My dad was born and raised in Mahilpur, and moved to Australia when he finished high school at 19 to start a new life. He met my mum, who is half Filipino and Vietnamese, when he was 20, and got married at 21. No one talks about how multiracial couples can often account for racism for the other race, and sadly this was my reality.
When my dada ji would come for a holiday in Australia, he would pinch my flat nose to make it ‘pointy’ like his. My mum’s side would be proud that I turned out to look more like my mum; taking on her light skin, but also acquiring natural double eyelids from my dad. My maternal grandmother didn’t approve of my dad because of stereotypes, assuming he wouldn’t take care of her or her family.
I have often felt like a non-Indian overstepping because I’m only half Indian: not being visibly ‘brown’, having never gone back to the fatherland and only know a few phrases in Punjabi. I never felt part of the community growing up because of these reasons. But I can’t discount my own struggle, and I want to reclaim my identity and share my story, as part of my healing in the journey of accepting myself as an Indian-Australian.
When people first find out I’m mixed, they’re usually in awe at how ‘exotic’ I am, and on the surface level, I understand why it may seem cool. But they don’t understand the lifelong struggle of never feeling enough or whole in any culture.
I never thought to myself that I was Indian. When introducing myself to new people and telling them my cultures, they would often say, “I can only see the Filipino.” So, I would agree with them, and this affected my self-perception immensely. It’s been so entrenched in my mind that I ‘look the most Filipino’ that being Indian was swept under the rug even more. Even though I was born and raised here, telling people that I was Australian on top of all that? Forget it. In all aspects, I was perpetually confused.
Not looking brown meant that I always stood out, especially at brown fam jams. And this didn’t work in my favour as an introvert, but by default I was different to everyone else. Shameless stares directed towards me and my family weren’t unusual. ‘Who gave this Asian girl the permission to wear our clothes?’ is what I assumed people would think when I wore traditional Indian clothes. It felt like their culture wasn’t my culture as well, and I didn’t have a place there. I was a puzzle piece that couldn’t fit in anywhere, so internalised hatred is what I learned. I faced microaggressions from everyone; peers, workmates, even my own family… It hindered my own sense of self for years. It made me feel even more like I wasn’t part of the culture because of my lack of knowledge for the culture and language, and my lack of melanin, and my Western name. In no way did I ‘feel’ Indian. But there was one thing that caused the shift for me.
When I was 16, it was announced that my uncle was getting married. This was a big deal since it was my extended family and not some random, big wedding that I would find myself at for the sole purpose to fill up the room. So, I needed a lehenga for the occasion. This was my first lehenga, and I was so excited. I knew about the beauty of lehengas from my brown friends who had been to India for weddings, but never owned one for myself.
By the time of the wedding, my paternal grandparents had lived with my family for 6 years. When they first moved in with us, it was a big change—suddenly going from a family of five to a family of seven. It’s the first time I learnt that Indian parents often live with their son, even when they have their own family. Being an angsty teenager, I didn’t get along with them at first. because I wanted more personal space; and from them, I got the exact opposite. Prior to them living with us, I only saw them every few years for a short amount of time when they would come for brief holidays. It felt weird getting to know them when I was already an adolescent. Now, I can’t imagine life without them.
In the months leading up to the wedding, my dadi ji would measure my sister and I to get our lehengas tailored to us through phone calls to a shop in India. She would show us pictures of materials on WhatsApp, so we could choose which designs I wanted. The designs were majestic and incredibly intricate, unlike anything I’d ever seen before in my Western bubble. At the time, I didn’t think much of it since it was a very new experience.
I now realise that this experience made me feel so much closer to my dadi ji, because she was taking care of me for real for the first time. She lived in India for the better part of my life, and it wasn’t until this moment; at the age of 16, that I felt close to her. It was a time where I could enjoy just being with her; an intimate experience that I’m sure was special to her, too. It made me see the beauty of traditional clothing. It took a while, but the lehenga finally made its way to Australia.
When I tried it on for the first time, I looked in the mirror, and I felt beautiful in a way I’d never felt before. I didn’t just see my reflection, but I saw the rich and beautiful history of the Indian women who came before me. I didn’t shy away from the features that made me brown. It was the first time I felt part of something, the first time I actually accepted myself as Indian. It wasn’t just ‘their’ clothes; it was also mine. My culture. I was no longer the other girl.
Having traditional mehendi on my hands, wearing a bindi and the traditional jewellery at the wedding was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It was a newfound inspiration which started the journey of me connecting with my roots and finally healing. From then on, I wanted to do everything in my power to make up for the time I lost hating who I was. The seed of cultural pride had been planted, and it was ready to grow and flourish.
It has taken a lot to get where I am of accepting myself as Indian, and it’s still a journey of connecting with my culture and everything that comes with being ‘me’. Unlearning the hatred that has been spouted at me my whole life is the hardest part. I consider myself still young, so I still have some growing up to do. I realise now that my Indian culture is part of me, just as being Australian is.
Charlene Behal is an Asian-Australian writer of Indian, Filipino and Vietnamese descent. Through her work, she explores the intersection of being a mixed, Asian, queer woman living in Australia. You can find her on Instagram and LinkedIn.
