At a conference where I was to give a lecture on activism as a Pakistani woman, one person raised his hand and asked, “I read your tweets, your posts and I’ve noticed something: You’re very proud to be Desi. Why is that?”
It was a very direct question that deserved an honest answer. What makes me so proud to be Desi? Why do I speak about and encourage solidarity among Desi communities - from Pakistan to Sri Lanka? Why do I emphasize upon fixing our flaws for better public and private spaces for Desi people? What makes my heart bloom when I see people talking and singing and roaring in Assamese, Bengali, Gujarati, Hindi, Kannada, Malayalam, Marathi, Nepal, Oriya, Punjabi, Tamil, Telugu, Urdu, Malay and more? Is it our collective Desi history consisting of fearlessly challenging and fighting the British colonizers out of our lands? Is it our constant linguistic struggle against imperial powers to keep the beauty of our mothers’ languages alive? Is it the men and women in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka working tirelessly under lousy governments to provide for their children and their children’s children? Is it our amazing progress and development in various sectors somehow ignored by the global media because it doesn’t fit a stereotypical image of a “third world country”? What makes me, as a Desi, hold my head high and walk with a gait that is proud? The wars we fought, the cultures we maintain, the traditions we love, the norms we question, the constant and undying struggle?
Everything.
When a Desi woman loves her roots, she is telling the world she will never accept being a voiceless product of imperial, colonial, classist, sexist, racist notions of beauty, power, political correctness, success, and acceptance. She is proud of the innate ability of her people to protect what is sacred, what is precious to their heart; she is never proud of the rifts between them because that breaks her. When a Desi woman holds her head high, she brings with her the beauty of Bangladesh, India, Sri Lanka, Pakistan and beyond. She tells the world that her sisters, her daughters, and the mothers that raised them all, are as beautiful as those in the North, those who came here holding the fraudulent banners of East India Company. When a Desi woman loves herself and her people, she opens her heart to masjid, mandir and gurdwara. She is proud of Mohammad, Ram, Singh; Mohammad Ram Singh. When a Desi woman is proud of her culture, she is reminded of the young girl who is told through the glaring screen of her television set that she is not khoobsurat like the fair, gori lady in the ad, and then she is reminded of the same girl who grows up to fight those shallow standards of beauty, whose brown skin is rich with glow and beauty, but above all it is rich with rebel. When a Desi woman says she is proud, she remembers the voices of the freedom fighters who once toppled regimes and conquered hegemonic domains. She is reminded of the unity that once existed among her people regardless of caste, color and creed, and it still struggles to exist because of those who fight and write and speak to keep it going on. When a Desi loves her tareekh, she is forever aware of the mistakes made and for that reason she will always ask for the forgiveness of her brothers and sisters across the borders. Her pride comes from the diligence of her ancestors, her humility takes root in their follies. Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, another Desi, was right about us and our land mine hearts. Full of life, constantly beating, ready to explode with rich stories. Rich tareekh.
I thought I’d tell him everything, you know, in that conference. Time was short, people were antsy, cameras were clicking and questions were raised once more.
So I simply told him, “My Desi pride comes from blood, sweat and tears. It keeps my peoples’ struggle alive.”
For my brothers and sisters and everyone in India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Nepal, and the rest of South Asia.
