In the land of books and identity

In a time where differences are brought up more than ever, I have craved something new in my books: a recognition of where we are now.

Lately, I’ve been seeking out books with authors whose names remind me of my own, names that are (often) mispronounced and mark us as different than the people around us. Recently, I picked up this book, No one can Pronounce my Name by Rakesh Satyal.

(Image description: No one can Pronounce my Name by Rakesh Satyal book cover. It is a pink and orange design, which resembles mehndi, with a tie slung across the front.)

 

The novel covers what it means to be Desi–peoples originating from the Indian subcontinent–specifically in the USA during the 2000s. Satyal did not shy away from making jabs at aunties and uncles who are stuck in the past; or from what it means to have questions growing up in two cultures; or just how to deal with all of the mispronunciations of your name over and over.

Even Seema, so progressive, would find a way to spin it into some lurid tale. Like any good bevy of Indians, they passed judgment on everything, from the way in which a woman wrapped her sari to the type of napkins that she provided at dinner parties.

Following this, I read An American Family by Khizr Khan.

Image description: An American Family book cover by Khizr Khan. The image on the cover is Khizr speaking at the Democratic National Convention in 2016. He is wearing a suit and staring straight ahead. Next to him is his wife Ghazala, in a blue shalwar kameez, looking off camera.

You may remember this story from the news, when Khan’s family made national attention as a Pakistani-American family with a son who had gone to war for the United States and was killed while in Afghanistan. A story of unimaginable strength, Khan shares what his immigrant story looked like, what it meant to bring over his family, and why he feels more American than people born here.

“I am an American patriot not because I was born here but because I was not. I embraced American freedoms, raised my children to cherish and revere them, lost a son who swore an oath to defend them, because I come from a place where they do not exist.”

As I read the book, I could hear my father’s voice accompanying the words on the page. I saw photos of Khan’s wife, and remembered the women on my mother’s side of the family. I read the stories about his sons–growing up in the US but retaining aspects of their Pakistani upbringing, unsure where their loyalties lie–and thought ‘Yup, that happened to me, too.’

I love straddling two cultures. But sometimes, it feels like I am alone in it. With books like these…I know I’m not.

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Cultures are tricky. Do you ever feel like you’re straddling more than one, and losing out on both? Share your story with InbetweenAmerican.