Author Archives: Priya C.

Why I Love Cece Parekh and Mindy Lahiri


By Priya Chhaya

Here’s a truth about me. I love television.

Another truth? I am one of those Indians that loves seeing Indians on television. I’ll often give a show a chance (or keep watching) for that reason alone. Case in point: When ER was in its later years, I kept watching primarily because Parminder Nagra joined the cast.

On Tuesday nights you’ll probably find me tear-streaked and laughing over a storyline on FOX’s New Girl and The Mindy Project.  Both shows have an amazing comic sensibility, and they feature Cece Parekh (played by Hannah Simone) and Mindy Lahiri (played by Mindy Kaling).

I’ve followed a few different Indian-American characters on television. Some are like Kal Penn on House – a doctor whose ethnicity rarely comes up. Or Archie Punjabi’s character on The Good Wife, who I have heard has an air of mystery. Others are like Raj on The Big Bang Theory, whose Indianness comes up as a reoccurring joke, complete with the stereotypical accent.

What I like about Cece and Mindy is that they are ethnically diverse characters who are not defined by that ethnicity.  Their culture and beliefs come into play when the plot necessitates it, rather than being the defining feature of all their interactions.

One storyline I appreciated seeing was New Girl’s treatment of Cece’s search for a husband. On any other show, the actual process of her going through the arranged marriage process would have been the assumed view of arranged marriage, i.e. parents introduce you, you decide to get married the next day.

But Cece’s storyline explored her experiences going through the process: trying a dating event, meeting her potential husband and his family, and their choice to date before getting engaged. Nothing was instantaneous. As an Indian-American, it was refreshing to see a realistic plotline of how modern arranged marriages occur, including how Cece participated in these customs as a girl who was both Indian and American.

On The Mindy Project, an allusion to Mindy’s ethnicity is even rarer. The writer and creator of the show Mindy Kaling stated in a recent Entertainment Weekly article, that “Most of the time when people want to talk to me about my job it’s about three things:  not skinny, multicultural, woman who is female. I don’t want to minimize that it’s a source of inspiration to young people, but I was just born in this skin, so it’s not something I think about when I’m writing.”

That is why both characters work for me. As characters Cece and Mindy are not developed and written to fill a quota, or to be a representation of a particular worldview. Instead they are allowed to be real (tv) people who aren’t all one culture or another.

For more on this topic, check out this great article from last May from Monique Nazareth on Television Worth Watching.

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Posted by on October 22, 2013 in Uncategorized


Culturally Appropriate or Cultural Appropriation? A Few Thoughts

by Priya Chhaya

In early April, pop star Selena Gomez incited media buzz when she appeared in public wearing a bindi. She is not the first celebrity to wear something Indian, but I have to ask:

Should I feel offended that someone has chosen to appropriate a piece of Indian cultural identity for entertainment? Or is it another sign of how elements of my heritage have trickled into the American subconscious? If she “meant well,” is it OK? Or is it never OK for someone who is not Indian to wear such a symbol without preserving its meaning? And, at what point does something go from being culturally appropriate to cultural appropriation?

Selena Gomez image

Let’s consider three scenarios.

Scenario 1: So You Think You Can Dance contestants perform a Bollywood-style dance number. The performance includes elements of hip-hop and classical Indian styles.

Scenario 2: Selena Gomez hires a composer to add tabla and sitar to a song to give it a strong beat. She attends performances wearing Indian clothing, and composes a video that includes elements of Indian dancing.

Scenario 3: Akon, an American hip-hop artist is asked by a Bollywood producer to sing on a major Bollywood movie track. That song, Chammak Challo, becomes a global hit, with the hip-hop artist singing all the Hindi lyrics himself.

As I consider these scenarios, I realize: it’s complicated.

So You Think You Can Dance performances include forms from many cultures. Here, dance is like a language — without boundaries, with different dialects but easily understandable as a form of expression. I consider this to be culturally appropriate because the compositions and choreography pays due respect to the dance forms as a form of expression-without reducing its origins to a stereotype.

Chammak Challo is a little grayer. On one hand, its melds two musical forms from two different countries, but he’s a non-native speaker singing in Hindi. As a publicity/marketing piece for Ra.One, it worked really well but there is a potential for misunderstanding—did he understand what he was singing, or was it a form of mimicry? I think it was culturally appropriate, because while he was singing in a foreign language, he didn’t try and change his image or try to fit his persona into what someone-singing-in-Hindi should look like.

Which brings me back to Selena Gomez. The song has a catchy hook, but the music video places the tabla players with turbans around a fire in a desert and her dancers perform the stereotypical snake-charmer head movement that has come to represent Indian dancing. This seems like appropriation to me because it reinforces age-old stereotypes of exoticisms and the “other.”  This re-enforcement continues through her attire and performances where she tried to ‘become’ Indian in a way that rings false.

Today, Indians and Indian-Americans defy stereotypes. We are authors, congressional representatives, and CEO’s of major American corporations, and I still get excited when I see barriers being broken in the entertainment industry such as Mindy Kaling on the Mindy Project or Amitabh Bachchan in the Great Gatsby.  As such, Indians and India should not been seen or presented through one specific lens or a single caricature.

What do you think?


Saying Goodbye Is Just So Hard To Do

by Priya Chhaya

I love to write. In my day job I write about history and the past, about cities and the importance of place and space in the everyday and in the identity of individual people. When I’m not writing I love to read–books, newspapers, magazines, and other blogs. So on any given day, my reader is filled with articles from history, membership marketing, tech development, and pop culture–including one of my favorites: Sepia Mutiny.

Logo for Sepia MutinyA few years ago I was hunting for information on the Sepoy Mutiny and stumbled upon this site dedicated to writing about South Asian Americans in politics, history, and culture. The site, which gave me the opportunity to see what a quality collaborative blog could be like, also introduced me to a community of creative South Asians. Probably what I appreciated the most was that they could be, at times, both serious and entertaining while also being critical and laudatory. (The site also introduced me to some excellent music).

When I write, I write from the heart–but most of the time it is about things: exhibits, books, ideas. Markers of the past that tell us a story that we can relate to.

Sepia Mutiny was more journalistic, talking about the people, those from, or descended from the subcontinent, analyzing who we were, what we’ve accomplished, and where we were going. It was a community. On April 1, 2012, Sepia Mutiny closed down for good, and with its end I thought we could learn a little bit about the blog’s journey from the site’s creator, Abhi.

Here are some of his thoughts:

Priya: It’s been about eight years since Sepia Mutiny began, can you tell me a little bit about what inspired you to put it together?

Abhi: Sepia Mutiny began as a civilized (but irreverent) rebellion against the reality that South Asian American media, what little there was on the web in 2004, lacked interesting and incisive analysis of news and issues that people in our community were concerned about, or just wanted to hear more about. In the summer of 2004, both the Democratic and Republican National Conventions had issued press passes to a few widely-read bloggers, almost all of them white.  That was annoying to me and provided the initial inspiration for doing something.  Blogs were just getting started back then and nobody knew if they were frivolous or could make an impact, [and so] I thought the time was right to try and provide a venue for a South Asian American perspective while concurrently being entertaining.  There was (and still is) a mass of young, educated, politically aware, intellectually hungry, and somewhat mutinous “desi” that wanted something both engaging and educational to read.

Frustrated over this lack of voice and the power that comes with it, I approached several other Indian American bloggers that I regularly read and proposed that we collaborate to fill the vacuum.  Why not create a site that combined the individual efforts of some talented young voices, and then proceed to write about topics that entertained, educated, and inspired?  Manish Vij, Anna John, Vinod Vallapollili, “Ennis,” and myself, came together and worked out some technical details and a rough outline for what would become Sepia Mutiny days later.  Over the years, a number of other unique voices would join.

Priya: One of my favorite things about the blog is how tapped in it is to trends in music, theater, and politics, giving a well-rounded look at where South Asian Americans were entering into the larger American public-consciousness. How do you feel that this has changed since the blog began? What are some of the changes you’ve noticed?

Abhi: The main thing that has changed is that we can’t keep up any more.  Back then if a South Asian American appeared on television for example, that was a BIG deal.  We might have multiple posts dissecting various aspects of the appearance.  Ditto if it was a musician or politician.  Now we’re everywhere.  On some nights you can flip from one channel to another in primetime and see brown characters.  Two governors are Indian American.  Even my own cousin is running for Congress in Pennsylvania.  And all this progress in just eight years!

Priya: In a similar vein, in your post announcing the blog’s closure, you mentioned three primary reasons for shutting down: the first being technology, the second being the time to devote to managing the blog, and perhaps the most important–that you feel like the mission of Sepia Mutiny has been accomplished. Can you elaborate on how you feel Sepia Mutiny was able to contribute in part to the expansion of Desi voices in the blogosphere?

Abhi: Sepia Mutiny acted as a virtual town hall where three distinct groups came together to learn from each other.  The first group consisted of second generation South Asian Americans who were seeking a way to hold on to their ethnic roots by debating what it meant to be brown in America. Recently we have received many emails from people that said they felt they would have lost their South Asian identity completely were in not for the fact that they could explore and learn from other visitors on our site as we discussed current events that greatly impacted the South Asian community.  The emails that brought a tear to my eye were the ones written by readers that said there were no South Asians where they lived and so they used our website to help hold on to their identity.

The second major groups of readers were the first generation South Asian Americans or those still based in South Asia.  There was at first a “American Born Confused Desi (ABCD) vs. Fresh-Off-The-Boat” dynamic but our writers worked very hard to diffuse that.  A lot of South Asians new to America used our website as a way to understand differences in life experience and how to ease the path to assimilation. I like to believe that both groups learned from each other and came away better for it.

The third group consisted of readers who were not South Asian but married to or dating someone that was, or just admired the culture.  One of our guest bloggers even fell into this category.

Individuals from all of these groups went on the start blogs of their own, which is always what we hoped for.

Eight years ago, the initial writers of Sepia Mutiny came together and started something great .  Abhi, the creator, used to work for NASA and is now working for a private company that is hoping to be the next one to send American astronauts into space.  Manish Vij and Vinod Valoppillil worked at one point at Microsoft and are, as Abhi states, “always working on some cool new tech project.” Anna John, is a writer in Washington DC, and the final founder “Ennis” work in academia in the United States. Each of their voices, along with many, many other writers that drifted in and out of the blog, contributed to engaging South Asian Americans with each other.

One final question I asked Abhi was about advice to aspiring bloggers who may want to step in after Sepia Mutiny closes–through Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, or one of the many online magazines that document the lives of South Asians in America. His answer was simple and succinct:

Just write.  In the end it doesn’t matter how fancy your blog is.  All that matters is that your writing is excellent and your point of view, your “voice,” is unique.

Thank You Sepia Mutiny for eight great years.

Note: While the website will no longer be posting new content after April 1, 2012 you will still be able to follow them on Twitter @sepiamutiny for a little while longer.

Priya Chhaya is a public historian that works with the National Trust for Historic Preservation. She sees history wherever she goes and believes that it is an important part of the American (and Indian American) identity.

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Posted by on April 12, 2012 in Current Events


Shwetak Patel: Are You Alone, and Are You Sitting Down?

by Priya Chhaya

Last fall, Shwetak Patel was in his home office when his phone rang. The voice on the other end introduced themselves, before asking him: “Are you alone, and are you sitting down?”

The call was from the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation and they were giving him a $500,000 genius grant as part of the MacArthur Fellows Program.

Shwetak Patel. Photo courtesy of the John D. & Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation

It’s a prestigious award, one with no strings attached and involves years of undercover work by the Foundation before the finalists are selected, and at first Patel “thought it was a prank by my students so I checked into my website’s browser history and found that someone from the MacArthur Foundation had been looking me up pretty regularly for the last two years.”

Within a few weeks he found out he was in the company of other 2011 fellows, including: New York radio host Jad Abumrad, public historian Tiya Miles  (who is chronicling the relationships between Cherokee and African communities in colonial America), and jazz percussionist/composer Dafnis Prieto. Patel grew up in Birmingham, Alabama, and found himself drawn to computer science because he could easily create new ideas and projects that could be implied to many disciplines. His main interests focused on  human computer interaction, which looked at ways to make the link between humans and computers easier and more intuitive.

For example, the wireless router—probably the most common piece of household technology today, is not the easiest thing to figure out.  While many of us have become accustomed to troubleshooting it (unplug it, wait ten seconds, then plug it back in) we often end up having to call our internet provider anyway.  For Patel, it is “the number one returned object because it is so hard to use. [My] goal is to figure things out up front, so that it is immediately accessible.”

As described on their website, the MacArthur Foundation chose Patel because of his work on “inventing low-cost, easy-to-deploy sensor systems that leverage existing infrastructures to enable users to track household energy consumption and to make the buildings we live in more responsive to our needs.”

In essence, he’s developing an easy-to-use system that allows homeowners to track energy consumption in their own house without the need of a middle man, an idea that came to him when he “first work[ed] on new ways for sensing human activity in the home for applications related to elder care, but realized that our indirect sensing techniques could also be used for energy monitoring. I thought that was a natural application at that point.”

Shwetak Patel. Photo courtesy of the John D. & Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation

In a Wired cover story, Harnessing the Power of the Feedback Loop (July 2011), Patel further describes how technology could help with remote home care for the elderly—for example, how can you tell a bathroom light has been switched off, or that something else out of the normal routine was running, indicating a problem. His work led to the development of algorithms that helped discern frequencies of a light switch from a blender. These algorithms, in turn, continued in his work for the development of an easy-to-use energy sensor technology for homeowners.

Pretty cool huh? Part of why this is so great is that watching how much energy you consume is currently an incredibly tedious practice. It’s mostly a guessing game—tracking how many lights you leave on, how long you run your dishwasher, washer and dryer, the heat or air conditioning. Being able to pinpoint immediately which appliance is effecting your energy bill (and pinpointing where your energy leaks are) is a great tool for any homeowner to have.

So what does Patel plan to do with the money? He has lots of ideas, two of which include investing in a home lab and starting projects where traditional funding sources aren’t available.

As our interview wound down, Patel says that his wife predicted this would happen. About a week before the infamous “call out of the blue,” they were on an airplane talking about how some of his research had shown up in the New York Times. Off hand, and almost jokingly, his wife said that he should probably get the MacArthur award. A week later the phone rang. The rest, they say, is history.

Priya Chhaya is a public historian that works with the National Trust for Historic Preservation. She sees history wherever she goes and believes that it is an important part of the American (and Indian American) identity.

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Posted by on February 29, 2012 in Current Events


The Story

by Priya Chhaya

I love listening to the story.

We all have one, a narrative about how we came to America, how someone in our family made a choice to leave a home in one country and create a new one in another. While each of these stories is fleshed out with common elements, it is the details that make it unique to our personal experience.

Famin and her father at Disney World.

Famin and her father at Disney World, 1970s.

A few months ago I had the opportunity to talk to the retired Dr. Momtaz Ahmed, and during the course of our conversation I heard hisstory.

In 1959, Dr. Ahmed took advantage of advertised openings through the United States Information Service exchange program and left his home in Bangladesh. He heard about the program from some of his friends and applied to different hospitals under the exchange visitors program. Much of his initial decision to train in the United States was because the country needed doctors. Dr. Ahmed was able to train here and used that income to obtain more training in the United Kingdom.

What fascinated me about Dr. Ahmed’s story was that he came to the United States (albeit temporarily, initially for about three years) well before the quotas opened up in the mid-1960s, and so I wondered, knowing that the late ’50s and ’60s were important in the civil rights movement, how a new immigrant would react to specific events.

It became fairly clear early on that while these events were occurring, they had very little impact on an exchange student at St. Mary of Nazareth Hospital in Chicago, but in the process I learned a little bit more about the different ways that South Asian Americans immigrated to the United States As Dr. Ahmed states:

“In the ‘50s and ‘60s, the United States was heaven for foreigners. The United States economy was good, jobs were plentiful, and the salaries were more than adequate for foreigners coming from foreign countries. It was easy to save money and establish yourself.”

Dr. Ahmed received his green card, and completed his residency in the United States by 1970 and spent much of his career working in Veterans Affairs hospitals across the country.  By 1971, Dr. Ahmed was married and had a daughter, Famin, who experienced much of the same elements of a proto-typical life as most Americans. When I asked her about her father, and if he told her anything about his earlier time in the U.S. she said:

“My dad didn’t tell us many stories about living here back then. He’s not much of a storytelling person. I think I asked him once who his favorite singer was and he told me it was Petula Clark, which I found very funny.”

For ten years Famin attended school here before the family moved back to Bangladesh, only to return to the United States in 1990 following her graduation.  She says that she remembers moving a lot, and looking back on her childhood in the U.S. she recalls:

“I worked hard in school and was a good student. My mom used to teach before she married my dad so she would assign me extra work when I didn’t have homework-she was definitely a Tiger Mom. Plus, she taught me how to read and write Bengali as well as surahs from the Qura’an, and all that was in addition to anything they could do to keep me ahead of the rest of the class.”

But things changed once they moved to Bangladesh where:

“Classes were much harder once we moved to Dhaka when I was in fourth grade. I’m not saying this means I got a better education in Bangladesh than I did in the United States, but it was very different and for me, in many ways, much harder. I was lucky in that I had good study habits and was a voracious reader because I read the textbooks on my own and just taught myself that way.”

And this is where I found the story to be extraordinary. To some extent, the Ahmed’s “How We Came to America” story is a tale of three separate migrations—migrations that included travel between the United States, United Kingdom, Bangladesh and India (Famin went to boarding school in India for a short time).  A family story that spans four countries and forty years.

We all have one, a narrative about how we came to America, how someone in our family made a choice to leave a home in one country and create a new one in another. Each one is unique, each one has its own connection to a personal history. Each one of us has a story to tell, to share, to reveal.

So….what is your story?

Priya Chhaya is a public historian that works with the National Trust for Historic Preservation. She sees history wherever she goes and believes that it is an important part of the American (and Indian American) identity.


Posted by on January 12, 2012 in Family


There is Just One Rule: Be Funny, But Be Real

Vijai Nathan

Comedian Vijai Nathan

by Priya Chhaya

There is a point in Vijai Nathan‘s comedy show where she imitates her South Indian grandmother describing her favorite television show….in Tamil. All around me the audience is in stitches–my friend who understands the language is grinning, while I’m responding to the familiarity of the tone and body movement.  Then as if Lucille Ball was really Lucille Ranganathan, Vijai says the only English word in sixty seconds: “Ricccckkkkkky!”

It’s this type of layered comedy that permeated Vijai Nathan’s show “Good Girls Don’t, But Indian Girls Do” at the Capital Fringe Festival earlier this year. Filled with humor that is at times racy, Nathan tells her personal story of being an Indian American with a confidence of someone unafraid to own the two countries of her heritage.

The youngest daughter of three, Nathan grew up in Potomac, Maryland, a suburb of Washington D.C. She majored in English literature at McGill University (which, she adds was “OK with my dad, because he considered it “Pre-Law”) and ended up working as a journalist first for Newsday in New York, followed by The Baltimore Sun. After three years of being in “the wrong job, the wrong place, with the wrong fiancé” she found herself needing to find an outlet for just herself and took a course the art of stand-up comedy in D.C.

During our interview, I asked Vijai how her coworkers reacted when she put on her two weeks’ notice (almost 14 years ago) to do stand up full time. Her reply: “speechless,” but she recognized that while she was taking a  “slightly foolish” risk, it was a choice that allowed her to confront her identity issues as an “ABCD [American Born Confused Desi].”

When she first started, Vijai said her jokes were much of the standard fare—made up boyfriends, airplane food, anecdotes that any other comedian could do—because she simply wanted to prove she was an “American.” But, she realized she wasn’t being honest with herself—she wasn’t just “American” she was an “Indian American” and so Good Girls was born. With jokes that I would blush at if my mother was sitting next to me, Nathan gives an open portrayal of growing up Indian in the USA. For example, one of the segments in her show is about the time her father confronted the three sisters about losing their virginity. As she walks us through the conversation (complete with impressions of her father and older sisters), it becomes apparent that her dad is really asking her because of some “supposedly” discovered contraband in Vijai’s bedroom. It’s funny because of how realistic and honest it is, poignant because she has to decide if she is going to “tell the truth” and potentially lose her place in the family.

Making the switch to less conservative material was hard, since she knew that she might lose audience members before she gained new ones. But Vijai also knew that with any job—especially when it is something you are passionate about—takes hard work, especially since comedy is often about trying to convince others to engage with material that may be foreign to them.

This is evident when we talk about giving shows to audiences that may not be ready for her humor and honesty about herself, such as the more socially conservative South Asians. As we talked about a recent performance for an older South Asian audience, she made a discovery: even her choice of clothing can have an impact on how the audience will react.

“I usually wear salwars and kurtas when I perform at large Indian events, but this time I decided to wear an American cocktail dress and their reaction to some of my racier material was much more open. I think there was something about me in a salwar talking about dating or sex that made the audience think ‘I can’t laugh at this. She looks like my daughter, or my wife, or my mom…’” It was almost as if psychologically the way she dressed created a distance between her Indianess and some of the innuendo in her sketch.

Her advice for someone thinking about going into comedy:

  • Say yes to everything (just be careful that you are not being taken advantage of.)
  • When you start out you want everything to be perfect. You think you need the right clothes, the perfect venue, but you really don’t. Growth happens during imperfect situations.
  • The first few shows are like magic. They build up your confidence, and give you the energy to do the hard work that comes next.

Want to see Vijai Nathan live? More information can be found on Facebook, but when not traveling the country, Vijai hosts a regular monthly show in DC bringing together comics from a variety of places for a themed night of hilarity. The one rule? Be Funny, But Be Real.

Priya Chhaya is a public historian that works with the National Trust for Historic Preservation. She sees history wherever she goes and believes that it is an important part of the American (and Indian American) identity.

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Posted by on October 13, 2011 in Social Life


You Can Take It With You

by Priya Chhaya


A room once full of books, electronics, posters, and photographs now bare. Each item packed away into cardboard boxes that all look the same. Boxes, filled with nearly everything you own in two cars.

Moving Out.

Two words that mean so much more than just the act of packing up your belongings and transporting them into a new living situation. Here in the United States the traditional path is that kids leave home after college (or even earlier, after high school) either because a parent wants the kids to learn responsibility, and other times because the kid wants some independence. To feel more like an adult.

For Indian American children moving out, while more commonplace than years past, is connected to jobs and opportunities that are in areas not close to where they grew up. And having said that, for many female Indian American’s moving out is an even tougher decision—and much of that has to do with the belief that the daughter stays in her father’s house until marriage.

It’s hard to tell how many girls today are bound by that belief, in my case the rationalization for staying at home had a lot to do with saving up rather than any restrictions by my parents, but as I took that leap from home to apartment a few weeks ago I found myself wondering: How much of my “Indianness” is based on where I lived? I know for some Indian American kids that tug of war can be strong and combative, while for others remains a gentle pull. And as a friend recently reminded me, where you stand depends on how much of the ritual, the traditions, you actually understand.

In my case, after five years post-graduate school, I wanted to try to live a version of the American dream. I wanted to take care of myself, to be independent, to make a space my own. So as I put my books, clothes and posters in boxes, as I bought furniture, and cooking supplies, and took an inventory of clothes to take, and what to give to the Salvation Army, I also began to pack up my life lessons from my parents: doing aarthi before going on a long trip, actually making roti and daal on my own, calling India to talk to my grandmother—instead of waiting for my turn when my parents called. Habits and ways of life that I wanted to take with me without the prompting and encouragement of my mom.

As for things I’ll leave behind? I think dependency is one of them.  Living at home was never terrible—but I think it unconsciously limited me from taking risks and being spontaneous—staying in the city to meet up with friends for example. Sometimes being comfortable means that there isn’t room to grow, room to stretch, room to become what you want to be.

While it has only been two weeks, I’m not entirely sure what I’ve taken and what I’ve left behind, but I know that it has been a definite learning experience. Not to mention moments when you miss the two people who have given you all the encouragement and support in the world.

For those intrepid Indian Americans thinking of moving out here are a few things to add to the “To Do” list: Check to make sure you are within an auspicious month. Then if you are Hindu like me, be armed with statues of Ganesh (I now have at least three in my bedroom) to bless the house. My roommate who is from Chennai boiled some milk (a ceremony known as pal kachal, which is symbolic of the first domestic act in the house/literally a house warming), while my mother (we are from Gujarat) did a short prayer and left a booklet of prayers in the house so it would be there before I actually spent the night. Finally, when setting up your furniture bring a compass to make sure your bed is facing in the right direction—North/South is best.

Remember, while moving out is for all a way of “cutting the chord” that tethers you to where you grew up, not everything has to stay behind. That culture, that history, those lessons are parts of your identity that you can take with you into the future.

Priya Chhaya is a public historian that works with the National Trust for Historic Preservation. She sees history wherever she goes and believes that it is an important part of the American (and Indian American) identity.


Posted by on September 9, 2011 in Culture, Family, Identity


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