An Indian immigrant on life in New York City in the wake of Kansas shooting
The looks and the side glares haven't died down. The hush conversations that go silent as I walk past groups of people, are slowly becoming a norm, and the recent spate of "terror attacks" haven't helped my case either.
Or do we call something a terror attack only when a brown person shoots and kills or blows himself up? It’s not something white folks do. When it comes to them, they are "lone wolves", and all those incidents are simply put as "hate crimes".
At a time when this country is divided, I'm fortunate to call New York City home. But am I really?
The Kansas shooting, where an Indian techie died in a premeditated hate crime, has given rise to tension in the Indian community and the fear is palpable.
With graffiti on walls, slogans in schools, robbing of a Hijab-wearing lady among more than 200 such hate crimes reported in the recent past, the man recently elected to office and who claimed to be a friend of all "Hindus and Indians" had kept mum for far too long about the killing of Srinivas Kuchibhotla.
Living the immigrant life is something I'm quite used to and calling places outside of India home is something I've been doing since I was 22. I know what it means to adapt to the local culture and its people.
In the past, many of my Indian friends would try and speak with an accent and only speak in English when we were out of our homes. I used to find it quite unusual then and often checked them for doing so.
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| We cannot let racism be the standard. |
But I think the current times have made it imperative for us to adapt to this way of living. Any foreign accent or language seems to frighten people and puts them on the edge. We are trying harder to adapt, and, in the bargain, losing our identity not for want or will, but out of the sheer desire to be considered as one of them. And still the bigotry continues.
From being denied entry to a nightclub, to an upscale restaurant that just happened to “shut early” that day, to being cursed from across the street in Times Square, where I work, is not the America I hoped for or want to live in.
I am chasing the American dream, one trim and haircut at a time. Gone are the days when I supported "no-shave November" and compared beards with colleagues and friends and spoke about advancements in cancer research.
Friends in other cities across America often tell me how lucky I am to live in the microcosm called New York City, where Chinese food is sold 20m from the Pakistani chicken and rice cart, where there is a true mix of race and culture. Where standup comedians openly take digs, make racist jokes and still find an audience day after day and fill their venues with a crowd of mixed nationalities.
But the events around me are having an impact at a subconscious level. I see how the reluctance of the current government to openly condemn hate crimes has, in a way, encouraged people to lash out more often and openly.
I, for one, am more conscious of my surroundings and extra cautious about what I say and whom I am saying it to. I am not as trusting of people as I used to be and I'm as wary of their intentions as they, probably, are of mine.
It's a sad state of affairs when George Bush starts making sense and demands that the current President speak up on things that are unfolding around us every day.
Last I checked, this country prided itself on being the land of the free and the home of the brave. Since when has it become bravery to put those less fortunate than you down, and when did bigotry and xenophobia become synonymous with freedom?
With people from outside the status quo come fresh ideas, new vigour and an unrelenting attitude to thrive and create an environment to prosper in.
We cannot let racism be the standard, normalise hate crimes and consider those different than us, the enemy. Immigrants built America and we must never forget that. But it's easy for me to say that - I am one.
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