myself when I did a Creative Writing degree immediately afterwards. Being around like-minded people, feeling at home, and yet isolated at the same time. For though I was with my intellectual kin, I wasn't with my cultural ones...I was usually the only Indian...and definitely the only Malaysian Indian around.
It gets me, even now.
And I find myself seeking long forgotten paths to my cultural hometown - movies in Tamil, on Tamil poetry, educating myself on Tamil history, and how my Indian culture influenced that of the now alien Malay culture in Malaysia, my birthland.
How now, even with a Permanent Residency here, I am less Australian than ever before. How I flit about corners of my mind reserved for my Indian side, my Malaysian side, my Western side. How I browse through books in stores looking for that obscure author who might've just caught the essence the mental web I inhabit.
Do I pose this question to the eternal Tamil poet Bharati, my ancient kin, or to Tunku Abdul Rahman, the Father of Malaysia, who so readily embraced the 'others' in Malaya as his own, or to my Audrey Hepburn-like friend Katie Miers, who is convinced my presence in Australia enhances the city I live in, and by that the nation I've chosen to adopt?
posted by Sreedhevi Iyer | 3:05 pm
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