Skip to main content

ABCD (American-Born Confused Desi)

To those that aren't American born, or Desi, and are just confused, this stereotype refers to those of South Asian descent who speak broken Hindi, Tamil, etc. It's those who get scammed by local vendors in their country because they don't know any better and/or the vendors smell your fresh American blood. Those who can't cross the streets alone because the roads are too threatening with motorcycles and rickshaws in every direction. Those who order the spiciest of foods not realizing how weak their tolerance level is in their American body. 

I was curious how other Indians felt on this term I find rather hilarious, so I scrolled on Quora for some unhinged opinions as I usually do when I find myself in the inescapable depths of the internet. 

"the majority of us Desi-Americans are redefining what it means to be an ABCD. We have changed it from American Born CONFUSED Desi to American Born CONFIDENT Desi."

Yes...but not really.

I personally find this label true to a certain extent. American-born Desis never actually get the authentic experience their parents or grandparents have. You can surround yourself with an entirely Desi community in the U.S. but it will never equate to actually living in these countries. In fact, growing up in Troy where many South Asians reside, I've come to realize that many of them really are confused. Among Indians, we fight so desperately to prove our identity, we compete to seem less white compared to others. 

"You call your dad 'dad'? You're so white."

"Yeah I'm gonna wear a lehenga. It's like a skirt type dress...sorry! You're just so white-washed I had to assume..."

It's embarrassing and frankly shameful to receive these comments. To be white-washed is deliberately assimilating into Western society and humiliated by nonwhite culture. When I go to India I am mercilessly ridiculed over my American tendencies. Being Indian American means being uncultured. Privileged. Ignorant. Superficial.

Yet when I try to test the waters of my heritage I end up drowning in it. I'm trying too hard when I attempt to speak Marathi because my accent will never be 'pure'. I once heard this Punjabi girl say "did you see what she was wearing? Like she knows this is an American school right, that dress was too Indian you can't do that..." 

How can us American-born Desis not be confused? We'll never experience genuine South Asian culture according to both Desis and other American-born Desis so we'll never be truly South Asian. But as an Indian American that speaks "Hindu or whatever" (as my teacher likes to say) I'll never be seen as truly American either. I'm going through a literal identity crisis. 

I will never not be confused over my cultural identity. Sure, some may be confident like Nina Kaur on Quora here, but a lot of us are still confused. The light-hearted title does hurt, but changing it only brushes over the issue and teaches people that it isn't okay to be confused. 

So to my immigrant parents, my relatives born and raised in India, all the Indian Americans in Troy that try to teach me how to be Indian, 

I guess I am an ABCD. 

Comments

  1. Varsha SeshadriMarch 10, 2024 at 4:13 PM

    I liked how you kind of wanted to avoid the common euphemism Nina Kaur on Quora says about how American Born Confident Desi hides the fact that so many of us are confused about our identities. I also agree how this is also a problem with Indian assumptions, and how whitewashed is used as a bad thing, even though it could mean one assimilated differently.

    ReplyDelete
  2. bismaad kaurMarch 10, 2024 at 5:32 PM

    I would never consider myself and ABCD (since I'm not Desi), but I definitely understand some of these feelings. I've always felt like the only non-desi brown person in our whole school/community and always feel like I have to become more Desi in order to fit in. I really resonated with how you talked about not feeling Desi enough in certain situations.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Aleezay AhmadMarch 10, 2024 at 8:16 PM

    I've never heard of the term ABCD, so this was very interesting and relatable to read about! I love the metaphor you used--"Yet when I try to test the waters of my heritage I end up drowning in it"--it encompasses the struggle of being a Desi American very well!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Mr. Brown

Dear Mr. Brown,  My name is Arya Shah. I am seventeen years old, and a senior at Troy High School. I stumbled upon your poem, "Labor", initially out of reluctancy to check-the-box on what I thought was a labor intensive English assignment. However, I quickly became so engrossed into the poem and I forgot about the trivial work I was pulling my hair out for just a few minutes ago.  What I admire most about this poem is its ambiguity, and the unsettling atmosphere it leaves. While you begin ranting about "cuss[ing] cutting grass for women", and shift focus onto the women, I thought surely the poem would reveal a tender heart, or wholesome relationship with them that would romanticize the labor or at least blur its pain. But instead, it's so discomforting. Your force us readers to sit with the fact that "they're all dead" because it isn't only the labor that's painful, but also the love. I find that so hard to accept most times, and can't ...
Post a Comment
Read more

You're Nothing Like Me

You're fat. Your flabby  little  not so little actually, stomach rolls over your sari's petticoat. Pathetic.  You're ugly. Your eye bags are stripping away your youthful happy-go-lucky femininity which was an era long gone as your stretch marks remind you.   You're naive. Your hands are shedding their skin, bruised and burned because the kitchen is now engraved into your body. It's these hands with which you sign your children's papers so they can go on field trips and become people of their own, hands with which I once used to forge my own parent's signatures because I wanted to control my "destiny"—always written by someone else.   You're unwanted. I believed in Bollywood movies. I believed in a romanticized future, where a language barrier in a foreign country would mean they would laugh at my cute accent. Instead, they just laugh at you. They insult you and you can't even understand them. Your mannerisms aren't quirky, they're d...
Post a Comment
Read more

Cleanup On Aisle Seven!

I'd like to preface this blog by saying the following original poem is written in a style completely out of my comfort zone, so through my eyes as a poet, it appears a bit of a mess. But hey, "dissonance is a kind of sense" I guess.  Cleanup on aisle seven Where the neatly stacked pyramid of oranges has fallen Where people pass by Without giving a fly Spurting juice under their fashionably protected feet Now there’s a traffic jam on aisle seven Where someone bumps into a shelf of wine And when people point fingers at each others’ faults All that’s left to say is  It isn’t mine  So someone travels to aisle four And rips open a pack of paper towels to clean the floor  But the liquid has migrated far beyond control  Where now are also  Soggy unraveled rolls  Finally the janitor comes over But he slips and his head lowers  Now there’s blood everywhere  But who should care  To clean the aisles When the janitor is also the owner  I initia...
Post a Comment
Read more