ABCD

Hair long, flowing. Shining. Face made up, clean. Smelling of that fresh, post shower, fruity smell. Loose, baggy jeans. Oversized t-shirt. Straddling both worlds. For her conservative world, her clothes were well, conservative, her face was always clean and ready for socialization, lest someone come to ask her hand in marriage. For her parents’ adopted home, and the one she had moved to when she was so young, she could barely remember how life in their country had been, for the new home, she was wearing their clothes, she was exotic, but spoke in their accent, with their language. In their slang. She spoke like them. She dressed like them. She did not look like ‘them’, but ‘them’ was constantly changing. In her generation, most of ‘them’ too, now were from other places. So she did look like them. It was a melting pot, and she was one of the ingredients.

She was what was called an abcd, a witty, scorn-filled term used by the people of the country she had left. American born confused desi. Did not matter if she was not born american. She had lived there most of her life. Did not matter that she was not one of the desis. They would not accept her. But. They would lay claim to her. Her generation, her type of people had adopted the term in recent years. Made it their own. American born cultured desi. Slight difference. The true desis would not get it anyways.

She straddled both worlds. She did it with such excellence that no one would have known. A chameleon, she had learned to be. When she was here, she dressed like them, she spoke like them. She was at home, she had grown up in this new country after all. It was her home. When she was there, she wore their traditional clothes, long, flowing shalwaar kameez, she did it so well because she enjoyed them and the comfort they provided: she did not have to act. She spoke in their language, she spoke in the way they had reserved for females, soft, mellow, head and eyes looking down.

She straddled both worlds. And no one would have ever known. Everything was perfect.

The common consensus for children born of two worlds is that they adopt the best of both. They can. But not if they are human children. Humans are imperfect. She was imperfect. In adopting both worlds, she became two. Warring sides within her. Not openly. Not to her knowledge. But she was confused. She was cultured. She was both. Not within her conscience. Outside of it. Like she lived her life. Never being one fully. The americans saw her skin, and knew she was not of them. The desis heard her accent, and knew she was not of them. She didn’t mind. She was friendly too, friendly to the Americans but she was also cold and distant. She was friendly to the desis, but not friendly enough. She lived in stratified air, but also seemed to invite them all to join her in the castle above the sky.