By Heerva Mawan, 17, LACES

“I walk into the kitchen preparing my nose for the strong aroma of zesty Indian spices and cooked lentils and vegetables on the stove, giving my mother the normal respectful greeting.
“Hi Mummy. Kehmche? Su caryu aaje?” (How are you? What did you do today?)
“Fine, dear. Do you want something to eat? Nothing new today, just work.”
Then I go to my room and it’s me and my phone and my homework. I come out once in a while when I have to eat or take a shower. I don’t talk to my mom a lot.
My mother. I love her, but dealing with her is hard. Sometimes I am not sure if she really does understand me or not. I used to think it was just my mom who was difficult to deal with, but when I went to India, I understood that that’s the way things are. In India, girls don’t have as many options. So even though I was brought up in America, I can’t do things American-style.
One day my cousin called to invite me to a college banquet that night. I had loaned her a dress for the event, but didn’t think I could go. When she told me I could, I jumped for joy, but my dear mother said no (no surprise to me). She told me it was too late and all that was not for me, that I didn’t need to go.
My cousin insisted on talking to my mother herself. My mother graciously said yes to her and gave the phone back to me. My cousin was tripping in my ear, asking why I said no when my mom said yes. ‘Oh brother,’ I thought. When my mom says no to me and yes to my cousin that can only mean one thing: NO! So I told my cousin I couldn’t go, making the excuse that I didn’t have anything to wear (come to think of it, it’s not an excuse). Have fun, I told my cousin, and hung up.
I turned around and gave my mom a look with invisible fumes coming out of my ears. Why in the world would she tell my cousin I could go and tell me no? I went to my room and called my friend and told her the latest. She’s Indian too, so she understands. Having heard this story a zillion times, she tried to reassure me, “Oh well, you can go next year.”
The day after the banquet, my friend was having his 21st birthday party. So there I was on the phone, strategizing with my girlfriend about how to convince our moms to let us go. We figured we had two options: 1. Tell them the whole story with all the details or 2. Change the story a little (like maybe leave out the fact that it’s a party for a boy).

I told her everything, and she said okay
That afternoon I approached my mom, still exasperated with her, but hopeful that this time I could go. I told her everything, and was a little surprised that she was fine with it. Then I waited for my friend to come over to see if her mom would let her go because I didn’t want to go without her. My friend had told her parents about the party in the car on the way to my house (which was not so smart). Her mom said yes, but she wanted to know what my mom said. Then, much to our dismay, they went to run an errand together. Uh oh, we thought. They’re probably talking about us. Sure enough, when they go back, the answer was, “Not this time, maybe next time,” the same thing we have been hearing since we were ten. It meant NO.
I was so mad I didn’t say good-bye. Why did she have to do that—tell us yes and then no? After my friend left, I told my mom it wasn’t fair, partly because I was being told one thing when another was intended. I’m so tired of that. It’s not our fault that our parents are confused on where to draw the line. Maybe in India, girls never go to parties, but since we’re in America, why can’t we go?
I am glad I got to talk to my mom about how I felt because I was really mad. Sometimes she can’t understand me, but this time she did. She noticed that I was upset and tried to comfort me. I still didn’t go to the party, but I felt better.

My mom was raised traditionally
Although at times I have a frustrating relationship with her, I feel grateful that I can still connect with her deeply, perhaps because I have an understanding of where she comes from. My mother was raised in a traditional, old-style Indian family. She had no say in decisions made for her. To show respect to her elders, she could not say anything at all, even if she was asked to do something she didn’t like. She had no freedom until she went to college—an all-girls college, of course.
Raising me in modern America must have been a challenge for her. Behaviors that are normal and acceptable in American culture are not accepted in Indian culture. In India, a girl could never wear a tank top and shorts in public. She could never talk back. The attitude must be respect for all—elders, family members and friends. She could not be seen talking to a guy, no matter what she is talking about. For women in America, it is perfectly normal to pursue dreams and follow a career, but in India women should know how to cook and clean and that’s it.
I understand what she went through and how she grew up, but I can’t be expected to follow in the same way, mainly because I grew up here. I can’t stay away from the influences here no matter how hard I try. The best I can do is not to give in to all the pressures and activities of an 18-year-old’s life.
It’s funny for me and my best friend. We’ve both been accused of having a boyfriend. Our parents tease us about it. If someone calls and it’s a wrong number, they’ll say, “Oh, that must have been for you.” That’s sad, because we get wrong numbers too but we don’t say it must be their affair… (Of course, we can’t say that if we want to live in the same household with them). If my friend acts in a particular way or has an attitude, her parents think it must have been something her boyfriend said to her. What boyfriend??

My friend may have an arranged marriage
It may seem strange, but my friend will probably have an arranged marriage. Her parents are already looking for candidates in India. Sometimes I talk about it with her, and I sense the intensity of her fear about it. It’s scary for her to put her fate in her parents’ hands. It is a great unknown fear of the future in a way. Many arranged marriages have not worked out, and how can she know that hers will? The uncertainty scares us, but that is how it is and I’m not one to question it.
Going to India two summers ago helped me accept Indian traditions like arranged marriages and even the careful watch that my mom keeps over me. There must be something strong behind these customs, which have been passed down from Indian mothers to daughters forever. Even though I get upset, maybe these customs have helped more than they have harmed. Time changes many things, but when a culture and heritage is intact, it takes a longer time to change it all.
Then I think of what life is like in India. The life here is fast, day to day having everything on time, according to schedule. In India, life is slower, more family-oriented. Families are together to help each other. Life seems to have more meaning there, just taking one day at a time, no rush, just living it. I remember India’s old dirty dirt roads, the people crowded on the streets, cows wandering through traffic, lizards darting across walls, strange beetles joining us for dinner (uninvited). Some of the things I saw were strange, but I felt so much love—the love that India has for me, and I have for India. I am not sure if I am the only one who feels this way. Why I feel it is so precious I do not know. But with the help of my parents, I have come to love and respect India and everything that connects me to it—my friends, family, elders and especially my mother.”