Those Curry Spices - Natasha Barsagade, senior

For most of my life, I steered away from being Indian. Back in the second grade, a little girl told me, “Ew! You smell.” My heart sank: What? I didn’t understand what she meant. When I went home later that day, I dashed to my mother’s bathroom, stole her perfume, and sprayed myself over and over.

The next morning, I woke up and strutted to that little girl with my hands on my hips and said, “I don’t smell now. I put on perfume.” But she replied with, “Agh, you smell worse.” I was crushed. What smell is she talking about? That day, I ran home and bawled. From that moment, I started to push away my Indian identity. It started with opening doors and windows whenever my mother cooked, ensuring the strong scent of turmeric, masala, and curry spices evacuated the house. Years later, my parents and I had become more distant. I noticed that even though we lived in America, my parents were still more old-fashioned — but I wouldn’t stand that. Hearing “Don’t wear that because you’re a girl” from my parents and “Be confident” from myself, I felt confused. I may have looked Indian with my café mocha skin tone and dark brown eyes, but I did not know who I was.

It was not until I was away from home for a month for my internship, where I started to find myself. Commuting to my internship, I could smell the freedom to explore and understand myself, so I observed people — the homeless, students, blue and white collared workers, and even a lady with short, neon yellow hair, bright pink lipstick, and a bold, artistic fashion sense that inspired me to see the beauty in what people may see as odd. I was given a new perspective.

I returned home and realized there is another part of me that I pushed aside because I wanted to live the American life. But I thought: Why not take the best of both worlds? My cultural reawakening began with my mother’s cooking. The way the spices — cumin, mustard seeds, cardamom — all intertwine themselves on my tongue, mwah! Every day, I walk with a busy pace in my 5 foot 1 inch body, in my black-heeled combat boots and skinny jeans, making my voice heard, empowering those around me to do better not only for themselves but for the better of the world.

I am still trying to find myself, but the one thing I do know is: I am forever grateful for my parents coming to this country. I may have a very opposite upbringing from them, but I believe in living my most authentic life. As I explore the beauty of my own culture and many others, I will always fight for girls to grow up to whoever and whatever they want to be. So truly, those “smelly” spices that made me feel, oh so, insecure, could not have made me who I am today.

The Asylum of the Mind