While relaxing in the Cape over the Festive Season — a cultural import I have embraced wholeheartedly — I was able to muse, on the Day of Reconciliation, on what I have often had to suppress or set aside to fit into society.
Despite being educated in England at first-rate schools and universities, excelling in the English language and fully embracing many aspects of Western culture, I find myself questioning the effort and energy I’ve expended to belong — and the lack of reciprocity from those around me.
I speak and write English better than most native speakers. I listen to Western music, cook European food, and read voraciously from Western literary traditions. I’ve mastered the art of engaging in cultural conversations about all things English, Mediterranean cuisine, French viniculture and more. While these aren’t superficial gestures and represent a genuine appreciation for the cultural milieu in which I’ve lived for much of my life, this immersion has come at a cost.
I have for decades sublimated the connection to my heritage — the rich traditions of Indian music, poetry, philosophy and spirituality. Consciously or unconsciously, I have bent over backward to make others feel comfortable around me, to signal that I am not a threat, and to prove that I am one of “them”.
The frustrating irony is that while I’ve spent years assimilating, a considerable number of Western people I know have made little to no effort to understand my heritage in any meaningful way. For many, Indian culture is reduced to stereotypes — a plate of curry, a Bollywood dance number, or an image of yoga practitioners chanting “Om.”
Rarely do I encounter a genuine curiosity about the depth and diversity of my cultural background. Few people have asked me about the intricacies of Indian classical music, the profound philosophical teachings of the Upanishads, the poetic brilliance of Rabindranath Tagore or the deep spirituality of the Sufi tradition in Islam.
It’s not just the lack of curiosity that chafes; it’s the expectation that the onus is entirely on me to adapt, to explain, to educate. This imbalance is exhausting and disheartening, and it’s a stark reminder of how cultural hierarchies operate in subtle but pervasive ways.
Let’s be clear, I am not saying that Western culture is without merit. On the contrary, I’ve found immense joy and enrichment in many aspects of it. But I am tired of the unspoken rule that my heritage must be minimised, diluted or packaged neatly for the comfort of others. I am tired of being made to feel that my identity is a hindrance rather than an asset, or that my cultural expressions are “too exotic” to be understood or appreciated.
This speaks to the broader issue of cultural reciprocity. True cultural exchange requires effort from both sides. It requires an openness to learn and a willingness to move beyond surface-level engagements. If I am able to navigate the complexities of Western traditions with fluency and grace, why is it too much to ask for the same effort in return?
And so, I’ve resolved to stop dimming my light to make others comfortable. I want to embrace my heritage and share it without filtering it through a Western lens. I want to celebrate the complexity of my identity — the way I savour Beethoven, Ravi Shankar and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, or draw wisdom from both Virginia Woolf and the rich literary heritage of South India and the richly fused Indo-Islamic traditions of my past.
I hope that in doing so I might inspire others to engage with my culture in a deeper and more meaningful way. It's time to move beyond the superficial, engage with each other’s cultures as equals and contribute to a world where no-one has to choose between fitting in and being themselves. Many parties observing each other over bifocal lenses in a multipolar world would do well to understand this.
• Cachalia is a former DA MP and public enterprises spokesperson.
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