You Can't Choose Your Skin Color

That may seem like a strange title for a blog, or even something strange for me to be contemplating, but I can't help but wish to be something. For many years I have thought about the fact that I am a Northern European mut. It's okay - I enjoy reflecting on the fact that I am made up of the celtic ntionalities that have refused to get along throughout history. That's all well and good, but I can't help but wish I had some culture. Working at Modesto Junior College, I have a lot of Hispanic students, and working at Folsom Lake College, I have a lot of Indian and Middle-Eastern students. They all have cultures and backgrounds that contain more than the generic American mixture. I wish I had family traditions and recipes that reflected a specific background and culture. Those who do intrigue me and I am just a little jealous.

With all that said, if I could choose what nationality I would want to be, I would have to choose Indian (as in India, not Native American). I remember when I first took an interest in all things Indian. It was my last year at UC Davis and was killing time by wandering around the bookstore. I spotted a really brightly colored book on a high shelf. It featured the goddess Kali wearing some sassy sunglasses, her royal blue skin offset by a hot pink border. Now, who could pass that up!? The book was called Holy Cow by Sara Macdonald and was about an Australian woman who lived in Indian for three years just traveling and discovering what the country had to offer. It was non-fiction. I was dazzled! Through her words I got the opportunity to explore a world so unlike anything I knew. Before that book, all I knew of Indian people were their difficult to understand accents an brightly colored clothes. Now what I knew was warm people, strict traditions, varied religions, spicy foods, and vibrant ceremonies. I wanted to know more.

Alas, most of my experience with Indian culture has been through books, but a lot of books. I read nearly everything I can get my hands on the feature Indian people in India or here, in the United States. I've read the wonderful books by Amulya Malladi, such as Mango Season and Serving Crazy with Curry. I read the book-turned-movie The Namesake. I have also read fluffy stuff like Goddess in Training and The Mistress of Spices. I have loved them, and I have even gotten book club to read several of them.

But beyond books, I love Indian food more than any other cuisine. I could just gobble it up at every meal. I enjoy their beautiful clothes and their wily Bollywood movies. Anything Indian and you've got my attention. But as much as I love it all, I am still an outsider. When I go into an Indian market, I feel like people look at me like, "are you lost?" I wish that, just for a moment, I could be one of them. I could scoop up my food with my fingers (like my friend Sakina used to do) and go to a wedding dressed in a red sari and sparkles on my forehead. I want to cook aloo ghobi and say "it's grandma's recipe." I just want to know what it would be like to not mark "caucasian" on a questionaire. I wouldn't trade my family for anything, but I would sure like to try on some Indian shoes. Alas, as it won't happen, I will just have to be content by watching Bride and Prejudice, reading Life Isn't All Ha, Ha, Hee, Hee by Meera Syal, and eating at Kathmandu downtown.