Bitch, you are doing the damn thing
So what then is the American Dream
Where My Story Starts…
I was nine, and the year was 1994. We arrived at 141 Old Short Hills Rd. in West Orange, NJ. The widely scattered red-brick apartment buildings of West Mill Gardens will forever hold a special place in my heart. I still remember that first meal we had—Bhaat and chola shaak, which translates to rice and black-eyed peas vegetable. To this day, it brings me great comfort.
The four of us—my mom, my dad, my sister, and me—sat on the floor of our kitchen, savoring a taste of home in this foreign land. We were smiling ear to ear because the flavors were so familiar, so grounding. That was my earliest realization that food would always bring me “home,” no matter where I was.
Although, as you will see in my future blogs, the word “home” has taken on many meanings as I’ve grown up.
The American Dream
My father had chased the American Dream, making strategic moves that had led to this very moment. The taste of that rice and peas that day was an affirmation that, in many ways, he had finally made it.
So what exactly is the American Dream? For immigrants from developing countries, it’s much like the Golden Ticket that Charlie so desperately wanted in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. (Side note: Back in my day, developing countries were called “third-world countries,” but we all know the world has since changed—because god forbid we offend anyone these days.)
Where else in the world can you truly make something of yourself other than in a country that has written this promise into the very fabric of its foundation? The Declaration of Independence, created way back in 1776, states:
“We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” (U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services)
The dream is that if you work hard, if you persist, you can succeed and create generational change. But what many immigrants don’t realize is the hidden cost—the rejection, the culture shock, and the constant need to prove your right to exist in a foreign land.
For me and many others, the amount of melanin in our skin can be the number one source of contention. (More on that in another blog entry!)
From the UK to the Middle East
My life began in the UK, where I was born. Unfortunately, I didn’t live there long enough to pick up that sweet, sassy British accent—the go-to accent Hollywood insists on using for historical movies, regardless of where in the world the story takes place. (Seriously, what’s up with that?)
Later, I learned that the British accent is a symbol of class and refinement, a sentiment shared worldwide. Why am I talking about accents? Because, as you’ll see in future posts, the way others perceive me—based on my speech, my appearance, my background—has played a huge role in shaping my identity.
From the UK, we moved to the Middle East, living in Dubai, Bahrain, and Saudi Arabia. Each move was another rung in the ladder my father climbed to reach the American Dream. My mother, on the other hand, worked tirelessly to create a safe, loving Indian home in each new place—through the one thing she mastered: cooking Indian food.
For my sister and me, this time felt like an adventure. We built scattered memories that shaped us in ways we may never fully understand. Childhood has a way of imprinting itself in your subconscious—tastes, smells, colors, and emotions all settle deep within, waiting to resurface when you least expect them.
Summers in India
One memory that stands out is our summer vacations in India. While we lived in the Middle East, my parents made sure we returned to the motherland every summer. Those months in India were some of the most defining experiences of my life.
Each trip was a whirlwind of love and indulgence, with aunts and uncles competing to spoil us. We traveled from state to state via trains and buses, and food was always a central part of the journey. But when I say “packed food,” I don’t mean a bag of chips or a sleeve of cookies—I mean full-out meals, spread across various-sized stainless-steel boxes.
Every Indian family aboard the train had their own feast, quietly judging which woman had outdone the rest with the best home-cooked spread. Because in India, a woman is often defined by her culinary skills, and each one defends her title with unwavering pride.
These trips weren’t just about indulgence; they were moments that solidified my connection to my Indian roots. At the time, I didn’t realize how much these experiences would shape my identity. But looking back, they were the threads that wove my pride in my culture and my heritage into my very being.
The Journey Continues
And so, we returned to that first Indian meal in West Orange, NJ—ready to embark on our American Dream. Our tiny two-bedroom, one-bath apartment was just the starting point. My father worked harder than anyone I know to propel his family forward.
If there’s one thing Indian parents instill in their children, it’s the relentless pursuit of success. We must succeed. We must conquer. We must build better lives, not just for ourselves, but for our ancestors.
From those humble beginnings, we set off on a journey filled with incredible highs, painful lows, and everything in between. Some lessons took me years to learn. Some wounds took even longer to heal.
But the greatest lesson of all? Shedding all the conditioning—cultural, societal, environmental—to discover who I really am. It’s a constant evolution, and it always will be.
This story—like so many others I will share—isn’t just mine. It belongs to the explorers, the wanderers, the restless souls searching through the archives of their memories, deciding what to cherish and what to let go.
These are the confessions of self-discovery. The blueprints of identity built through movement.
This is cultural creation in motion—raw, relentless, and unstoppable.
So keep up with my confessions as we dive into what it really means to break free from societal and cultural expectations. Because when we look in the mirror, it’s not about doubt or second-guessing.
It’s about saying—Bitch, you are doing the damn thing.
No apologies. No regrets. Just forward motion into the boldest, loudest, brightest version of YOU.
Chalo, hamesha aage chalo!
