Roses, sandalwood, the musk of turmeric, the intoxicatingly sweet smell of cardamom and the distant sound of temple bells ringing. These are just some of the things that make India perfect to me. My cousins and I walk by their apartment complex in hopes of seeing our beloved momo stand, ending the night grabbing ice cream at the local Mother Dairy. These nights spent with my cousins in India at fourteen years old were the most normal I felt.

Unfortunately, those days of normalcy ended the second I opened my eyes. Once again I found myself waking up to the sound of my phone ringing, with notifications of my recommended page taking a new cultural tradition of mine out of context.

Places I considered sanctuary from elaborately designed temples, the walls engraved with the fingerprints of thousands of souls who walked, ran and played in this nostalgia-like place. Only to be reduced to being called strange, and alien-like by users who knew nothing but social media’s fabricated reality.

All the comments read the same story. But for some reason every time I would search tirelessly for someone, literally anyone who could defend me and other Indian kids who grew up living in fear of their heritage from the constant backlash.

As I moved into my junior year of high school, I found myself disconnecting myself from my traditions in fear. Not because I was scared of messing something up, but because I was terrified of being judged by people who only saw the media’s views of the things that I called home.

The more I strayed away, the more insulated the walls that I built around myself became. The Om necklace I wore for several years suddenly felt heavier than a thousand stones.

The scriptures gifted to me all those years ago haunted the shelves in my room. Ironically the further I wanted to hide, the more I wanted to learn more about the ties to my culture and religion I was so scared of.

The lightweight Bhagavad Gita felt foreign in my hands, the pages slightly yellowed from the years of seclusion on my shelf. I remember sitting for hours on the floor flipping through each individual page searching for a sense of security.

Closing the book after reading each and every page, I realized that the book itself was a metaphor for one’s mind. The answers I had all along in my heart suddenly made sense.

Chapter 6, Verse 5: “Elevate yourself through the power of your mind, and not degrade yourself, for the mind can be the friend and also the enemy of the self.”

The closer I turn to being 18, the more I realize that, once you teach yourself to let go of things you can’t control and focus on what matters most to you, the more at peace you will become with yourself and your identity.

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