My immigration story is a unique, often misunderstood one. My parents were born and raised in Guyana (although my father took a brief hiatus in his late-teen years to Suriname, but that is irrelevant), and migrated to the United States in 1991. However, my history of relocation from one place to the next did not begin there. Instead, it began with my great-grandmother (maternal), who moved from Jaipur of Northern India to Essequibo, Guyana as an indentured servant under British rule. When she moved to Guyana, on the farm where she worked, she met my great-grandfather who was also from India (region unknown), and a few years later, they got married and gave birth to my grandfather. Often people do not understand the concept of Indo-Guyanese migration, but it should be noted that this story was shared by many, many of who live in Queens, NY today. Although the migration of my great-grandparents to Guyana was forced, they did not neglect their Indian culture and instead worked, through many generations, to preserve their cultural identity and most notably, religion.
My grandfather, who is the most recent descendant from my North-Indian great-grandmother, grew up in Guyana and did not have the opportunity to pursue much education, due to poverty. However, he worked hard and bought ricefield land, where he cultivated rice and sold within the markets. Years later, he met my maternal grandmother and married her, and continued his business of ricefield-work, while my grandmother remained a housewife. My grandmother and grandfather gave birth to 6 children, my mom being the youngest.
On my father’s side, the history remains unclear. My father was 1 of 7 boys in his family, who was very poor. Due to their economic situation, he was forced to drop out of school at a young age (in elementary school), and take up rice-field work as well (yes, he did work alongside who would be his father-in-law). As I previously, briefly mentioned, my father took a brief hiatus to Suriname to sell agricultural goods, and during that time, his father passed. With his father’s passing, so did the history of his family. Because of this, neither my father nor I were lucky enough to learn about the history of my paternal grandfather’s history.
Despite all of this, my parents grew up in Guyana and practiced, on the daily, Indian and Hindu customs such as, morning prayers in their home’s mandir (temple), cleaning of the house, preparation of fresh meals, worship of their elders, service to their community, cultural shows such as religious depictions and plays, and much more. My paternal grandmother, after the passing of my grandfather, applied for immigration to the U.S. for both herself and her 7 sons. Luckily, their whole family eventually received visas and moved to the U.S. However, shortly after moving, my grandmother was diagnosed with Stage IV ovarian cancer, with only a short time to live. However, having admired my mother from a young age, she asked my father to marry her and bring her to America to build a life. Unfortunately she did not live long enough to witness their marriage, but my father did marry my mother in 1989, and was able to bring her to America in 1991.
From my mother’s point of view, she had little say in this. In the year 1989, she was only 17 years old, and had just graduated high school, but her father did not allow her to go to college. Therefore, her only option was to get married. And so, my parents married at the ages of 17 and 25 (mom and dad, respectively), with the hopes of coming to America for a better life. Little did they know, this “land of opportunity”, brought just that with the great cost of difficulty.
1991 – My parents getting legally married, nearly 2 years after their Hindu ceremonial wedding.
1991 – My parents signing their legal travel documents.
1991 – My parents posing next to an airplane, coming to America.
My parents moved to America in 1991, as previously mentioned, but after my paternal grandmother’s funeral and their wedding that soon followed, my parents flew here with just $50 in their pocket. After moving in with my dad’s oldest brother, my parents soon realized they had to get jobs to support their living, and so my dad began with 2 jobs – a mechanic by day, Chinese food delivery guy by night, and my mom as a cashier in Stop and Shop during the day, and a cashier at Rainbow at night. Yes, that’s right, they worked 2 jobs, each. However, getting these jobs were not easy. My parents initially had a hard time finding work, my father with minimal (elementary) education, and my mother with only a high school diploma. But, even when they found work, worries remained, for my mother especially. Not being outgoing (yet) or confident at the age of 19 in an entirely new country, she faced immense discrimination (with her boss forcing her to work long, late shifts) and difficulty in the workplace. However, neither of my parents let their hardship discourage them. They had a goal – to buy a home of their own, to start a family, and they were willing to go any length in order to accomplish this.
After my parents were somewhat settled in America, my mother applied for visas for her parents, which they also received within a few years. After moving here, one by one, my mother sponsored each of her siblings, some coming as early as 1994, with the last of her siblings arriving in 2012. So, at this point, we barely have any family left in Guyana, only a few older relatives, just because they all wanted to chase the American dream.
Although all of this contributes to their immigration narrative, one topic that really piques my interest is that of Indo-Guyanese identity. As previously explained, many Indo-Guyanese people were the result of indentured slavery by the British, where there was forced migration of Indians to Guyana to work on fields of rice and sugar. However, to Indians today, there is a very large stigma that Guyanese people are not the same as Indians. While this stigma applies to Indians from Guyana, Indians are not as quick to label Indians from other countries such as South Africa, U.K., Fiji, Brazil. etc., with the same “you’re not a true Indian” stigma. I find this interesting, because yes, we differ in language and cuisine, because those are both factors that heavily depend on your direct environment, but custom and religion-wise, we are at the same level, if not better. Not to be biased, but the degree of religiosity in Guyanese Hindus compared to Indian Hindus considerably greater, in some instances, but there is not recognition for this. Personally, I know growing up, my identity as an Indian has been denied by many, because my parents were from Guyana. Yet, I continue to eat Indian foods, watch Hindi films, listen to Hindi/similar carnatic music, celebrate all Hindu holidays, and even make a yatra to India every two years to visit the holy sites of India. Although my Hindi may not be up to par, I still consider myself a Hindu. In this way, my immigration experience has been filled with difficulty from Indians themselves, and Americans.
In terms of my immigration experience with Americans, I grew up in a small town in Long Island, called Island Park. Being the one Indian, among 39 white students, in a grade with only 40 kids, my childhood was not easy, to say the least. I was constantly pointed out for not being white, and the events following 9/11 only worsened my experience. I now recall one young man, in particular, who threatened to kill both me and my family for being terrorists. I think that those experiences, always being left out (though children would never admit it was because I was Indian), treated differently, and having to occupy myself that made me who I am today. I am not one to tolerate discrimination, no matter what it is based on. I believe that all people should be respected, and their differences should be appreciated.
In terms of how, overall, their immigration experience affected me, I have never felt more connected to my culture. As I grow, mature, and begin to truly understand the levels of hardship my family endured to make a life in America, and subsequently build a beautiful life for me, I only gain more respect and gratitude for them. I hope to emulate their work ethic, persistence, and strong connection to their roots as I continue my journey as a first-generation American. I don’t regret any decisions I have made in my life, including those where I have chosen my own culture and values over the “American” culture and values. Although I do respect American culture as an American citizen myself, I feel that it is often easy to lose one’s unique cultural identity, the very individual identity that makes up the magnificent American mosaic of culture and diversity, and so I make an effort to hold on to the values and traditions that have been handed down from my great-grandmother to me. In terms of when I am an adult myself, I intend to instill the same Indian pride into my children, while also encouraging them to appreciate their privilege to be an American. Overall, I can say that I deeply value my family’s immigration experience, and I am happy that it brought me to where I am today.
