Anywhere but Trinidad - finding my cultural identity

When I was younger, I relished in the fact that I was born in London. My grandma dressed me in bonnets and ribbons to go to school, and we regularly made trips back to the UK. Growing up I was lucky enough to have broad, rich traveling experiences. The more I traveled, the more I knew that there was more out in the world than the tiny island I called home. There was more to see, more to do, more to learn. I knew that I wanted to be out there, it didn't matter where. Anywhere.

Anywhere but Trinidad.

Despite my background of being both Indian and Trinidadian, I made trips to different countries, read about them, my fashion was mostly western. I frowned and huffed at cultural events and Indian wear. They seemed like work, I didn’t really want to go and if I'm being honest - the outfits were so, so itchy.

I frowned at the food. I frowned at the music and filled my ears with American music, thinking I was so contemporary and edgy listening to pop, rock and keeping up with Billboard count downs. Often I’d hijack my grandmother’s music if it were Hindi, moan and complain if I had to look at yet another Hindi film. My father's efforts to teach my sister and I Hindi went dry. I knew my family history was rich, of Begums, palaces and glamorous nights of piano and champagne military parties under Indian skies but somehow I did not manage to be more curious.

As for my Trinidadian side, I begrudged Carnival, steel-pans, beaches and the very cultural sites that people from other countries flock to on vacations. What underscored this I will admit was that, growing up I was always told to stay out of the sun, not to get a tan, so wore lighter make up and wished to be light skinned and straightened my hair because, why not? In our culture, it's no secret that lighter means more attractive so I stayed out of the sun. Being the darker skinned sister simply emphasized this.

I wished to be far away and live away, perhaps somewhere colder but it didn't matter. Anywhere but Trinidad.

Well I got my wish. And migrated in the Spring of 2016.

View of Trinidad I took after a really emotional departure last year when my grandmother fell ill

I really indulged myself in the wider aspects of the world, I saw big things, was part of the big movements I always wanted to a part of and found my own identity as I navigated through motherhood.

In the journey to where I am now, there were cracks in my supposedly self-assured way of thinking. The inevitable smile and break from a pseudo-American accent when I heard a Trini in the next aisle of the grocery and greeted them like an old friend despite never having met them before. The mutual return to that same accent and recognition when you realize you're talking to someone else from the Caribbean! This happened to me in a workshop once, and it was so lovely.

The craving for doubles, reminiscent of the times I would be thinking of Trini food at the end of 3 week vacations - which I tried to deny. (I once sought out the only Trinidadian restaurant in Boston during my time there a few years ago when I was on my own).

Then, while I was expecting my baby the first craving was my Amma’s Kadhi and my Baba's spicy potatoes followed by phulories with tamarind chutney, Lipton tea with sugar and evaporated milk (I prided myself of having a little unsweetened soy milk with my tea before this) just like I had growing up. Yummy curried saime and roti, pelau, stews and Trini curries.

The more time I spent away from home I moved away from not wanting to be associated with the place in my new home to wanting to be known as the Trini girl with a rich, unique and authentic first degree Indian immigrant history.

I dove into my my family ancestry line- all the way to my great grandmother x 3 who built the first Mosque in Britain and modernized education for women in her time of power. Her name was Sultan Shahjahan Begum, and she was the begum (ruler) of Bhopal for two periods.

I now seek out the Trinis and proudly have been able to merge my new self with my original self, accepting the unique blood which flows in my veins.

I am a child of the world but an island girl at heart. Longing for crisp showers under the memorable Argyle water falls I went to as a child, Store Bay curried crab and dumplings, beloved rituals like Sunday morning Bake and Shark (with stops at the look out for red mangoes and bags of pineapple chow) refreshing coconuts at the Queens Park Savannah punctuated with brilliant lemony and pastel pink hues of blossoming poui trees, phagwa celebrations and lighting starlights at Divali Nagar. Making sweets, singing bhajans and distributing Prasad after sitting for puja. My childhood was stirring pots of Mohanbhog on Divali morning - folding raisins into parched cream of wheat and milk. Climbing mango trees and picking plums for chow. Attending cricket matches which I never understood- and lining up before 11pm to enter whatever nightclub was open at the time. Moonlit Mayaro nights eating Royal Castle and barbecue - collecting chip chips in the white sand. Blue green waters in Las Cuevas on days when we should have been in class and sitting at the airport gallery eating donuts and watching planes take off, true benediction after a night of studying medicine. A degree awarded to me by the way just for being a citizen of this lovely island.

Beautiful, blossoming poui trees taken at the Queens Park Savannah with the iconic Queens Royal College majestically placed in the backdrop.

How a whole nation would come together to celebrate our arrival, emancipation and interwoven culture. Soca music, beautiful calypso and memories of Lord Kitchener (famous local calypsonian) winking at me during horse racing Saturdays at Santa Rosa Park, where I spent my early Saturdays with my grandfather.

I used to make jokes that I can walk the whole of Central London with my eyes closed but I had never seen the Pitch Lake. Now I see that was a rather sad fact.

As my son grows in a new country, of a different nationality and time I find myself wanting to hold on to my origins more and more. To show him, to teach him, to remind him of his roots. The Trinidadian comes out all of the time in the food I make, when he’s naughty and needs to collect a bouff (scold) or two. My return to Instagram has shown me just how many other Indian women who have started to embrace their Indian roots, and whats even more beautiful is the fact that brown skin is being so much more celebrated now. I fully embrace my skin, my complexion, my Indian-ness, my Caribbean-ness and I feel so empowered by all of the other darker skinned women doing the same. Literary wise, recently I am leaning towards Caribbean authors.

I now cling to my roots, I’m proud of the place which I grew up in, which taught me valuable lessons of life, the meaning of hard work, culture and history. The place where my father moved to, met my mother and they fell in love. Where their ashes were scattered.

The place where I met my own love. Where my heart and family reside.

Trinidad holds the most special place in my heart and I know that if or when the time comes when I have to go back home when I am needed to contribute and fulfill the promise made to my country, I will return with joy.