As a child, my father, Ashwin Rama, and I had little in common other than sharing a name (my middle name being his first). It often felt difficult to forge a connection with him, being a mama’s girl and all.
However, there is one thing always bringing us together: food.
While we have found many other commonalities between us since, one thing remains the same: my father and I are foodies. Seriously, we love to eat. Some of my fondest childhood memories center around food, such as the times he fed me a fresh bowl of sausage and peppers because I lost a tooth and Sundays when I would eagerly wait on the couch as he finished cooking some biryani.
For the past six months, my dad has been in India, missing much of my final year at home. At first, I did not think this would be a big deal. I have full use of the car and I can still call him as much as I want. However, what I did not take into account is that I would be missing out on all the delicious dishes he would make for me every week, nor did I understand just what this means for my sense of cultural belonging.
I never realized just how big a role food plays in my life. Beyond serving as a way for my father and I to connect, it connects me to my culture.
Those who know me know that I am very American-ized. I do not speak any native languages, I do not celebrate religious holidays, I have never been to India, yada yada yada. However, the most prominent and perhaps the only way I connect with my culture is through food.
Do you speak Hindi?
“No.”
Have you been to India?
“No.”
Do you even eat Indian food?
“Of course I do!”
For my entire life, food has been all I have to feel like I belonged. When my dad left, I began to realize the role he and his food have played in my cultural identity.
Now, with every phone call we share, I bring with me a litany of requests for real food when he comes home, which is often met with a chuckle and a “soon talli (an affectionate term used for daughters in Telugu).” Even my friends have gotten so used to my constant complaining that they trade lunches with me after a mere peek at my American food and their parents invite me over for dinner.
I have never been someone feeling a particularly strong desire to be connected with my culture. If I was, I was and if I wasn’t, well, no big whoop. However, I am grateful for the connection my father has forged within me. As inconsequential as it is, food connects me to so many things, including my culture.
I know there are many diverse students at Coppell High School, all with unique cultures. Often, I hear remarks from my friends who desperately want to feel more connected with their heritage.
Well, if these past six months have taught me anything, it’s this: sometimes it is the little things in life that connect you to a much bigger picture.
Appreciate them.
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