Not your “Good Indian Girl”

An intimate look into how young Indian women are rewriting cultural expectations

(Image by James Ranieri via Pexels)

In the year 2005, in whichever month it may have been, you were born. You have a great childhood, where you’re just like every other kid around you, playing outside in the summer heat and enjoying ice cream with your friends. Except, it’s different because you’re an Indian girl. You don’t spend as much time outside because you need to be back in time to help prepare dinner. You can’t join clubs because you need to go straight home after school to have the laundry done in time for tomorrow. 

Every day, you’re indulged in something different around the house while you watch your brother play. You would die for the chance to just sit down and read a book, go to that extra class, or  join that dance club. You come home with perfect scores and grades with praise from your teachers—but that doesn’t matter. Your family is too busy comforting your brother, who’s barely passing his classes. You want to apply to the top school in America to pursue a career in journalism and travel the world to tell stories. But that doesn’t matter—you can’t leave. Who’s going to make dinner? Who's going to take care of the household? Then, you’re 20. Forget finishing university, it’s time to start thinking about getting married. You won’t have much time for anything after that. Someone needs to take care of all the household work, and it can’t be anyone else other than the Indian girl, can it?

Indian girl. That term may appear ordinary, but it holds centuries of expectations for Indian girls have to meet  in order to be “accepted” into society. It determines what we’re allowed to do, wear and even how we’re supposed to act. I don’t want to be the typical doctor or engineer that is seen as the only pathway to success. I want to become a travel journalist while also pursuing dance. I don’t want to get married at the age of 22 and be in charge of another household. I want to stay in school like my peers. However, for Indian women who want to pursue their dreams, ambition comes with a silent condition: succeed or else.

Against the odds, my sister, Alisha Gera, succeeded, but not without some “or else” moments. “The biggest challenge for me would have been choosing [my] the career path. Not all the career paths are okay being in an Indian family. Like, you just can't go to the fashion world straight away; [your] parents won't understand that, your family wouldn't understand,” said Gera. That didn’t mean she gave up. She kept trying after being rejected from the company she wanted, hearing her parents say “I told you so." She kept trying after moving across the country to come to Canada with barely nothing in her hands. She kept trying after working day and night to fulfill her goals. And now, at the age of 30, she’s happily married to a partner she chose while being a software and data analysis coordinator and running her own painting business of creating art prints and house decor on the side

Indian women need to portray two different personas. The first persona is the identity of who they believe themselves to be based upon the inflicted opinions and expectations that often take root within their bodies. 

The first persona is how one sees themselves, their characteristics, likes, and dislikes all shaping who they are which still holds them back due to the cultural expectations. The second persona is the “perfect Indian girl” shaped by predetermined standards, most often showcased within the presence (and gossip) of relatives and aunties. 

When it comes to women in Indian culture, our practices are beyond  just tradition; they are a responsibility and performance that is rooted in our daily lives. It is the way that we have grown up  prioritizing family reputation and endurance. I am supposed to be ambitious but not too intimidating. I am supposed to be independent, but also supposed to do what I am “told” to do. If I wear a top that’s “too revealing”, people say, “I have no shame,” but wearing a lehengha that is almost entirely backless and cropped is perfectly fine. If I get a boyfriend instead of being in an arranged marriage, I’ve disgraced the entire family name. 

I often forget what I am capable of—consumed by the fear of all these expectations of who I am supposed to be. But the more I keep going forward, the more I realize my aspiration is not being selfish; it's my cultural inheritance in a different form that represents my true self. My hard work and appreciation for cultural practices is what defines me. Not my choice of career or clothing. As we move along in our lives, it's our aspiration that sets the example for future generations to come: that we are worth more than we are deemed to be and that we, too, are able to put our careers first before the pursuit of marriage and children. Because at the end of the day, I am an Indian woman, just not the way you want me to be.