The Underpinning of My Existence: International Women’s Day and Building Each Other Up.
March 8, 2021May 4, 2021
So what is the difference – between a Samosa, a Sambusa, a Springroll and a Spanakopita? Not much to be honest. Did you know that in India alone there are 20 recognized varieties? The filling might vary – between meats, noodles, vegetables or sweets, but like people – a Samosa is a slightly different wrapping, a slightly different filling – but essentially the same thing.
Am I getting deeper here? For sure.
I had a job once in a predominantly Punjabi speaking – Lower Mainland Community. People looked at me differently. The multi-generational visible majority Canadians knew I didn’t look like or sound like the local South Asians, the local South Asians couldn’t figure out if I was mixed race, had been brought up to ‘ignore’ our shared culture or if I was truly different. The answer was the last one – as a Gujarati-speaking Canadian, we shared skin colour – a little, continent of origin – once upon a time (for me, 3-4 generations ago), food – somewhat, spice combinations – not really, and language – not really at all. You see, in the spectrum of languages from the Indian Subcontinent, Hindi is kind of in the middle – many Gujarati speaking people can speak/understand Hindi, and many Punjabi speaking people can speak/understand Hindi, but in a linear connection, it’s very difficult to get from Gujarati to Punjabi. We’re slightly lighter – sometimes Arab or Central Asian in colouring. Our food is a bit sweeter, and has Arab and East African influences. We have things in common – like sarees, and ‘curries’ – more on this in another piece, a love of Bollywood movies, curiosity that comes from the diaspora, British Colonialism in our shared histories… and distinct facial features.
At some point, I got tired of telling this story to the local restaurant owners or shops across the street from my office, or answering curious questions from people I’d bump into at Superstore or Safeway on my lunch break. I really just wanted them to look at me as an interesting person. To experience respectful curiosity through dialogue, but not staring and pointing, or jeering comments. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fiercely proud of my background, my community and identity. And feeling other -well, this wasn’t completely new to me – as a Muslim Canadian working in South Korea, I was very confusing to the local Koreans; growing up in Calgary, and attending predominantly white-schools – I was clearly different. Moving to the Lower Mainland – with it’s plethora of visible diversity has been interesting. In 20 years I’m still surprised by the pockets of micro communities that share linguistic and cultural backgrounds, and more often than not, there’s surprise that I’m an “Albertan” more than anything else, and assumptions from most groups that all South Asians are the same. I think overall, I just find it fatiguing to always be looked at as ‘other’.
A recent workshop I attended had a comment – you know you’re doing inclusion right, if you don’t ever feel ‘other’, and everyone just is. I really resonate with this. The most included I’ve probably ever felt was at the University of Ottawa. The total blend of cultures, even surrounded by bureaucratic Government neighbourhoods and offices – it was still the most equalizing place I’ve been. My circle of friends, though most Canadian Born, looked like the United Nations itself – and we were there, living that common experience together.
CoVID-19 has brought forth a lot of challenges- from being isolated from loved ones, to fear of illness, job loss, mental health challenges and even flaws in our existing systems. But one thing it’s brought me has been an unexpected positive. When I put on that mask, whether I’m in a visible majority or visible minority dominant neighbourhood, no one sees me as “other”. My colouring lends to that, I could be Indigenous, Polynesian, Caucasian, North African, Middle Eastern, biracial. With my glasses on, I am unidentifiably Asian-of some sort-Canadian, and with highlights in my hair peeking out – I’m just approachable and authentic. Every group approaches me as one of themselves. For the first time, I’m just me. Of course inside, I’ve always been just me. My husband says it’s because you can’t see my nose 🙂 He’s learned, being in our relationship, that many Ismaili Canadians have certain facial features that give away their ethic background. It doesn’t seem to matter if they are European, East African, Indian, Afghan, Pakistani or Arab – we just have some commonalities that give us away.
The mask makes us equal. Just a Samosa. Maybe a Spanakopita. The name doesn’t matter. What does is that we’re deliciously diverse on the inside, in a similar but different wrapper on the outside- individuals that form a collective.
