Author: Aditi Banerjee
Publication:
Date:
My parents came to Chicago from
Calcutta in the 1960's. They associated with Bengalis and their closest
friends have remained Bengali-it is with the Bengalis of Chicago that we
have celebrated and to this day celebrate Thanksgiving, New Year's, Durga
Puja, Kali Puja, and Saraswati Puja (excuse my Bengali pronounciation!)
What binds them together is not just the language but also the shared memories
of the home they left behind-a fragmented India, where Bengal was distinctive
from the rest of the country. They saw themselves as Bengalis, not Indians.
The India they left behind is drastically
different from the India I found this summer when I spent a few months
there. This is an India where Bengalis speak Hindi as much as they speak
Bengalis, while many in my parent's generation cannot follow a Hindi movie
without subtitles. This is an India where my cousins listen to national
pop stars and Hindi filmi music rather than Bengali renditions of Rabindra
sangeet. This is an India where the anthem being sung is the national anthem,
not Tagore's homage to a unified Bengal. This is an India where Indians
finally see themselves as Indians.
So, the new immigrants who are coming
from India are identifying themselves not as members from a particular
region, but members of an increasingly unified nation. They are more apt
to celebrate Diwali rather than Kali Puja when both celebrations fall on
the same weekend. They are more likely to talk to their friends in Hindi
than Bengali.
This shift is similar to the changes
in identity prevalent among the second generation, the so-called ABCD's,
American Born Confused Desis like myself. While I learned to speak Bengali
before English, and while I bonded with the children of my parent's Bengali
friends, what drew us together wasn't our ethnicity, it was our shared
experience of being brown folk in a white world, of weekend get-togethers
with other immigrant families and eating Indian food, of being dragged
to pujas celebrated in local high schools rented out for the weekend. It
was our shared experience of being perceived as the dorky nerds in school,
of teachers and parents expecting us to excel in math and science and be
at the top of our class, of teachers and parents expecting us to be engineers
or doctors, of being asked whether we spoke Indian. In short, what bound
us together wasn't being Bengali American or even necessarily Indian-American;
it was the experience of being foreigners born in this country, an affinity
we felt with each other and even Asian Americans in general.
I first heard the term South Asian
when I came to Tufts. I was told that the differences between Pakistanis,
Indians, and Bangladeshis was negligible-in short, since other Americans
couldn't distinguish between us, why should we? Eventually, I was told
that we should think of ourselves as Asian Americans-we shared common experiences
and came from the same general continent, after all. The underlying premise
beneath each of these movements was the idea that what formed a group identity
was based largely on how others perceived us and on what would give us
the most political clout and coherence.
This is a fundamentally flawed approach.
Of course, it is valuable and necessary to have communities of Indian-Americans,
South-Asian-Americans, and Asian-Americans. But communities and group affiliation
are different from what constitutes social identity. Identity cannot be
based on political expedience or social convenience-it cannot be based
on circumstances of birth or geographical origin or even race/ethnicity.
Even culture is not enough, though it is a closer approximation of what
matters-it is our values, our worldview, our beliefs about ourselves and
the world we live in, it is the way we think, the way we conduct ourselves,
the philosophy behind our actions.
Bengali-Americans, Asian-Americans,
South-Asian-Americans function well as communities but cannot suffice as
identities. They will shed and morph over time as migration patterns and
political realties shift. The same way the Bengali identity has given way
to an Indian identity, the current South Asian vogue will give way to something
else in the coming years. These identities are inherently unstable, based
on external circumstances not innate characteristics of personality that
are necessary to constitute any real or permanent identity.
For example, while I may go for
months without uttering a word of Bengali or even without speaking to another
Indian, not a day would pass by where I wouldn't pray to Krishna or recite
the Gayatri mantra. While I would be as amenable to marrying a Punjabi
as a Rajasthani as a Bengali, I would find it very difficult to marry a
man who didn't believe in reincarnation or karma or dharma. While I might
be equally happy at a South Indian temple or a Chinmaya Mission or an ISKCON
center, all three share fundamental characteristics of the faith dear to
me. While I may not take my children to the local Durga puja celebrated
by Bengalis in the future, I would tell them the stories I know from the
Ramayana and the Mahabharatha.
These are aspects of my self that
do not alter regardless of which country I'm in or what people surround
me. They are aspects of my most fundamental beliefs and values that do
not shift the same way my personality adapts to the society that surrounds
me. When in Rome, we should do as Romans do, but that does not necessarily
mean we become Romans or believe the things Romans believe.
You may ask, why do we need a Hindu
American identity at all? Why don't we practice this most individualistic
of all religions individually? Isn't mixing religion and politics a disaster
in the making?
Well, first of all, to think religion
and politics aren't mixed to begin with is a nave and dangerous presumption.
Politics does not happen in a vacuum; all actors, especially political
actors, are motivated by convictions based on ideology and morality which
comes from social norms as well as religious beliefs. The debate over slavery
was inextricably intertwined with Christianity; the universal recognition
of human rights is based on a consensus of religious viewpoints on basic
values common to us all; the partition that tore through the subcontinent
was a bitter battle raging over whether the soul of the new India was to
be based on one religion or a plurality of religions. The more conscious
we are of how religion affects our identities and viewpoints, the more
we can try to be broadminded and fair. If we deny the religious component
of our identity, we just become blinded to what is going on in our subconsciousness
and it makes it harder to understand ourselves.
Before debating the merits of adopting
a Hindu-American identity, we have to understand what it means to be a
Hindu American; how is it distinctive from being any other type of American
or any other type of Hindu? I've touched a bit on how Hindu-Americans are
distinctive from the groupings of Indian-Americans or Asian-Americans,
etc. It's an identity that looks at the individual rather than broad categories
of ethnicities or race; it's an identity that is chosen rather than assigned.
But how are American Hindus different
from other Hindus, principally Hindus from India? It is admittedly difficult
to separate the two; India is Hinduism's birthplace and tradition homeland
for a religion that has done little proselytizing beyond its geographic
borders. However, we must understand that the faith and philosophy of Hinduism
is distinctive from the social customs and religions that have come to
plague it through the years. Just as Christianity is not about the crusades
or slavery or sexual abuse perpetuated by priests, Hinduism is not fundamentally
about dowry, or the current caste system, or the subordination of women
in the name of religion.
Those are social practices caused
more by the situation of Indian society at those times than by the philosophy
of the religion. What does it mean to be a Hindu? Not so long ago, people
identified themselves as followers of Shiva or Vishnu or the Vedanta philosophy,
not as Hindus. When we began to call ourselves Hindu, it came from an acknowledgment
that despite the diversity of the faith, a diversity of beliefs and practices
that we cherish, there is an underlying unity-an acceptance that though
there is one truth, we call it by different names, that we are all taking
different paths to the same God, the same destination, an acceptance of
the truths of the Vedas that we may never have ever read.
Though we in America may never understand
a word of Sanskrit or celebrate pujas on the weekend for convenience rather
than the actual day it is supposed to be held, though our vision of Hinduism
may be more colored by the popularization of yoga and meditation than teachings
from the Puranas, we still subscribe to the same beliefs that allowed Shaivites
and Vaishnavas to bridge the gaps between themselves and forge a common
identity as Hindu. These beliefs are strong enough to bridge the geographical
distance that separates American Hindus from Hindus of other nations.
It is this unity that matters the
most, that we need to recognize and acknowledge. Whether we pray to Kali
or Krishna, Rama or Ramakrishna, whether we revere the words of Swami Vivekananda
or Aurobindo, there is a unity of belief underlying it all. However, we
must understand that American Hindus are also distinctive from other Hindus
around the world. These distinctions are based on the society in which
we are living. Think of people like Deepak Chopra, who has brought Ayurvedic
science into this country and repackaged it for a western audience, or
Krishna Das, who has taken traditional bhajans and fused it with western
music. Think of the hundreds of yoga teachers who have combined traditional
hatha yoga with aerobics or pilates or even martial arts. Think of Hindu
weddings as they happen in America today, three days' worth of ceremonies
compressed into an hour or two with English translations for those non-Sanskrit
speakers like me.
The issues we face as American Hindus
are different from, say, the issues facing Indian Hindus. Instead of Ayodhya,
students in campuses wonder whether Ramadan should be celebrated alongside
Diwali. Instead of banning cow slaughter, we worry about whether McDonalds'
fries are purely vegetarian. Instead of battling communalism, we battle
stereotypes of dot-heads and elephant gods.
I am not as Indian as my parents
or others of their generation are. I date, I would probably not consent
to an arranged marriage, I drink at social gatherings, I do not speak Bengali
as frequently or as well as I should. But does that make me less Hindu?
I pray, I meditate, I do yoga, I read books on the Gita and other scriptures,
I believe in the philosophy they hold dear, I value the same things they
do: family, caring for others, and honor. I just express those values differently.
I practice the religion differently. I am Hindu, just not in the Indian
way but in a new American way. When I think of a Hindu-American, I think
of myself.
I have reinterpreted my religion
to adapt to the society and lifestyle I have adopted as my own. Some would
call this deviating from the authentic religion. I disagree. I think it
is healthy to reinvent and reinterpret and reform any philosophy or religion.
That is how people and societies and religions survive and evolve. It is
this process of adaptation and assimilation that has preserved Hinduism
for so long. It is the reforms that preserve the essence of the faith while
accommodating social changes and modernization that have added to the richness
and wisdom of the religion.
As American Hindus, we have the
opportunity to contribute to that process. It is something we should not
shy away from, it is a responsibility we should accept and honor. Why?
Why have and adopt a Hindu-American identity? First, because it is necessary
for the survival of the religion. Religions that are stagnant and refuse
to change with the times, to adapt to the society in which they are living,
die away. Christianity has been so successful in its appeal to people around
the world for so many centuries precisely because it has been more flexible
than most in accepting the tide of the times.
Why should we care about whether
Hinduism survives as a religion? This reminds me of an article I read a
while ago in National Geographic. There are languages that are dying by
the thousands every year. Sure, in some ways it is effective and efficient
to have fewer languages to ease communication between groups. But, one
problem is that as these languages die out, vocabulary vanishes that identifies
the medicinal properties of herbs and plants. Without this vocabulary,
we lose the knowledge of potential cures for cancer and other illnesses.
Religions contain invaluable knowledge.
Whether one is a Hindu or not, there is an interest in preserving as many
traditions of the religions of the world-preserving not as in maintaining
status quo but in encouraging the growth and evolution of such traditions
and faiths while staying true to its roots.
More specifically, as Hindus ourselves,
we have a particular interest in formulating and articulating a Hindu-American
Identity. I believe that the "confused" in ABCD (American Born Confused
Desi) comes from being confused about what it means to be a desi in America.
Of course, there are things that we share in common with all Indians, but
the lasting impact of being born as an Indian-American comes from the rift
between the values our parents taught us and the values we find ourselves
surrounded by in the U.S. Some of these differences are based on social
norms and cultures, some on religion. In order to better understand these
differences and our own coherence, we need to examine our religious identity,
what we accept from our heritage and what we reject.
Doing that in a group or community
format is preferable to each of us doing it for ourselves, because having
the support of others going through similar experiences helps, as many
heads are always better than one. And in the end, we are not islands isolated
from one another-we are all members of communities, of a subcommunity as
Hindus, but also of a larger community of Americans and global citizens.
And in order to contribute to the important dialogue between civilizations
and faiths, we must begin with the discussions and dialogues within our
faith and religion.
How do we do this? The best and
most important way is through education. The only way we can get to think
of ourselves as Hindu is to understand first what it means to be Hindu.
We need to learn more about our religion. I've read so little of the scriptures,
and all of it has been in poorly translated English, not the original Sanskrit.
My knowledge is fragmented, bits and pieces of the Puranas, selected verses
of the Gita. But imagine the possibilities if we could all get together
and put together our own fragments of knowledge---we'd be so many steps
closer to a coherent understanding of the fundamentals of the religion.
There are so many resources out there, and they're best used if shared
and the products of collaboration.
Interaction and dialogue are also
key. Conferences like this and forums encouraging widespread community
participation and input are invaluable. Forums based on being Hindu rather
than being of a certain ethnicity or nationality are important and necessary.
Also, open-ended discussions on topical issues such as what our views as
American Hindus are on social issues such as women's rights or interfaith
marriages would be great.
These are just my thoughts. This
is just one voice in what I hope is a massive dialogue and discussion about
what unites and distinguishes us as Hindus living in America.
Darwinism is not just for living
beings. Survival of the fittest applies to religions, societies, civilizations.
To succeed not just as individuals, Americans, or Indian Americans, but
as Hindu Americans, we need to understand better both sides of the hyphen-what
does it mean to be Hindu and what does it mean to be American? As really
the first significant generation of American Hindus, we have the unique
opportunity to frame, formulate, and generate the dialogue and debate needed
to give birth to an identity that will hopefully stand the test of time
and generations.
(Aditi Banerjee is a Law Student
at Yale Univ)
