Confessions of a Basic White Girl
Greetings! Long time, no read.
I must admit that I became discouraged last month in my writing as I finally wrote a blog post which I had had in mind to write nearly since the time I started this blog.
Whenever I write something, especially knowing that it will go into the public sphere, I ask myself:
Is it true? Is it kind? Is it useful?
I think it is possible for something to be true and useful without being kind, but I do not see the point of publishing something which is true, but neither useful nor kind. The article which I had been so looking forward to writing was sadly in the latter case, and I found it extremely discouraging. That being said, I spoke about this with a friend a few days ago, and he suggested to me some reframing ideas which I may make use of at a later date. SO you can wait for that unnamed, over-hyped post with baited breath (as I’m sure you do, dear reader, with all my posts).
And now for something which I know is true, and which I hope is kind and useful:
It could be said by some, that when it comes to dating, I appear to have a type. I would agree that I do have a type of sorts which can be visualized through this checklist:
1) Must be interested/into me (very important!)
2) Must be physically attractive to me (I tend to like tall, skinny guys, clean-cut)
3) Well-educated and using time in a useful way (no videogames or excessive sports viewing!)
4) No vices, i.e. drugs, excessive alcohol, gambling
That’s pretty much it really, applicants to apply within (no euphemism intended, I swear!).
However, it has been posited by this unidentified ‘some’ that my type appears to be men of the distinctly Indian persuasion, which you can see is not part of my checklist. I suppose that this conclusion could be reached by the statistical number of past relationships with Indian men, which is rather high.
Friends, family and even the boyfriends themselves are in bewilderment of this pattern, and have posed a number of intriguing questions to me on that subject, trying to “figure me out”:
Do you have “Indian fever” the way some white men have “yellow fever”?
Did you just put your finger on a map and decide to only date men from that one place?
Do you have a brown skin fetish?
I guess you must have really loved someone who was Indian to cause you to keep rebounding on these brown men, huh?
Why do you keep dating us?! Indian men suck! Hell, I suck!
No, no, no, maybe? and I don’t know?!
My only explanation would have to be that I live in a college town with a top ten engineering graduate program, attracting a large number of Indians, and that some of those men fit the basic checklist.
I was a little surprised to catch up with an old boyfriend a few weeks ago, and one of the first things he said to me was, “Well, I heard you and your boyfriend broke up again.” I have not physically seen this guy in five years and we talk maybe every six months. Yes, he is Indian. He heard from his friend, who heard from his friend who heard from that person blah blah blah. I did write a whole blog post on my break-up called “My Path to Self-Destruction”, the most viewed post I have ever written. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He told me, “Rachel, you really need to be more discreet.”
So here I am, not taking his advice, and instead writing more personal details in a public blog.
World, you are welcome.
I have been dating someone new for about a month. Yes, he is Indian. He also fits that checklist I’m going to keep referring to up there. He would also die if he knew I was writing this. In fact, he told me specifically not to write about him. I won’t tell him if you don’t. For privacy purposes, let’s change his name and some personal details. I’ll call him Billy, who recently moved to town to work at a cupcake factory.
Having dated a few Indian men, I am familiar with many of the states. I know a few Hindi words here and there. I know the difference between a kurta and a salwar kameez. I can cook chana masala from scratch and offer you roti or chapati to go with it. I don’t really need the basics of India explained to me, again. Maybe if I was smart, I would let people go on explaining it to me, but I prefer to be honest and just say that I am aware of these things, if I’m not able to naturally work them in to the conversation as it is.
Either way, it can make for an awkward first date. It usually results in the question either in person or in a follow-up text of “How do you know so much about India?”. That is when I stumble all over myself to come up with an inoffensive and appropriate answer that doesn’t sound like I banged half of India (which is not true anyway!).
Billy didn’t run after I gave my answer. He did ask me if I was exoticizing him. Uh no. And we have moved on, although he often teases me about ‘all my Indian boyfriends’.
He treats me like a normal person. I am not a normal person, but I appreciate that he treats me that way.
Because of my experiences, I do not like to think of myself as that typical American who is only interested in the India she sees in the movies, presented for pity or spiritualism or even exoticism. Yes, I saw Slumdog Millionaire, and Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and Lion and Hotel Mumbai. (Did I mention I have a thing for Dev Patel?) I also know that this is the way film makers are presenting India to an American or Western audience, while not being the way Indians might see their own country. Also, India is so diverse that perspective can change drastically from person to person. (I imagine. I have never been to India.)
Several months ago, my Indian ex-boyfriend and I (pre-break up) were invited for lunch at the home of an older couple of my acquaintance. Since retiring, they have taken the opportunity to travel the world. After learning that my ex was from Mumbai, they excitedly began to show him photos from their trip to India. The last items they showed us were photos of their visit to Dharavi, a subsection of Mumbai, and one of the largest slums in Asia. They proudly explained that this was the very slum featured in the film Slumdog Millionaire, which had prompted them to visit the site.
They also explained that they do not like to carry clothes while traveling, and normally give them away or donate them before returning home. They decided that Dharavi was the ideal place to donate their unneeded clothing. The last item they showed us was a video of their tour guide passing out the clothes, item by item to impoverished people who were fighting and shoving one another to get a chance at the used clothes. The couple narrated as though it were a sporting event, “There went one of his shirts! Oh yes, that’s one of her dresses!”
These people are highly-respected members of the community, known for their charitable giving and hospitality; people who I think very highly of, but they just didn’t get it. They visited an area of mass-poverty and suffering as though it were a Hollywood film set, and exploited the desperation of these suffering people to have a good story and video to show friends at home.
That is not who and what I want to be.
I was pretty proud when an Indian friend (just a friend!) introduced me to his roommate saying,
“This is Rachel. She’s basically Indian, she just doesn’t look it.”
That was a moment which has stuck with me far longer than it probably stuck with him, and has given me some level of peace that my level of cultural sensitivity is at a good place.
I only have one thing going against me, and it is not even something I have done. Now forever in the public memory, is that New York Times bestselling book Eat, Pray, Love: One privileged white woman’s journey through India to find herself (I added the sub-header).
Since the printing of this book and subsequent film adaptation staring Julia Roberts, every basic bitch with a credit card is heading off to India for a week at an ashram. The poorer or less brave basic bitches might not go that far, but you will see them with their yoga mats, mantras, cleanses and so on. I’m sure you have seen the type.
*Do pardon my occasional vulgar language in this post. I assure it will not be a frequent offender. Basic Bitch is actually a term in the modern vernacular defined as: Someone who is unflinchingly upholding of the status quo and stereotypes of their gender without even realizing it. She engages in typical, unoriginal behaviors, modes of dress, speech, and likes. She is tragically/laughably unaware of her utter lack of specialness and intrigue. She believers herself to be unique, fly, amazing, and a complete catch, when really she is boring, painfully normal, and par. She believes her experiences to be crazy, wild, and different or somehow more special than everything that everybody else is doing, when really, almost everyone is doing or has done the exact same thing. Thanks Urban Dictionary!
This too is not who and what I want to be.
Unfortunately, while perusing the 50ȼ bargain bin at my local thrift store, I may have stumbled upon this very book and decided to buy it. Something about the air in those places…that Macklemore song starts playing in my head, and I go a little crazy, ok? I didn’t read it or anything. I just had it.
Well, ever sarcastic, Billy the cupcake factory worker said to me, “I bet Eat, Pray, Love is your favorite book and you have read it twenty times.” I was able to very primly and superiorly respond that neither had I read nor seen it, a true statement, as it starred at me from the bookshelf across the room. And it has continued to stare at me these three weeks at least, usually a sign that I need to read it. I found myself in a quandary: if I take it out and read it at home, Billy will surely see it on my nightstand and start judging me and dump me forever. Therefore, I decided that I must read it in secret and store it in a place that Billy would not see it. (Writing about it in a blog on the internet will also insure that he never knows.)
And so, as of today, it became my official lunch-break read. I have read something like 21 pages, and I must admit that it gave me all the feels in all the right places. A woman decides to leave her husband and suffers a cruel divorce while simultaneously discovering that she is a co-dependent love addict. For the first time in her life, she decides to pray and experiences important spiritual growth.
On some level, that is so who I am for the past two years, but that is not who I want to be.
I am only twenty-something pages in, and now I get it, and we haven’t even gotten to the India part. This realization is giving me some serious cognitive dissonance. Was I basic all along? Is being basic just a part of being white? What is my life?!
Wait, self: You only read twenty-something pages. They could be amazing while the rest of the book is rubbish. Take it easy.
It is my hope over this upcoming month to read the whole thing, and think about how it challenges my views of religion, culture and self. I am also hoping that in my responses to the book, I can work out what is my best path moving forward through the trauma of abuse and divorce. Does that make me basic? Maybe, let’s see. I’ll answer that at the end of this.
Thank you for granting me this very long read, and I hope you can join me for this journey this month.
