I relented as my Grandfather adamantly scolded me: “Go outside and water the plants right now.” With a begrudging reply, I got up, put on my chappals, and exited the house to do the deed. For the last 3 months of summer, my grandfather and I had been hard at work: planting, watering, and toiling at the seedlings nestled in the soil. We were blessed to have such a big backyard, where these activities were permissible. Looking back, I have to admit, I really didn’t see the value in it. My grandfather loved gardening and took great pride in the plants he helped to cultivate. He took great pains to pass down his love for agriculture onto the next generation. Despite his efforts, it really didn’t add up for me. I could not possibly see the ties between the ethnic foods growing in our backyard and my cultural identity. I also did not believe that the food I took to school was representative of my rich heritage. I did not take my culture and upbringing seriously: like the ethnic plants I was growing in my garden, I too was uprooted from my homeland. How could the back-breaking marginal labor I put into these plants ever be worth the reward they could give back to me? At the moment, I was far too ignorant to see how as I was shaping the soil to afford the weight of the plants, gardening was shaping me to afford the weight of my day-to-day life. I had too much tunnel-vision to see how the rich history of agriculture tied into my grandfather’s culture and passion for the past-time of gardening. I was too brash and impatient to conceptualize how agriculture was helping me grow. Over the past couple of weeks, we have been reading about Natasha Bowen’s experience connecting with food and her overall culture through her book: “The Colors of Food: Race, Resilience, and Farming”. Her quote: “We have legacies of innovative and cooperative agriculture, traditional foodways, family heritages and powerful stories rooted in the land,” greatly resonates with me as I have learned about my heritage through the plants I have raised in my garden with my grandfather’s guidance. I have greatly learned about my grandfather’s background through the veggies we grew. I revere the thought of my ancestors’ struggle because of my foray into gardening. Through overcoming oppression, hard work, and self-doubt, then only can one know the true pride of the contents of their legacy. To me, the only way to truly recognize your identity (heritage, ethnicity, culture, etc.) is to struggle to maintain it. This is a sentiment that is often echoed in the Profiles of “The Color of Food,” as well as many personal experiences and examples. Being tested on the grounds of who you are is a great way to become emboldened in your identity.
My grandfather was raised in a society that was well connected to farming and general agriculture. Growing up, I remember hearing stories of the family cow (Lakshmi) and how fresh milk was plentiful while my grandfather was in his prime. He reminisced about how far we have come from that time period. Nowadays, we are not as grounded in our agricultural roots as once before. Many of us don’t know the full journey our daily bread, milk, and eggs make to get into our fridges and pantries. This lack of understanding and oversight sometimes makes us take our food for granted. This is something I am especially guilty of. As a reaction to my misinformation of where my food came from, my grandfather started me on a project to grow and harvest my own food. This is a similar project that the author in “The Color of Food,” embarked on in order to get closer to her ancestors’ way of life. We started planting in late winter/early spring and expected to harvest in mid-fall. Different varieties of plants: gourds, squashes, herbs, and veggies all went into the soil. It was extremely time consuming and laborious at first: living in a dry area, we had to water our plants twice-a-day to prevent them from drying out in sweltering Utah heat. I struggled to see how my labor could take fruit (literally), but I knew that my grandfather was enjoying every moment of it. This was a good way he could connect to his culture and agriculture-based upbringing and share it with the younger generation. He planted many crops that grew natively in India so that we could incorporate it into our daily household cooking. Curry leaves, lemongrass, chilies, bitter gourd, and Japanese pumpkin all went into the ground. We continued on this path for months: watering often, applying fertilizer, and transplanting pot-bound saplings to the fertile ground when needed. After a tumultuous growing season with little rainfall, it was time to harvest our crops.
Compared to the upkeep of the plants, harvesting was an easy and enjoyable task. We collected all the beans, chilies, and gourds and used it to add an accent to our cooking. There was an extremely salient difference between fresh foods grown in our backyard compared to those purchased from the store. We gave excess food to our neighbors and friends in our local community, an effort that was often reciprocated. Most importantly, we packed the bulk of our harvest in a box and hand-delivered it to my aunt in California. After going through an extremely difficult pregnancy, my aunt cites these veggies for aiding in the recovery of her health.
Looking back on my experience, I remember how difficult that summer was. I remember giving all my effort into those growing plants. But when I reminisce on the satisfaction of my grandfather as well as the closeness I felt to my culture through the food we grew, the labor was quite worth it. I felt myself become more emboldened in my legacy through the struggle of cultivating crops. This is a similar conclusion that Natasha Bowens came to through her three-year foray into agriculture. She remarks on how agriculture brought her closer to her roots — I have to agree. Gardening had surely brought me closer to my heritage and to my ancestors’ way of life. The crops that we grew that summer, though long gone, left quite a ripening impact on me.
While I was growing up, food was a tough part of my cultural identity to reconcile with. I had been the victim of vicious bullying, especially for the food I had in my lunchbox. I was often questioned on the many culturally explicit foods that I brought to school and often had no answer. I grew up in a majority-white community in the suburbs of Utah. I was strikingly different in comparison to everyone else: I was vegetarian (before it was cool), I could barely speak English, and my upbringing was virtually different. I was often the only person of color in my elementary classes growing up. Not to say I did not enjoy my time in school, but it was quite obvious I was different from my classmates without me saying a single word. Experiences with racism and other races made me want to shed my skin and “just be like everyone else.” Where I grew up, I did not have access to many other individuals of non-white heritage so it was very difficult to learn about other races and ethnicities. I found myself wanting to lose my identity in order to blend in with my classmates. I was amazed by how quickly my lips forgot how to speak my mother tongue and how much I did not want to take cultural foods to school with me. I very much relate to the plight expressed by Elizabeth Acevedo, the orator in “Afro-Latina.” I was truly humiliated that I was not like everyone else and did my best to fit in. I found myself eating school lunch or even going without eating compared to taking homemade food to school. This was a self-imposed ruling that I took back in high school when it was far too late. Later on, I started to take a small amount of pride in bringing ethnic foods to school. I became deeply saddened that I could not speak my native language as fluently as I once could. One caveat of the evolution of my cultural identity is that going vegan or plant-based is an extremely viable option. In the past, it was very hard to sustain a vegetarian lifestyle. With new ventures such as Beyond Meat and Impossible Foods, I don’t have to face restrictions on what I can eat because of the contents of the food. Another silver lining is that being vegetarian is more socially accepted now. It is much easier now to eat out without compromising on a vegetarian diet than it once was. Through my struggles on getting bullied because of what I brought to lunch, I became more prideful in my culture because of the hardships I faced. The food I once got teased for became a great source of my pride.
I have a very complex relationship with food regarding the ties of my cultural identity. Today I am very proud of my Indian vegetarian diet and take delight in indulging in my native foods. I was not always this proud, through my evolution in cultural identity I have come a long way in reclaiming ground I once gave up on. Growing food in my family garden unlocked the power of my heritage and gave me great respect for my ancestor’s way of life. It also brought me closer to my grandfather and family back in India. Through my analysis, I greatly agree with the quote: “We have legacies of innovative and cooperative agriculture, traditional foodways, family heritages and powerful stories rooted in the land,” provided in the prompt. I believe that if I didn’t face hardship early on, I wouldn’t have the reverence for my cultural upbringing that I have today. This struggle to maintain my identity gave me pride in it that I did not have once before. Through experiences such as growing foods in my backyard with my grandfather, and facing bullying for the food I brought to school, I have truly found the value of food in my overall cultural identity through my perseverance.
