The first picture is me and my dad on the National Mall in DC. Even to this day, my dad gets offended on behalf of babies that are wearing lots of clothes and believes that if they’ll be happier if they’re only in a diaper.
The second picture is my dad at his first wedding (sidenote: even brown dads can get divorced!). This is the picture I always breakout when trying to explain how Indian people don’t look happy in pictures. I remember when I first found this picture in the basement, I was shocked that my dad had a wife before my mom. Learning more about my dad and his past really helped me get a better sense of who he is as a person, why he’s been so “cool” on certain things and weird about other things. That, and I know I definitely don’t have to get an arranged marriage since it didn’t work for him!
Is your dad wearing a tank at his wedding, Amit? That IS pretty G, damn.
Was aggressively questioned about my Pakistani visa on my way back from the U.K. today. I sometimes wonder why I cling so strongly to that particular identity when i was born in the United States, but it is actually quite clear to me. It is my grandparents, three of whom passed before I was only two years old.
But today, after this experience, I think: what was the sacrifices of my grandparents for? For me to be belittled like this? For me to feel less than a citizen of the country I was born to? That is not what my nana and nani left a millennium of history for. It is not. It is not. It is not.