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Torn Between Two Identities

 

Text Box: Nivashni Nair was born in Pietermaritzburg and completed her matric at the Dunveria Secondary School before studying journalism at the M.L Sultan Technikon in Durban. She started her journalism career at the South African Press Association (SAPA) in Durban before being transferred to the Johannesburg office. Nivashni thereafter worked at the Mid South Coast Mail in Scottburgh before joining The Natal Witness as a senior journalist. Her interests include writing short stories for children, poetry, spending time with her family, and investigating hard news items. Nivashni is currently one of 1000 journalists in the world to hold the prestigious Development Journalism Diploma and am the latest recipient of the Rajasthan Pratika Award. Her Story At first the stares did not bother me. I attributed it to my “tourist” look. Of course, anyone with a video camera around her neck, a small 35 mm camera in one hand and a big map of India in the other, and dressed like she came straight out of a travel clothing advertisement, would be stared at. And then the day that changed my life forever arrived. I didn’t understand it. I was dressed in traditional Indian wear, performing the Hindu rituals at a temple on the holy day that Lord Krishna was born, yet people were still staring at me. I asked my Indian friend what was the curiosity surrounding me after all there was nothing different about me. I looked Indian. I am a Hindu. I follow many of the traditions. His reply was that I was not Indian. He said people stared at me because I did not realise it but I did look different. He said besides my accent being different, my mannerisms were notably different from people living in India. It was then that it dawned on me that I was not Indian and now two months after returning from my four-month stay in India, I have finally accepted my true identity. In all honesty, I never ever had the desire to visit India although it was where my great-grandparents came from. I always considered myself a South African while embracing Indian culture and traditions. So when the Indian government nominated me to represent South Africa at the prestigious Development Journalism fellowship in India, I was excited at the thought of meeting other Indians but I was nervous about retracing my great-grandparents lives. My first interaction with Indians was strange. In fact, it brought many smiles to people back home in South Africa. I walked into a classroom of the first year journalism students at the Indian Institute of Mass Communication in New Delhi, when I was asked by a curious student which country I was from. Startled that he did not assume that I too was Indian, I quickly replied South Africa. The entire group of students looked at me wide-eyed. I felt like I was on display at a museum and to avoid the silent tension I looked away. Finally one student plucked up the courage to ask me if I was Black or White. This time my jaw dropped to the ground. In my entire existence I was never asked such a question. Clearly one could see I was Indian. I responded that I was neither and that my great-grandparents were from Kerala, the southern tip of India. “Oh so you are a person of Indian origin. When I first saw you I thought you were a NRI (non-resident Indian),” someone said. I asked what the difference was and was told that I had no claim to India and that it was even surprising that I regarded myself as an Indian. I was also told that a NRI was someone who was born in India but emigrated. In a confused state, I went through the first month in India wondering where I fitted in. All my life I had prided myself on being a South African Indian with links to India. However, the general response to me in India was that I did not have any links to the people in India. I would often get asked about my family history but it was not as often as when people would sneer at me. I clearly remember the day when a group of men stared at me in the foyer at the hostel where I was staying. I then asked my Indian friend what they were saying about me in Hindi. “They are disgusted. They are saying that you are Indian but you want to be European and that you talk like Europeans,” he replied. That was a turning point. I decided to embrace my culture only it was not an Indian culture. It was a South African culture. I introduced my foreign friends to the delights of my country and became so obsessed with being a good ambassador that I once even shocked myself when I boasted about our tax system which funds “our ever developing infrastructure”. Despite fully embracing my status as a South African I still felt that something was missing. I then decided to take a historical journey to Kerala, to discover my roots. Upon arriving on the southernmost tip of India, known worldwide as “God’s Own Country”, I felt anxious. There was so much I wanted to know about, yet I did not know where to begin. I met a friend whom I had known for years and I was quickly informed of my status as a “Nair”. I grinned as I was told about all my privileges as a Nair. Now when I still think about his words I still find myself in disbelief. “As a Nair you are of a noble family and caste. You are different from others and you will be given so many opportunities, but you must always fight to keep our name alive. It’s almost like royalty,” he said. The shock of such statement was not as severe as the next shock I received. I was surprised when my friend called me to ask if his relative, a journalist, could interview me for the local newspaper. I was honoured as I assumed that perhaps people were intrigued and wanted to discover how people of Indian origin live in SA. I was wrong. The newspaper wanted to run an article on me because I was a Tamil-speaking Nair. I was surprised. Actually I was shocked. I didn’t think that it was newsworthy that a Nair was Tamil-speaking as I did not think of it as being unusual. However I was told different. “You should change. Your language is supposed to be Malayalam. Tamils and Malayalams don’t get on. They even had a physical war. Being a Tamil is wrong for a Nair,” the journalist said. After the most confusing meeting of my life, I went to my hotel room and phoned my father back home in South Africa. He too was surprised and reassured me that being Tamil-speaking was not a sin. He explained that when my great-grandparents arrived in South Africa, they were a minority in the Indian community. “So in order to fit into a community, they became Tamil-speaking but they never forgot that they came from Kerala and they tried their best to remind us of their roots,” he said. In the last month of my journey, I finally accepted all that I learnt about being an Indian or a person of Indian origin. I accepted it but decided that I, alone, needed to make a decision on who I am. A day before I left, I was presented with the Rajasthan Pratika Award for second position out of 13 countries and was asked to say a few words. I thought about it and then found the words. “I came to India to follow in my great-grandfather’s footsteps but instead I forged my own path. It was path that I took as a South African. I accept who I am and I will always be grateful for a fascinating link to Indian culture but while I look like an Indian, my heart will always be South African.”

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Indanspice.com  Originally Titled: Phenomenal Asians of Africa : Nivashini Nair