Tag: aunty

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20 signs you are definitely turning into a Desi aunty

[Image Description: Woman wears sunglasses in bridal wear.] via Pexels
[Image Description: Woman wears sunglasses in bridal wear.] via Pexels

Yikes, it’s not a nightmare. Wake up and look in the mirror.

Trust no aunty? Girllll, you’re officially the aunty.

1. You secretly watch Desi dramas and serials.

[Image description: Indian woman wearing traditional Indian attire and jewelry looking shocked expression. Face is zoomed in with dramatic flash.] via Giphy
[Image description: Indian woman wearing traditional Indian attire and jewelry looking shocked expression. Her face is zoomed in with dramatic camera flash.] via Giphy

The days of making fun of those dreaded Desi dramas is over. Your guilty pleasure is watching South Asian TV serials, zoomed in dramatic faces and all. When someone catches you, blame it on your mom. Yeah, she definitely forced you.

 2. You want to play matchmaker for all your friends.

[Image description: Indian woman with an uncomfortable look on face turning her head. The caption underneath depicts someone saying "Don't worry, we will find a good boy for you.] via Giphy
[Image description: Indian woman with an uncomfortable look on her face turning her head. The caption underneath depicts someone saying “Don’t worry, we will find a good boy for you.] via Giphy

At one point in time, you avoided the rishta aunties that had nothing to do but sat “you’re next” at gatherings… but now YOU ARE ONE. You just can’t wait to see all your friends get married.

It doesn’t matter if you’re married or have a significant other, but you need to find them someone so you can attend some festive events.

3. You have begun partaking in community gossip.

[Image description: Woman wearing a black T-shirt standing in front of a bar saying the word drama slowly to emphasize the word. The Image has the word drama appear in all capital letters as she says it.] via Giphy
[Image description: Woman wearing a black T-shirt standing in front of a bar saying the word drama slowly to emphasize the word. Image has the word drama appear in all capital letters as she says it.] via Giphy

You know, the same gossip you hated to hear when your mom brought it up. It now fuels you. You low-key love hearing about the community gossip, especially when you’re not involved.

4. You make everything a big deal.

[Image description: Woman in traditional Indian attire covering her ears with her hands. Her eyes are closed and she is shaking her head crying, "nahi" which means "no" in Hindi.] via Giphy
[Image description: Woman in traditional Indian attire covering her ears with her hands. Her eyes are closed and she is shaking her head crying, “nahi” which means “no” in Hindi.] via Giphy

Cue the Bollywood music, you are about to put on a show. Did that really happen? Nooooooo, it couldn’t have.

5. You love yelling for no reason.

[Image description: A little girl wearing a pink headband is saying, "why is she shouting?" She is squinting her eyes and holding her ear. There is a little boy in the background looking at her.] via Giphy
[Image description: A little girl wearing a pink headband is saying, “why is she shouting?” She is squinting her eyes and holding her ear. There is a little boy in the background looking at her.] via Giphy
Remember the days you would complain that all your parents do is yell? Well, little children now complain about you. Why are you yelling on that Facetime call- they can hear you fine. Your voice is getting louder each day and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

6. You can’t keep up with the latest slang…

[Image description: An older woman in pink traditional clothes is asking a younger woman 'What are you saying'. She speaks as she is gesturing her hands while the other woman moves her head in confusion. ] via Giphy
[Image description: An older woman in pink traditional clothes is asking a younger woman ‘What are you saying’. She speaks as she is gesturing her hands while the other woman moves her head in confusion. ] via Giphy

Times have changed. You used to think you were so cool when you’d say things like “lit”, “YOLO”, “slay” and “bye Felicia.” The days when you knew and understood current slang is over. You used to explain what “LOL” meant to your family, now you barely know what “GOAT” means.

7. …but you say things like…

[Image description: Indian actress Madhuri Dixit sits on a sofa in a pink sari batting her eyelashes while saying "oh ho." ] via Giphy
[Image description: Indian actress and singer Madhuri Dixit, with mid-length brown hair curled, sits on a sofa in a pink sari batting her eyelashes while saying “oh ho.” ] via Giphy

You find yourself incorporating Desi terminology into English sentences when speaking to your Desi friends. You may not even remember the English word for something, but know the perfect Desi one to use. You find yourself saying things like “oh ho,” “hain,” and “oof” often.

8. You find yourself disagreeing with Generation Z and, later, maybe even lecturing them.

[Image description: Indian woman with hand on her ear and moving around like she is dizzy. ] via Giphy
[Image description: Indian woman with hand on her ear and moving around like she is dizzy. ] via Giphy

Kids these days… You can’t believe what the younger generations are doing. Eating Tide pods as a challenge? Remember when your parents would start a story with, “when I was your age?” Well now, you’re in that boat. You might find yourself lecturing younger family members or friends on things you did when you were their age.

9. Suddenly, you’ve developed a taste for chai.

[Image description: Milk being poured into a cup of tea. ] via Giphy
[Image description: Milk being poured into a cup of tea. ] via Giphy

When you were younger, you didn’t quite get the obsession your parents had with tea. Suddenly, you’ve developed a taste for it. It begins slow with a sip or two not tasting so bad, then gradually increases to you making a habit of having a daily cup of warm chai.

10. You have a bedtime and physically can’t stay up past it.

[Image description: Animated woman in green dress collapsing onto a bed in her sleep.] via Giphy
[Image description: Animated woman in green dress collapsing onto a bed in her sleep.] via Giphy

The days you could pull all-nighters and stay up all night are gone. You have secretly given yourself a bedtime. You’d rather be cozy in bed and get a good amount of sleep than stay out all night partying.

11. You say the same things your mom used to say to you.

[Image description: Two Indian women, one elder and one younger move their hands up and down looking irritated.] via Giphy
[Image description: Two Indian women, one elder and one younger move their hands up and down looking irritated.] via Giphy

You have begun saying the same things your mom used to say to you. You catch yourself often sounding just like her when talking to your younger siblings or cousins.

12. You’ve started judging people’s clothes at weddings.

[Image description: An old Indian woman in a red sari with gray hair points her index finger while saying something.] via Giphy
[Image description: An older Indian woman in a red sari with gray hair points her index finger while saying something.] via Giphy

You never thought you’d do this but you find yourself judging people’s clothes at weddings. It doesn’t necessarily need to be a negative thing, you could be admiring them. But overall, going to a wedding can mean checking out outfits for you to pick apart to design the perfect addition for your own wardrobe.

You begin finding inspiration for your own closet by mixing and matching other people’s outfits in your head.

13. You find yourself cleaning…for fun.

A woman wearing a red striped shirt, jeans, and headphones dances as she sweeps and dusts the living room. Her hair, tied in a ponytail, falls over the front of her face as she cleans.
[Image description: A woman wearing a red striped shirt, jeans, and headphones dances as she sweeps and dusts the living room. Her hair, tied in a ponytail, falls over the front of her face as she cleans] via Giphy

You no longer dread cleaning. Sometimes you like to just take a day to clean up the house and make it look presentable. You may even find yourself complaining, no one helps you clean, but the real question is do you even let them? You’re beginning to like cleaning and think you do it best.

14. To your surprise, you actually love daal.

A hand is sprinkling coriander over yellow lentil curry in a gray bowl. Other spices are depicted in the back of the image.
[Image description: A hand is sprinkling coriander over yellow lentil curry in a gray bowl. Other spices are depicted in the back of the image.] via Giphy

When you were younger, it was the worst day ever when your mom decided to cook daal instead of biryani for dinner. But now, it’s not so bad. Easy to cook and kinda yummy, you find yourself liking daal and other vegetable dishes you hated as a kid.

15. Finally, your rotis are round.

A spatula is used to press on a roti (wheat flour flatbread) while it is cooking on a stove. The roti expands and fills with air as it cooks
[Image description: A spatula is used to press on a roti (wheat flour flatbread) while it is cooking on a stove. The roti expands and fills with air as it cooks. ] via Giphy

When that annoying aunty asks you if you can make round rotis, you can now answer yes. You have mastered the round and fluff roti. You take pride in it. You own it, not only does it look great, but you know it tastes good.

16. And you love feeding people.

[Image description: An Indian woman pats down flour in a measuring cup attempting to follow a recipe.] via Giphy
[Image description: An Indian woman pats down flour in a measuring cup attempting to follow a recipe.] via Giphy

You find yourself taking on the characteristics of your parents. The tradition of them wanting to feed all your friends to food coma continues with you. You love feeding people when they come over, whether it’s home cooked or take out you don’t let anyone leave hungry.

17. You’d rather talk on the phone than text.

[Image description: Indian woman with glasses holds a phone and shakes her head in disapproval. ] via Giphy
[Image description: Indian woman with glasses holds a phone and shakes her head in disapproval. ] via Giphy

You prefer to call friends on the phone over texting. It seems easier to share stories verbally than text. When something big happens it makes more sense to you to call your friends for a quicker reaction than text and wait. Why send a long text message when you can pick up the phone and call?

18. Your form of exercise is walking around the neighborhood.

[Image description: Four older women exercising by swinging their arms as they power-walk on the sidewalk. ] via Giphy
[Image description: Four older women exercising by swinging their arms as they power-walk on the sidewalk. ] via Giphy

You thought it was cute seeing those Desi aunties power-walk around the neighborhood swinging their arms in a sari. Now, you’re one of them. Whether it’s accompanying your mom, aunt or grandmother on a walk or going alone, you have joined the neighborhood aunty walking club.

19. You’ve started threatening annoying kids with a chappal.

[Image description: Four different women's feet with varying colored sandals being taken off. ] via Giphy
[Image description: Four different women’s feet with varying colored sandals being taken off. ] via Giphy

The scariest moment of your childhood was when your mom threatened to hit you with a chappal (slip-on sandal). You promised yourself you’d never do that to your own kids or anyone else. But now, you find yourself unintentionally using the same threats.

Your little brother bothering you? Your first instinct is to threaten to hit him with YOUR chappal.

20. Your dance moves have gotten, um, “better.”

[Image description: An Indian woman wearing a pink sari dancing enthusiastically on a beach. ] via Giphy
[Image description: An Indian woman wearing a pink sari dancing enthusiastically on a beach. ] via Giphy

You used to be shy to hit the dance floor during weddings or other functions. Whether it was because you didn’t have dance moves or cared what the aunties would say about you, you just didn’t feel like dancing. As you’ve gotten older that care is out the window. Your dance moves have gotten better and even if they haven’t, you don’t care, you’re gonna be the first one on the floor for all the aunties to stare.

Move over and make some noise, the Desi girl is coming through.

P.S. Being an aunty doesn’t have to be a bad thing!

[Image description: An Indian woman wearing traditional clothing while smiling and dancing Bhangra with Indian men dancing behind her. The words "Party Time" are printed on the center bottom of the image. ] via Giphy
[Image description: An Indian woman wearing traditional clothing while smiling and dancing Bhangra with Indian men dancing behind her. The words “Party Time” are printed on the center bottom of the image. ] via Giphy

Embrace the change. Party it up.

As much as you may hate on the awful aunties in your community and on yourself for becoming an aunty, you know it was inevitable. Let’s face it. You low-key know you wouldn’t want it any other way.

The aunties in your community made you who you are today. Who says you need to be one of the awful ones? Change the stereotype of the hating aunties and get yourself a woke squad. Be a proud, woke, feminist, bamf aunty that younger girls will look up to.

Let’s change the typical aunty from a judgmental woman you want to avoid to a woman you want to have as part of your life.

Congrats, you’re an aunty!

Categories
TV Shows Life Stories Pop Culture

When I miss my mother, watching this television show makes me feel less alone

An older and a younger woman, dressed smartly, stand side by side, looking perplexed.
[Image description: An older and a younger woman, dressed smartly, stand side by side, looking perplexed.] Via NBC

I was browsing through Netflix looking for something lighthearted to binge-watch, and I came across NBC’s Great News. I had heard that it was predictable and kind of silly, but I started watching it because it’s a show about a mother and daughter so close that they end up working at the same news station. 

I typically shy away from shows whose protagonists are successful, business-minded white women because, well, their lives are so dissimilar to mine. But even though Katie has perfect skin and hair, a steady career in journalism, and very few worries other than struggling to assert herself at work and managing her overbearing mother, I found myself liking her. She fumbles a lot and requires a great deal of support, and that’s a quality I can relate to.

I’ve always been drawn to mother-daughter narratives because I never had a positive relationship with my own mother. My aunt, who filled in when my mother was no longer capable of caring for me, did her best to give me the love and affection that I needed, but my depth of need soon exceeded what she could provide.

To some, Katie’s mother is campy and overbearing. But to me, she is the real hero of the show: a mother that would stop at nothing to help her child and had the presence of mind to know when she had overstepped her bounds. Each episode wraps up neatly with Carol realizing that she has embarrassed her daughter in some horrendous way, apologizing, and hugging it out.

Carol struggles with boundaries, and while it is a constant source of frustration for the child, it was refreshing for me to see a mother so genuine and doggedly dedicated to helping and protecting her child. Katie even complains constantly, albeit validly, that her mother is so involved in her life that she feels smothered.

I understand that feeling. My aunt was a helicopter parent too. But, unlike Katie, I realized early on that this involvement was doing more harm than good, and my efforts to address the problem with my aunt drove a wedge between us so deep that I learned to fear her. Eventually, I assumed that she hated me, and I began directing that hate back at her. There was never that outpouring of support and affection that is common on Great News, and it wasn’t until I started watching this over-emotive show that I realized how much I had craved it growing up, and how much I still need it.

I think, if I am being honest with myself, that the altogether inappropriate protectiveness that Carol exhibits towards her daughter was so appealing to me because I associate that sort of attention with maternal love.

I have to admit that I was an emotionally needy child that carried that same neediness into adulthood. My aunt tried really hard to fix me up with the bent and rusty toolbox that she had from her own traumatized childhood, but her feelings about having to continue to carry a stunted adult child surfaced one night after I had asked her yet again for the validation that I still can’t seem to give myself.

“Jessica, you are exhausting. You are just exhausting! It’s never enough for you!” she snarled at me, frustrated that I was asking for something she didn’t think she should have to provide a 24-year-old.

But she was right. Mentally ill children are exhausting. Mentally ill adults that keep pleading for exaltations of love and acceptance from tired parents are annoying. I am an emotional burden that my aunt has been trying to shed since she realized that she couldn’t give me the type of love that I wanted, but I kept pushing, I kept asking and begging and antagonizing and now she is tired, and she is disappointed, and she is done.

On the show, Carol never gets tired, and she is never finished with smothering her daughter with affection. She goes to extraordinary lengths to make sure Katie has as many wins as she needs to feel successful. But then, Carol’s toolbox is neat and shiny, filled with sugars and spices and the desperate desire to feel needed. She literally lives for Katie. That isn’t healthy or right, but I still watch Great News and think, “That woman loves her daughter.”

Carol is entirely fictional. I know that. I tell myself that when I find myself comparing my relationship with my aunt to Carol’s scripted TV relationship with her daughter. There is a lot about how she shows her love that is problematic. But she does show it sincerely and unabashedly, and that is the part of their relationship that I love to watch and that I yearn for.

My aunt and I barely speak, but maybe we can sit down together one day and watch an episode or two of Great News and laugh like we used to.

Categories
Gender & Identity Life

I’m Desi and my community thinks I’m “ungrateful to God” for choosing therapy

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When I first considered writing this article, I swayed back and forth in regards to whether I should do it.

Is it too bold of an idea? Can the Desi folks I know handle it? I could already hear their criticism telling me, “what was the need for sharing this?—some things should stay private.”

Growing up, my Pakistani upbringing indirectly taught me that a good girl stays quiet and keeps to herself. Naturally, I would rather not have people make assumptions about me based on the fact that I have gone to therapy. But no matter what I do, people will always have something to say, so might as well do what I feel is right.  Besides, why should I care about the opinions of people who judge those who seek help anyway?

It has always baffled me how many times I have seen Desis casually sweep things under the rug, especially when it comes to family issues. For children growing up in this type of environment, it’s very unhealthy. This factor alone leads to many issues which could easily be avoided. If we can prevent so many problems from happening, then why not do so? Out of fear of how we will be perceived to the outside world? I’m sorry, but that is not a good enough reason.

One time, I mentioned that I was going to my therapist, a relative was genuinely confused. She said, “What would you need a therapist for? You should be grateful for what you have and seek help from God alone.” While some of my Desi elders may be used to bottling up their emotions and acting like problems don’t exist, that approach does not work for me. Going to therapy does not mean I am ungrateful for the blessings I have, or that I am considering myself a victim. It is a form of empowering myself. It also doesn’t mean that I don’t trust God’s Plan. It shows that I have faith and want to try my best to do whatever is in my control.

Besides, if I did not have hope, why would I even bother seeking help in the first place?

In the past, I spent way too long trying to please relatives and elders, as that was what I believed was the norm. It was exhausting. Now, I can proudly and openly state that yes, I have sought talk therapy during certain times in my life and I refuse to let the stigma cause me to hide any longer.

What amazes me is how the moment one person “removes their mask,” it breaks the ice for others to do the same.

For instance, while having lunch with a family friend who I hadn’t seen for many years, I casually mentioned something I learned from my therapist. A couple of minutes later, she opened up about how she also meets with a psychologist but didn’t know that I was cool with talking about that kind of stuff. It was a sense of relief for both of us and it made me want to have more open conversations about this.

For me, going to a therapist is like building pieces of a huge, intricate puzzle together.  With each session, I not only discovered more about myself but also learned essential life skills such as conflict management and living in the present moment. I can honestly say that had I not sought therapy, I probably would still be a very anxious, fearful person. I would still be that people-pleaser who wanted to sacrifice my own happiness just to look good for others. Without therapy, I probably would have continued being needy and seeking approval from others.

Therapy isn’t just for people that society deems as “other.”  It’s for those badasses who fall but refuse to stay down. Therapy is for those who face their fears rather than numbing them or running away. For those who, no matter what pain has afflicted them, never stop trying to heal. For those who hit rock bottom but allow the experience to make them stronger when they rise back up.

I was thrilled when I watched the Bollywood movie, Dear Zindagi, in which Shah Rukh Khan was featured as a psychologist. Slowly but surely, there are movements which are trying to destigmatize mental health in the Desi community. We need more education on these topics, as well as some more open and honest conversations.

Research shows that over the past thirty years, depression and suicide have increased, especially among adolescents and young adults. Imagining the people we love so much ending up with symptoms of depression is heartbreaking. We have no choice but to normalize therapy.

To the Desi aunties and uncles around the world, please don’t be ashamed of your loved ones who are courageous enough to consider seeking professional help. Chances are, you may not have what they need, so please loosen your bone and let them go. Give them permission to learn about themselves with a professional who knows what they’re doing–with someone who is trained to be a good listener, act in a nonjudgmental way, and provide a safe space to explore oneself.

Therapy has taught me that it is an act of bravery to take responsibility for your actions, rather than blaming your circumstances. Maybe this is why many have a fear of sitting in the therapist’s office—because they are forced to be real. After all, we can hide from the world, but not from ourselves.

At the end of the day, it is up to us to decide for ourselves which choice we want to make.

Categories
Gender & Identity Life

Dear aunties, stop using my body for your gossip

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Under the dimmed lights of the wedding hall, bhangra music played loudly in sync to the rhythm of the dhol drums. My Muslim friends shook their hips on the center dance floor in the midst of a crowd of men, huddling their heads together in laughter and clapping along to the music.

I sat by myself at one of the empty tables bopping my high heels to the music, pretending that sitting alone for the second night in a row during a week of aunty-approved wedding festivities, didn’t bother me. I was dressed in a blue and magenta shalwar kameez. Neatly tied around my face, in sharp contrast to my friends, was a matching navy hijab.

That evening, my smile was my best accessory. It hid the dawning realization of my outsider-status as a hijabi in my Muslim community. 

I was holding back tears.

I grew up in a small suburban town in upstate New York with a modest-size population of Muslims, the majority of whom were of Pakistani descent like me. This community was an isolated bubble, sheltered from people’s lived realities, on-going politics, and rampant Islamophobia. Having attended Islamic school from a young age, I was taught a black-and-white vision of Islam: boys are haram, hijab is obligatory, and meat must be zabihah or kosher.

The conservativeness of our community was only enhanced by my parents, who began every conversation on womanhood with the word “haram,” or “forbidden.” The word was pervasive in their vocabulary and – although God-forbid anyone says it aloud – subtly associated with sexuality.

 Women singing in public was haram because of its so-called sexual allure. Women were forbidden from dancing in front of men because it was deemed sexually enticing. And for every strand of hair, a woman failed to hide behind a cloth was another day of punishment waiting in hellfire. 

My entire existence was perceived and understood in relation to men.

While most would rebel under these stringent rules and ridiculous principles, I embraced it. My strong belief in God’s goodness was enough for me to see the beauty in what I believed was God’s command. We were taught that God wanted to protect women from the uncontrollable gaze of the opposite sex, who make up 50 percent of the population. 

These rules were not oppressive, but liberating and cautionary.

During Ramadan in sixth grade, I walked through the front doors of school with a hijab covering my hair for the first time. Other than a few comments about my “do-rag,” my change in appearance went largely unrecognized by the student body. Ironically, the most ruthless comments came from outside school, from aunties in my Muslim community, the majority of whom did not wear the hijab at the time.

One aunty laughed, “She even wears the hijab in front of my son!” As if I thought I was a sexual muse for her son, rather than carrying out a religious mandate.

This was my first introduction to what I have since dubbed aunty culture: the innate need of aunties to voice unwarranted opinions and attempt to control the lives of everyone else in our mosque community.

The first time our community was exposed to the controversial idea was by Brother G, a trusted Islamic school teacher. Aunties and uncles came at him with knives and pitchforks ready to drive him out. There were threats of banning him from teaching (though he generously taught Quranic Arabic for free to high school students), letters of nasty words were exchanged (“third-world country” took on a whole new level of meaning) and board members demanded he explain his “extremist” textual methodology at an emergency town hall meeting.

The topic in question? Hijab.

Brother G concluded the hijab was never an obligation, but a remnant of a culture that gave birth to Islam. This kind of talk was unacceptable and it became the community’s sole mission to cast out all deviant voices.

Watching the unfolding drama revealed an entirely different facet of Islam to me just as I went off to college—one where people disagreed on the interpretation of the Quran. And so as I moved to Boston for school, I began to explore the multiple Islams through my Anthropology and journalism studies. Over a span of four years, my views changed and crumbled and my faith wavered in highs and lows.

Exiting the confines of my small town, I became frustrated with the hypersexualization of women’s body and hair. I detested the limitation of my mobility when men were present. I resented the discomfort of the cloth on my head, which never rested comfortably on my shoulders. I judged Muslim men who dared to utter the word hijab in my presence. I questioned the positioning of hijab in a continuum of gender and sexuality notions. 

And I hated the constant feeling of being “other,” both inside and outside my Muslim community.

Aunties – my role models, my mothers, my friends – became the cultural agents by which contradictory depictions of femininity were enforced. One day dancing was classified as erotica, the next day it was a measure of my religious progressiveness or lack thereof. Flexibility was not an aunty-sanctioned option.

The mosque had become a space of hostility and othering. Here, it was impossible for me to not question gender-sexuality norms and the role of the hijab in my own marginalization.

None of my female Muslim friends wore this simple cloth that is now a contentious battleground for political, religious and economic ideologies. 

They will never understand the burden of wearing your religious identity publicly, facing discrimination during countless job interviews, to overcome preconceived assumptions while conversing with a professor, or the fear of walking down a sidewalk after the Boston Marathon bombing.

Worse, they will never understand how it feels to be made invisible and under-prioritized by the women of their very own Muslim community.

I spent my youth desperately looking for someone to rise up and define a new normal among Muslim women—one that empowers relationships, emancipates the female body from a field of controversy, and embraces a spectrum of differences. 

All these years later, I’m still looking.

So as I watched my Muslim friends dancing at the wedding from afar while I sat, decked out and alone, I never felt so distant from my faith, my Muslim community, and the larger American society.

It is a paralyzing realization.