“Do you speak Tamil,” they ask, and then a few seconds later, disappointed: “Why not?” Whenever I travel to Chennai, India, I always get asked the same question. And because I can’t speak the language properly, I’m often ridiculed. It feels unfair. The message projected to young immigrant kids in the US and Britain is the opposite: assimilate. Don’t smell like curry. Be as light as possible. Change your name from Devi to Debbie, or from Nikita to Nikki. Be less Indian. Don’t speak with a foreign accent. Don’t show empathy for other immigrants. This is the way to “make it”. Just look at the south Asian politicians in the US and UK.
This autumn, I went to Chennai to see my nani (Hindi for grandmother) after a long stretch of no international travel during the pandemic. India was closed to non-citizens for more than 18 months as it tried to restrict travel and the importation of the virus. I often thought of my grandparents during these years: both in their late 80s but busy with days in the office, meeting friends for lunch, evening walks in the park or on the beach, and even the occasional visit to the gym to lift weights. The pandemic changed all this: their choice was between maintaining community and social integration with the knowledge that Covid-19 was probably a death sentence at their age, and staying alive but isolated, without the activities that brought them meaning and joy.
