Not your typical American name, Jhumpa Lahiri, author of “My Two Lives” spoke about her quest to find her identity as a Indian America. Lahiri loved America, but she did not neatly fit into the average idealism of it. As a second generation immigrant Lahiri’s parents still practiced traditions from their own country, Bangladesh, India. From her name to her appearance, Lahiri, never quite felt she fit in anywhere. At home she tired so earnestly to please her parents. Even though in her heart her home was America, not Bangladesh. Once Lahiri entered school it became apparent to her that her traditions were not only different, but they also had to remain a secret. As time went on Lahiri realized being Indian American didn’t make her standout out, it set her apart.
When one is migrating from one country to an other, sometimes there are barriers like language and cultural differences that make it hard to transition. In many cases these obstacles are to hard to over come. In fact some prefer not to change in any way to accommodate their new environment. Just as I take pride in being American;others, take pride in their country of origin. Lahiri’s parents strongly expressed pride in their country and traditions. Just as I expect my children to stand and hold there hand over their hearts when the national anthem plays; Lahiri’s parents expected certain things of her. This loyalty was not expected by force, but from admiration. Lahiri’s dilemma was that America had won over her heart.
At home the language spoken was Bengali. Lahiri mentioned that she spoke perfect English, but her parents still had an accent. Her parents cherish the things of their past and their costumes like clothes, food and songs. I believe Lahiri cherished these things in her early childhood as well, but as time went on America and its wonders started to catch her interest. I don’t believe that Lahiri’s parents controlled her to the point that she didn’t make her own choices, but they did not support her enough in her development as a young women. When Lahiri stated, “According to my parents, I was not American, nor would I ever be no matter how hard I tried.” it was clear to me that her parents were not open to new things. Lahiri’s hunger to join the nation she had come to know as home had grown to a healthy appetite.
As the story continues Lahiri highlights difficulties she experienced through out her life due to cultural practices. One that I found extremely interesting was the fact that she ate rice and lentils with her hands. In America to eat these types of foods with your hands can be thought of as uncivilized. I can not image that she had any friends over her house for dinner from school. To me these things would have been frustrating. It seems almost impossible to explore who you are in such small confines almost in a state of isolation. There is no freedom in secrecy, and no liberty in limitations. Lahiri should have had the room to blossom into a flower, not be molded into one.
In the end she realize that she was a flower, and more importantly what kind. She was a Indian American. As time went by she came to understand that a persons approval was not necessary. She took comfort in knowing she was both Indian and American. Choosing at will when and where to incorporate values from each one. Instead of having to make a choice of one culture over the other she realized she didn’t have to choose. She became very close to her parents finally understanding their passion for their culture. It was what made them unique what identified them apart from others, and although she was different from them, in this aspect she was the same. Growing into her own identity cultivated by America, but nurtured by her parents all that she was had become one. Although I believe Lahiri was overly influenced by her parents. A bond between a child and their parents is inseparable, and will always be a contributing factor to the identity of a person.
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