Lately I have been feeling strange. I have been feeling some sort of disjointed identity. I am Indian, have always been Indian and have always been proud to be Indian. But in recent times, I realised that my idea of being Indian is very different from the next person in Singapore, and definitely extremely different from a native Indian. What does being Indian mean in Singapore? Singapore is my home, I was born here, yes. I feel patriotic and my working experience with the civil service was perfect. I let all my Singaporean patriotism run free. Will I die for Singapore? Probably, yes. And yet, when I hear the Indian national anthem, it strikes a chord deeply and distantly within me. If India wins something, an undercurrent of pride runs through me.
Why, I ask myself. My roots to India can only be traced a few generations away, more so with my maternal lineage. My grandmother only recalls her grandparents being in Malaysia and Indonesia. They dress differently in bajus and only wear sarees to weddings and functions. Otherwise, they speak in a type of Malay smattered with bits of Tamil and other odd words that seem unique to our ‘kind’. They cook in a very different way whipping up dishes that are partly Malay and Indian. They are Hindus but not very religious. This is in stark contrast with my paternal side of the family. There is a rootedness to India that is evident. While my grandmother was born here, my grandfather was a young, handsome Indian boy who came from Tamil Nadu in search of better prospects. Traditional concepts in language, caste and ‘pure’ culture exists with them, till this day. But I suspect they have learnt to let go. Their children married people from different roots and we all speak Tamil (thanks to the government’s language policy). I remember my brother and I being made to call my dad Naina (father in Telugu) after about 5 years of calling him Appa (father in Tamil). But we gave up, as it was a little too odd.
This is where my dilemma starts. What am I really? A Singaporean-Indian. But what is it to be Singaporean-Indian? Or rather, Singaporean-Tamilian. My roots are not Tamil, but I speak Tamil. Why? Back to the language policy. So all my life, I have learnt Tamil, felt Tamil, spoken Tamil and I’m not even Tamil. I watch SunTV and VijayTV, television channels from India through Cable. I absolutely love Tamil songs and Tamil movies and the culture. The frightening thing is that the culture is not even mine, not in my blood. This is probably why in recent times, I’ve been feeling some displacement and mild anxiety. I will probably marry a Tamil man. No, I want to marry a Tamil man.
Which leads me to the next point. A Singaporean-Tamil man? Or any Tamil man? The cultural shock value is quite understated. I know of friends who have married Indian nationals. Will there be a clash of values, culture, practices? What does it mean to be Singaporean-Indian? It seems that part of it is the proud declaration that they can’t speak Tamil well. I’m ashamed that I can’t speak my own Mother Tongue well, especially with pro-Tamil communities lobbying for more importance to be given to our Mother Tongue. But how many Indians can pledge Tamil to be their root language? Who are the Indians lobbying for this cause? I find it awkward to feel loyal to a language that was allocated to us. Besides, what is a Mother Tongue? Something that your mother literally speaks? Or a label pasted for us by presiding governance? And who decides our Mother Tongue? That is almost like having your mother chosen for you.
Tamil’s a language adopted as a Mother Tongue for most South Indians in Singapore because of the policy. Yet, I have Singaporean friends belonging to other sub-Indian branches who speak Tamil and have managed to keep their true language and culture intact- Telugu, Malayalam etc. They cook in those styles, they dress in those styles, they speak the language, they watch channels in that language and some can even read the language. And I feel displaced. Anxious.
Who am I? Where do I belong? I am most fluent in a language that was passed to us by the colonial master and my second language was thrust onto me by a policy. Thanks to the daily barrage of Western thought and philosophy and rationality, I have questioned a culture (to which I don’t belong, but have adopted). I question my religion, I question practices. Yet, I’m selective in my loyalties. The language Tamil. Indian clothing. Should I celebrate my hybridity? The marriage of the cultures of Chitti Melaka (also known as Indian Peranakan) and Telugu-Naidu? But how? I have nothing to fall back on. My parents are probably as mixed up as I am, and have no time to think of such things anyway. Which complicates things.
When I spoke to my maternal grandfather who passed away a few years back, he was full of pride for the British Empire. He insisted on speaking English and was very firm when it came to education. He read the papers everyday and only had praise for the British. And while I was proud that my grandfather was educated in Anglo-Chinese School (at that time, a school for a selected few) and then proceeded to work in a clerical position with the British Army, I think now, “Ah, he was the perfect colonial subject.” Which is painful in an odd sense. My paternal Telugu roots have also dissolved.
And now I’m back to square one. Why should this matter? I’m Singaporean. Globalisation, westernisation, rationalisation. All the –sations. And I am feeling terribly displaced.
