meghna nair

Language is the foundation of culture. My mother is fluent in Hindi and English, and well-versed in Malayalam and Tamil. My father is fluent in Malayalam and English, and well-versed in Hindi and Tamil. They were both born and raised in India. They know their languages, and therefore their culture,insideandout.I,myself,amfluentinagrandtotalofonelanguage:English.

Despite being born and having lived in India, the only language I’ve ever known is English. All my thoughts are in English, every dream I’ve ever had is in English. That means that no matter how immersed I become in my culture–no matter how many unniyappams I eat, no matter how many ghagra cholis I own, no matter how many times I paint henna on my hands – I will never be able to experience the same love and appreciation for Indian culture that my parents do. I will never be able to understand Karnatik or Hindustani music. I will never be able to watch Bollywood movies without subtitles. I will never be able to freely express myself the way I want to to my relatives in India. When I speak to them over the phone, language is the insurmountable barrier that prevents me from truly conveying the extent of my love and affection for them, more than the thousands uponthousandsofmilesoflandandoceanbetweenus.

That is why, whenever I engage with my culture, I always feel the slightest bit off, the slightest bit out of place. Like I’m wearing ratty, old Converse underneath the smooth, silky fabric of my salwar kameez.Mylovealwaysfallsshort.BecausehowcanIlovesomethingIdon’tfullyunderstand?