My Customs Not Your Costumes

In elementary school, a boy had made a comment about my body hair, and though he was young and did not realize the impact of his words, it still hurt. It made me feel ashamed and insecure about something I could not control, something I shouldn't even have worried about at that age. Throughout elementary school, some kids would call me Nishka gorilla, as wordplay on my last name, it was racist, and deeply hurtful. 

In middle school, I was not the traditional “Indian kid” that most people thought I should be. I was not a teacher's pet, I did not follow all the rules, and I cheated on a lot of my assignments and tests. One kid would always make comments such as, “you're not that smart for an Indian” and “are your parents disappointed in you because of your grades?” These stereotypical comments made me feel as though I wasn’t living up to an imaginary Indian standard that everyone around me perpetuated. When I called him out on it, he told me to “chill out” and “it was just a joke.” After all, he was popular, so he got a free pass.

Racism can come in many forms, it can be normalized through casual comments, and unpunished violence, mocking, or name calling. I watched my culture be slowly diffused into the community that once ridiculed me for it. The bandanas, spices, thick eyebrows, facial jewels, henna, and oils that are now cute and trendy, were once things that were ridiculed and looked down upon. Fortunately, thanks to the people around me, I have grown to appreciate the color of my skin, the hair on my body, my Indian family and friends, my religion, and my vibrant culture. I love who I am now, and I'm grateful that people around me accept who I am.