sana kaur minhas

Punjab (ਪੰਜਾਬ), India — The Land of Five Rivers and the place my family calls home. A place filled with happy folks, big personalities, and even bigger hearts. Having never experienced Punjab myself, I grew up on stories of home, and how “everything was better in India.” I just wished I’d felt the same way.

My own experience being Punjabi in America wasn't the best. I went to schools where no one looked like me. The oiled curls my mother would carefully braid and the warm aloo praunthe she packed for lunch felt shameful. I remember being asked if I “spoke Indian,” followed by the mockery of what my classmates assumed was the language I spoke at home. My peers didn’t know me as Sana. I was just “that one Indian girl.”

The thing is that I don’t remember hating my culture. Just that one day, my hair stopped smelling like amla. I was eating lunches with plastic forks instead of my hands. The same Punjabi sentences I uttered with ease as a little girl started to sound broken and awkward, and I realized a piece of me was gone.

Despite it all, I found solace in music. Something about the intricate rhythms of India bridged the distance between myself and my identity. When I was ten I began to play tabla, a classical Hindustani hand drum typically played by men. It’s shaped me, and words cannot express how much love I hold for my Ustaad and family for giving that timid 10-year-old girl a chance. A chance to learn another language of home.

But there’s still a part of me that wonders if it’s enough. I look at my sister and cousins, notice how their flawless Punjabi gets met with smiles, and deep down I know my Punjabi will never have the same effect. So I turn to music. The steady tune of a tanpura brings me a type of peace I can never forget. The smooth surface of a tabla feels so familiar against my hands. The sound of dhol makes me stand taller, each resounding beat vibrating through my body, and I see how the drum brings Punjab to life. In no way is my Punjabi perfect, but I can understand our folk songs, our tales of love and grief, crystal clear. The way Indian classical and Punjabi music fills my heart with pride gives me hope that somewhere in me, the Punjabi still exists in spite of what I’ve lost. Hope that somewhere within me lies the same strength, love, and spirit that flows through the Land of Five Rivers. And so I hold onto my love for music in hopes of keeping that part of me alive for myself and my family — I just hope this love is enough.