Raise your hand if you’ve ever been labeled. I know I have. Some labels I love—daughter, sister, author, professor, bhangra dancer. Others? Not so much.
One of the hardest labels I’ve carried my whole life is A.B.C.D. If you’re unfamiliar with that term, it stands for “American Born Confused Desi”—a phrase used to describe second-generation Indians who, allegedly, are confused about their culture. While often said jokingly, the label carries a heavy implication: that no matter how much you love your roots, you don’t quite belong.
Despite speaking fluent Hindi, being borderline obsessed with Bollywood music, and choreographing every family wedding dance from 2005 to 2015, I still got called confused. Why? Because I was born here.
This identity—of being both Indian and American—isn’t confusing to me. It’s layered. It’s dynamic. And yes, it comes with challenges. But more than anything, it’s taught me how to live between worlds, and how to build bridges where gaps exist.
Two Playbooks, One Life
My parents immigrated to the U.S. in their twenties, carrying dreams of opportunity, education, and a better future for their children. Like many immigrant parents, they arrived in a country that looked and sounded very different from the one they grew up in.
Meanwhile, I was born here—surrounded by a very American culture but rooted in deeply Indian values. From a young age, I felt like I was living under two sets of expectations. My friends were going to sleepovers, dating in high school, and applying to out-of-state colleges. At home? Dating was off-limits, college had better be nearby, and family came before everything.
Let me tell you a story that perfectly illustrates the collision of those two worlds.
Education as a Shield
Growing up, I quickly learned that the best way to avoid certain uncomfortable topics—like marriage—was to stay in school.
In India, many girls follow a timeline that goes something like: finish school, get married. So when my parents talked about “settling down,” they didn’t mean after a Ph.D. They meant after a bachelor’s degree—maybe a master’s, if you’re lucky.
For me, education became a shield. I zipped through high school, raced through college, and went straight into a master’s program. It wasn’t just ambition; it was a tactic.
As long as I was in school, no one was asking, “When are you getting married?”
My relationship with higher education? Committed. Exclusive. And yes, very much approved by my parents.
But this wasn’t just about delaying a wedding. It was about managing expectations that felt totally disconnected from the world I was growing up in. My parents were operating from one cultural playbook, and I was handed another. And nobody was explaining the rules.
The Train Smile
Now let’s talk about the time I smiled at a stranger and almost caused a family scandal.
I was fifteen, visiting family in India over the summer. We were on a train traveling from Delhi, and I needed to get to the restroom. As I squeezed past a man in the narrow aisle, our shoulders brushed slightly. I looked up and smiled—because in the U.S., that’s just good manners.
Apparently, in India? Not so much.
That man followed us off the train and to our car. My grandfather finally turned around and said, “Excuse me, what do you want?”
The man replied, “She smiled at me, sir.”
To my shock, I got in trouble.
It turns out, in that context, a smile wasn’t just a smile. It was an invitation. A signal. A message I had no idea I was sending.
That was the moment I truly realized: even our most basic, nonverbal gestures are culturally loaded. I had grown up learning one code of behavior, and in that moment, I had broken another.
Bridging the Gap
So what do we do with all these moments of disconnect? How do we move forward when we feel pulled in different directions?
Here’s what I’ve learned:
1. Know Your Starting Point
Understanding where you fall in the generational and cultural spectrum is essential. Are you first-gen? Second-gen? Somewhere in-between? How have your experiences shaped your worldview?
Self-awareness helps you see the lens you’re looking through—and it helps you recognize that others may be seeing the world very differently.
2. Don’t Confuse Difference with Disrespect
Sometimes, when our parents don’t understand us, or we don’t understand them, we jump to the conclusion that one of us is being disrespectful.
But most of the time? It’s not defiance. It’s just a difference in understanding.
They grew up believing respect is shown through silence. We were taught it comes through honesty and expression. One isn’t better than the other—they’re just different.
3. Keep Talking—Even When It’s Uncomfortable
The biggest mistake we can make is to go silent. When we stop asking questions, stop explaining, stop listening, we let the gap grow.
The key is not agreement. It’s effort.
Ask your parents why they feel the way they do. Tell your kids what matters to you—and why.
Even if you stumble. Even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy.
Because that’s how we learn. That’s how we grow.
Why I Wrote The I in Indian
These stories—the awkward moments, the heartbreaks, the laughs, the eye rolls—they’re not just my experiences. They’re the shared experiences of so many second-generation kids trying to honor their heritage while finding their own way.
That’s why I wrote The I in Indian.
It’s a novel, but it’s rooted in emotional truth. It follows a woman who, like me and so many others, is caught between two cultures, two sets of expectations, and one complicated sense of self.
It’s about love—romantic love, yes—but also love for self, family, and culture. It’s about unlearning shame and finding peace in the in-between.
I wrote it because I wanted others like me to feel seen. I wrote it because I wanted to unpack the very things we often keep quiet about. And I wrote it as a reminder that identity isn’t confusion. It’s complexity. And that complexity? It deserves to be celebrated.
If you’ve ever felt stuck between two cultures, if you’ve ever been called too Indian or not Indian enough, or if you’re just trying to make sense of who you are and where you belong—this book is for you.
And more importantly? This space is for you.
Thanks for being here. Let’s keep talking.