The Taste of Ginger

by Mansi Shah

I’d tried desperately to convince Alex that we could make long distance work. I was certain we could make the best of any situation. But he had known he would not be happy with flying back and forth across the country every other weekend. He’d tried it with a past girlfriend and seen so many of his colleagues try that and knew it usually ended with someone feeling alienated and alone.

Truth.

I couldn’t help thinking that family was a feeling more than genetics.

What would have been different if we’d shared those struggles with each other rather than growing apart because we didn’t trust the other to handle the truth?

“Every culture has a caste system, even if they don’t call it that.” He chuckled and said, “Including your precious America. And definitely Australia.” There was truth to what he was saying. There were degrees of segregation everywhere, and America’s was color based, while India’s was caste based, given that on the surface everyone looked the same. Even my law firm had a hierarchy, and when I had quit, my limitations within that hierarchy became clearer.

“Only white people say they’re color blind like it’s a good thing. I’ve known what color I and everyone around me were since the day I moved to America. When you’re not at the top of a social hierarchy, you notice everything about the ones who are. So when a white person says they are color blind, it makes me feel like they are treating me as if I’m white rather than what I am. Like I’m not going to be demoted for being brown. It’s not the same as saying my brownness is equal to your whiteness.”

It’s a collectivist culture for a reason, and I can’t waltz in and spread my American individualist attitude around without thinking about the repercussions.”