by Sucheta Sachdev

The scene: a bar in Washington DC, well-known for its international music and patrons.

The people: a large tightly-packed crowd which included me and two of my desi friends; in front of me is an extremely short and petite desi girl dancing with her white friends neither of whom I know.

The context: the music changes from salsa to bhangra. My desi friends and I appreciatively whoop and holler, shaking our shoulders as is customary for any bhangra number, moving to the beat of the dhol. The desi girl in front of me continues to dance with her friends, but refrains from moving her body in any fashion that could be construed as desi. Slightly inebriated, I lean towards her and say jokingly, “c’mon, you know you want to bhangra!” After conjuring her delicate features into a suitably disgusted expression, she glares at me and utters the ubiquitous “whatever”. At first, I am unsure of how to react, but I decide to make a graceful exit from a most embarrassing situation.

I must say, in all of my 27 years, I have rarely been snubbed by a desi girl. I think this is usually on account of my own efforts at breaking the “I’m-going-to-ignore-you-and-pretend-we’re-not-the-only-two-brown-people-in-this-elevator” awkward moment, usually by cracking a joke. However, plenty of desi men have taken undue liberties in giving me the “I’m-a-doctor-and-went-to-Yale-so-don’t-even-think-about-talking-to-me-unless-you-went-to-Harvard” cold shoulder. White men and women being frosty at first introductions is a pretty familiar experience….but a desi girl? This hadn’t happened in a long time, and in such a rude manner at that.

While I managed to forget about the incident for the rest of the evening, the next morning, I realized I was still upset. Not understanding why, I sought counsel with a close friend, who brought up a good point by asking me “Would you care this much if this girl had not been desi? I doubt you would be this bothered if she had been white, or even black. ” My friend had me there, but what did it mean?

I go back to the moment of the incident; her “whatever” was not only a rejection of my invitation to dance, but signaled a broader message that read “Leave me alone! Just because I’m desi, it doesn’t mean I have to dance to every single bhangra song that gets played. Who are you to define my desiness?” which is a completely valid reaction and one that I accept. I acknowledge that I had made an assumption about The Girl’s identity and how she might like to express it.

Assumptions, however, are a slippery slope. What if I had assumed that her company of white friends had made her reluctant to acknowledge me? That is an example of a negative assumption, one that I did not make. Instead, I confess that I am guilty of seeking a connection, recognition of a mutual and shared background. Everyone expresses their culture in different forms, and she was completely justified in choosing not to participate in a little shoulder-shaking. However, and perhaps this is precisely why this incident has bothered me so much, The Girl’s rejection also represented a denial of our shared heritage; she did not wish to embrace the shared space I had offered in which we could, for a moment, acknowledge that we come from similar communities. This, I think, is what stung me the most.

Am I being overly-sensitive, unreasonable even? Here in the US, in a country of almost 300 million people, South Asians constitute a grand total of 1% of the population; as such, is it wrong for me to expect some camaraderie or recognition from a fellow desi? This is not to say that I seek amity from every single desi that I meet, but rather, I relish the few instances in which I can insert a Hindi word or two to emphasize a point, or bobble my head in the confusing “yes-no” fashion that only desis the world over can understand. I savor these fragments of cultural touchstones, as we live in a white society, with white preferences and inclinations, despite the few pockets of cosmopolitan centers sprinkled across the United States. Does this mean I don’t value the freedoms and liberties of the white culture in which I live? Do not misunderstand; truly, I do. But I also treasure the moments in my everyday life when my desiness is validated, recognized, and connected with by another.

So, if I had to do it again, would I still approach The Girl and invite her to dance? Absolutely. Do I still think she has the right to turn me down? Without question. But maybe next time, I’ll be able to take a rejection a little less personally.

Photos courtesy The Gallery.