2 years old. A man left a wife, a 5 year old, and a 2 year old behind for a different woman. My mother left to pay the bills and provide for two children.  There was always a nanny, Didi, around to take care of us as my mother attended work. Catch was she only spoke Hindi. So my sister and I learned to speak Hindi through her.

    “Metu bhook lagi he”(I’m Hungry)

    “Mei kuch banati hu tumhare kle”(I’ll make something for you)

    Didi and I would often go to an indian temple close to the house all dressed up in saris to pray and dance. The excitement that filled me when we would begin the walk to go was as if I had just been told we would be going to the toy store.  With a skip in every step, I would walk on the right side of Didi with my left hand holding hers firmly. Once I saw the temple ahead I would break free and run toward it screaming back

    “Jaldi Karo!”( Hurry up!)

5 years old. Two divorcees, one from born and raised in india and one born and raised in NYC, with love spurring through their veins looking for someone to be with, found one another. The man was an italian man with sporadic tattoos around his body- one of a sicilian flag,  one of angel , one of a sunset. An odd pairing everyone said, an italian and an indian. But they were happy. It was a relationship that wasn’t rushed but rather calm. They would go out on saturday nights all dressed up and the way their eyes lit up when they saw one another was unlike anything else.

“ You make sure she is back before 12”,  I would scream as they left the house

“Will do”, he replied                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

9 years old. We moved to NY from NJ. My mom married the man who she had been dating for years. I went from having a stranger for a dad to someone actually present.  With the new marriage came changes. We no longer went to temple but still had our little at home temple in the corner. We still followed hinduism. When Didi went to temple, I no longer wanted to join her. A year later,  my little sister was born. Unlike my older sister and I, she came out to be white, white enough to illuminate a room. She was baptised shortly thereafter. Now two Catholics and 3 hindus present under the same household.

11 years old. We bought a bulldog, a mixture of brown and white; A symbol of the blending of cultures. No longer were we confined to one thing. Easter something that used not exist in my world, was now something celebrated. Diwali, something my father had certainly not even heard of before meeting my mother, was something he would too celebrate with us.  

16 years old. I still take italian in school, learning the italian culture and language. Being able to throw in some random fact about italy at the Christmas gatherings or even being able to be able to test my father to see if he really knows italian.

“Pops,  Che cosa stiamo mangiando per cena?” (What are we eating for dinner)

“Zuppa” (soup)

“Perfetto!”(perfect)

We are no longer pure indians but rather a blend of different culture, a bulldog if you will.