Author: Forthrightwritings

Own Your Vote

Politics, Uncategorized

This is a letter to all the people I know and love who will vote for Trump in 2020. And there are a lot of you.

I know there’s nothing I can say to change your mind. I have no hope of persuasion. You have, at this point, chosen some reason or rationale as to why you can overlook his incompetence and blatant racism. Maybe you choose a lower tax rate. Maybe your identity in the pro-life concept tethers you to the republican party no matter the cost. Or maybe, it’s just your inability to push past the boundaries of which you’ve been taught to think. At any rate, I know there’s no changing your mind.

I can empathize with your situation. I too grew up inside a Republican, Evangelical Christian bubble. So I know what it’s like to be deeply ingrained in tribal culture. Afraid to question anything. Afraid to ask, is there a different way to protect life at all costs? Is there a different strategy for economic success? One that might benefit more people? And being judged for even asking these questions is worse. In the bubble I was raised in, these fundamental Republican beliefs are directly tied to spiritual salvation. To question the pro-life agenda is to lose your salvation in Jesus Christ. To vote for a Democrat would spark a targeted campaign to bring you back to The Lord. So I get it.

I can empathize with how hard it can be to make a difficult decision. But know this. As much as I empathize, I do not respect your decision to vote for Donald Trump. When given the secrecy of a voting booth you are telling the country that racism doesn’t really matter to you. That protecting your pocketbook or the life of an unborn baby is more important than ending racism in our country. And moving forward, I no longer afford you the luxury of being able to look me in the eye without acknowledging your choice here.

Please don’t mistake this strong stance as my inability to separate politics from friendship. This is not that. Politics is the prioritization of where we spend our money. A difference in politics might look like this:

“I think we should spend our tax dollars on better roads and schools.”

“And I think we should spend our tax dollars on the military”

A vote for Donald Trump is not simply a difference in political opinion. Your vote for Donald Trump shows me that when the rubber hits the road, you will choose what is easiest and most comfortable for you, and not step outside your comfort zone to stand with people of color. You choose to stay in your comfort zone and vote for a man whose policies make this country more dangerous for people of color and immigrants, and that includes me. And I, daughter of immigrants, first generation American and woman of color will not let this be brushed under the rug. Expect that our interactions will change in the future. I don’t know what that looks like. But we are both making choices in this election. You choose to cast your ballot in with racism. And I choose to adjust the way we interact moving forward. Both are choices. I own mine and you should be prepared to own yours as well.

Authenticity in Indian Culture (And Fruit Salad)

Dessert, Recipes

Okay guys, I’m feeling a little fiery today. Sorry if I come across a little…abrupt!

You guys, I want you to know that my entire extended family and our entire community in my parent’s home town think that my family is super normal and healthy. As I think about how shocking it would be for me to share my experiences growing up with some of the people who “know” my family, I find myself almost incredulous. How is it possible that people don’t know the truth about my parents?

My parents are masters at portraying a positive exterior to everyone they know. Based on what I have learned and observed growing up, Indian culture is built mostly around shame. They literally don’t talk about anything that would give anyone any reason to pass judgement. Growing up they put an unhealthy amount of pressure on me to be perfectly behaved. And for the most part, I was. The only times I remember getting in trouble is for doing things that I didn’t realize were wrong. And growing up as an Indian American in a sea of white people, this happened a lot.

I was across the street playing with the neighbor kids and they were barefoot outside. I asked why they weren’t wearing shoes and they said it felt good! They invited me to try it, so I took off my shoes and played outside with them. I came home and my grandpa jerked my arm so hard and yelled at me until I started sobbing. “Why did you take off your shoes! You never do that again!” And then that was it. No one explained to me why what I did was wrong. I didn’t realize why he was upset until I visited India for the first time at 24 years old. People who can afford to wear shoes, wear shoes. Shoes are a status symbol in India. I was acting like a poor person by going barefoot outside. No one ever explained that to me.

My parents are consumed with what people think about our family. They even have other family members duped into believing that the four of us, me, my parents and brother are like this super harmonious family unit. I mean, that couldn’t be further from the truth. There was never one ounce of harmony in my family growing up. I have cut my parents out of my life because I was tired of pretending that our relationship was happy. In order to maintain “peace” in our family, every single person in my family walks on egg shells around my mom. We have to make sure we don’t talk about anything that will trigger her into an episode of imbalanced rage. And I just refuse to do that anymore.

Literally no one but a few people in my immediate and extended family know how imbalanced my mom is and how violent her temper can be. And yet, if you asked anyone in the world what they think about my mom, they would use the words, gentle, loving, quiet, sweet, a good cook. And she is all of those things to people she doesn’t know.

But to me, she is a tyrant. The reason my childhood is filled with nothing but terror. The reason I live with depression. They call the type of trauma I experienced growing up Developmental Trauma. It’s similar to the type of trauma people experience in refugee camps. It basically means you were afraid for your safety for an extended period of time, like, months or years. For me it was my entire childhood until the day I moved to LA. And even then, her verbal and mental abuse could reach me across the country. When I think about it, I feel like forgiveness is impossible. But I know that’s not the truth. I will continue to process and grieve and forgiveness will come with time and reflection. But that doesn’t mean she will ever be a part of my life again.

Luke’s family asked me to bring a fruit salad to Easter brunch. I don’t love fruit. Luke is allergic to most fruit. I think fruit salad is like, the lamest dish ever. So, I bought ready-made fruit salad from the store and dumped it into a casserole dish. Doesn’t it look like I made it myself? Blah.

Easter Fruit Salad. I bought ready-made fruit salad from the grocery store and dumped it into a casserole dish. Done and Done
The red casserole dish really ties my dish together, haha!

Dysfunction vs Indian Culture (And GF Lemon Cake)

Dessert, Recipes

I’m still thinking about what about my childhood was due to dysfunction, vs what was truly representative of Indian culture.

Abuse is definitely normalized in Indian culture, but that only means that they don’t think abuse is abuse. Abuse itself is prevalent through all people groups. I think it’s also common that in Indian culture, discipline is always abusive, whether it’s emotional, mental or physical. Dropping hot wax on your kids while interrogating them on their recent actions, physically punching your kids into submission, screaming at your kids so hard they start to run away from you, hitting them with shoes, locking your kids in basements for days at a time are all things that have happened to children in my family.

I remember watching my dad twist my mom’s arm out of its socket during one of their many fights about money. My dad was upset with my mom for sending money back to her family in India. They were standing on opposite sides of our living room screaming at each other. My mom threw her checkbook at my dad in anger, and my dad stormed over to her and twister her arm so hard that it ended up being backwards in her socket. That’s not because we are Indian, right? That’s just plain dysfunction. I was in the room when it happened, and yet my parents refused to talk about it. They didn’t go to the hospital. They twisted my mom’s arm back into place and never discussed it again.

The next year my mom started to experience chronic pain in the same arm. She went to doctor appointment after doctor appointment but never told them about the incident. I remember sitting in every doctor’s office and thinking to myself, why isn’t she telling them about what happened? Not talking about this incident, pretending this incident didn’t happen and acting like everything is okay is 100% Indian culture. I think, anyways.

So, if discipline in Indian culture is often abusive, one could argue that a common theme among Indian culture is a lack of importance on mental health. I can only speak for my mom. She is chronically depressed. She is addicted to opioids. I think the opioids have caused permanent brain damage. She can’t draw logic from logic anymore. And she’s mentally unstable. My entire family walks on egg shells around her. We are careful not to say anything that would trigger an outburst. My dad’s entire world revolves around keeping her stable.

Also, I’d just like to point out that my family HATES the idea of this blog. They would be mortified that I am being so open about my family history of dysfunction. And even though I don’t play their game, I still feel nervous about publishing a blog that focuses on my own healing process. But this blog is my way of grieving and processing all of the layers of trauma and abuse I experienced growing up in my family. I am changing my family legacy by living in truth and authenticity and ending the generational cycle of abuse. I am so proud of the work I have done with a therapist. Indian culture tells me I should be ashamed of speaking to a therapist. Ashamed of my depression. And ashamed to be talking about my family this way. I vehemently reject these notions and anyone who tries to impose these standards in my life. I am 100% done pretending that my family or my childhood was happy and loving. Done.

Okay, I made a lemon cake this week to bring to a friend’s house. It turned out pretty good! I’m not a huge sweets person and this cake turned out a little too sweet for my taste. I’m just not used to eating this much sugar. But, my hubby and my friends loved it. Here’s the recipe I worked from. Gluten free and grain free too!

My favorite part was making the lemon curd from scratch. I had to take a whole lemon, rind and all, and boil them for 15 minutes. Then, cut them open and remove the seeds. Then put the whole lemon into a food processor and blend until totally smooth. So easy, and it added such an intense lemon flavor!

I made home made lemon curd, and it was so easy! This is a photo of me boiling the whole lemons, before putting them in the food processor.
Boiling the whole lemons

Next up…carefully removing the lemon seeds!

Removing the lemon seeds is an important step. Make sure to wait until the lemons are cool enough to handle.
So much lemony goodness 🙂

Then add them to the food processor and blend away!

Homemade lemon curd is the easiest thing to make. No need to buy it at the store ever again.
Homemade lemon curd! I feel like the Pioneer Woman!

I completely forgot to take a picture of my final product. But here’s a pic of the leftovers, haha. This was a relatively easy recipe and everyone really liked it! I would say, if you’re not used to eating things made with almond flour, you might not like it. Because that definitely gives the cake a different texture. But our family (actually only me, not so much Luke) is all about the gluten free life, so this was a really tasty treat for us to enjoy with friends!

Is this Normal? (And Chicken Wings)

Chicken, Recipes

I have been thinking a lot about how I grew up and my view of Indian culture. My parents immigrated to South Dakota and that’s where I was born. Because they chose to raise me without a South Asian/Indian community, they used the fact that we were Indian as a reason as to why regular white people cultural norms or rules did not apply to me. As an adult, now I’m trying to figure out which parts of my childhood should be attributed to Indian cultural norms, and which parts are just plain dysfunction that could be applied to any group of people or culture.

For example, abuse is incredibly normalized in Indian culture. I had a conversation with a cousin who is my age, grew up in India and still currently lives there. I explained the type of abuse I experienced and he started laughing. He compared my experience to his growing up, and I have to say, he also experienced abuse. He continued to describe what his wife experienced AS AN ADULT in her parent’s home, and I still can’t believe her parents did that to her. He then said these words to me, “I know your parents better than you. I talk to them more than you. I feel bad for them, that you are saying these things about them. Put yourself in their shoes. They think they raised such a successful person and now you’re acting this way. I feel so bad for your mom.”

Growing up my family members would joke about things that I always found strange. They didn’t sit well. I remember my uncle telling me a story about when he was a child, his uncle paid for him to get after school tutoring from a lady that his uncle found attractive. One day, my uncle decided to play with his friends after school instead of going to his tutoring session. As he was playing, his uncle came running down the street chasing after him. My uncle, the child, knew that his uncle had discovered he had skipped his tutoring session and was about to beat his ass. My uncle scrambled up a tree to escape him. And he was so scared in that moment that he peed his pants. You guys, that’s not normal. Peeing out of fear of an adult and their type of discipline is not normal! And yet my family laughs hysterically every time my uncle tells this story about his childhood.

My grandpa used to call my grandma “stupid woman or stupid bitch,” in their Indian dialect. My family laughs about that too. They joke about his temper all the time, but I don’t find this to be funny at all. He used to call my brother “useless fellow,” every day. And my dad never stood up to him. I still feel a pit in my stomach when I think about it.

My gut tells me that all of this abuse is Indian. And it doesn’t give me a great impression of Indian culture. Are all Indian families like this? Or is it just my family? Or is this just a combination of Indian culture and a complete lack of mental health awareness. Or do other cultures normalize abuse like this too?

Anyways…we made wings on the grill for dinner two nights ago and they were delicious! As we were marinating them, I realized I could have made up an Indian marinade for them! But I didn’t have any yogurt at home. And then I thought about trying to sub coconut milk instead, but quickly put myself in check. I don’t know enough about the marinades to be substituting ingredients yet.

Here’s the recipe we used for the wings. If you don’t follow Whole Kitchen Sink on Instagram you should! Her recipes are bomb. We used a Whole30 buffalo sauce instead of Cesar or ranch dressing. We also used the grill instead of baking them. But we’ve done them in the oven too and they turn out amazing every time!

We grill chicken wings in the summer and it's an easy, quick meal.
Yum!

I also made a bowl of Marinated Onions this week. I love them and put them on some greens with every meal. This recipe is from Teri at nocrumbs left. She’s one of my all time favorite food bloggers and a must follow on Instagram. One of the things I love about her account is that she posts about her relationship with her kids. It makes me so happy to see the love she shares with them. Sometimes it makes me sad too, because I still wish I had had that type of relationship with my parents. I wonder if that longing will ever go away.

Side note, Teri always says you should salt your greens. This is the first time I salted my greens and it is a total game changer! I might actually enjoy salad at home now, haha!

Chicken wings, a green salad with marinated onions and a side of tots. The perfect summer dinner. Easy and Fast!
I mean, who doesn’t love tater tots….frozen, from a bag, and delicious.

Thanks for letting me muse about Indian culture and abuse. As I’m closing out this post I’m feeling worried I didn’t get to the food fast enough. Sorry, guys!

My Brief History in the Kitchen (And Dhal)

Indian Food, Recipes

I recently made dhal. It’s a pretty basic staple in most Indian households when it comes to Indian cuisine. As far as I know, they eat it in both North India and South India. I grew up eating it multiple times a week. And to this day, it’s one of few things I crave from childhood. I never learned to make it growing up. Mostly because I couldn’t stand to be in the kitchen with my mom. The kitchen was her domain. She always complained that I never helped her, but every time I began chopping an onion, she immediately criticized and shamed my abilities. “Can’t even chop an onion correctly, what will I do!? How will you survive? Who will marry you if you can’t cook?” Spoiler Alert: Luke married me and we eat just fine.

The practice of cooking became an incredibly triggering one. To this day, every single person in my extended family assumes I’m useless in the kitchen. My London Grandma, who we all adore, continues to ask me, “Really??? Really do you cook? Are you sure?” To which I always respond, Yes, but Luke is a really good cook too. (It’s easier to give him credit).

Anyways, back to the onions. My mom eventually taught me the basics of Indian cooking via Facetime, while she was sitting in her own kitchen and I was safely in mine. I would stop her, ask questions, take notes and flip my screen so she could check the progress of each dish.

The most important part of any Indian dish is the browning of the onions. They need to be golden brown before you start the next step. And honestly, it takes a while to get them the right color. And if you brown them too far, you can taste it. It might not ruin the dish, but the taste of burnt onions is not great. Low and Slow. That’s the secret to the onions. It’s also the secret to a lot of good cooking.

Here’s an example:

Frying onions is base for most Indian curries. You should fry them until they are golden brown, as shown in this image.
These are about right

Anyways, my mom always used a pressure cooker when cooking lentils, but I live in 2019, so I use an Instant Pot. Here’s the recipe. It’s the easiest Indian dish anyone can make.

  • 1 cup lentils (toor or yellow dhal).
  • 2.5 cups water
  • One handful of cilantro, chopped onions and tomatoes
  • Some oil
  • One scoop of chilli powder. One smaller scoop of tumeric.
  • Half a green chilli (I use Serrano. You should probably de-seed it, but if you want a little kick, keep some of the seeds in there).
  • You can toast the lentils on the saute setting first, until your kitchen starts to smell like lentils. Don’t burn them or let them get too dark!
  • Then add the rest of the ingredients
  • Cook on high pressure (no venting) for 30 minutes.
  • PS: Weirded out by the vagueness of the instructions? Welcome to Indian cooking. This is how Indian women pass down recipes from generation to generation. So this is literally what I wrote down as my mom instructed me. I have become surprisingly good at eyeballing measurements.

Now for the Bagaar. Bagaaring the dhal is not exactly necessary. However, I think the word Bagaar literally translates to, “adding the spice,” so why wouldn’t you do it?

In a separate pot, put some oil in and start frying some onions. Again, golden brown. Fun fact, the burnt picture above is from my bagaar the last time I made dhal. You know… still learning.

Once the onions are golden brown, add some whole mustard seeds, cumin seeds, curry leaves and some dried red peppers. Just tiny scoops of each. Once the seeds are popping, the bagaar is ready. (side note, wait until your dhal only has about 5-10 minutes left in the instant pot.) Once the timer goes on the instant pot and your bagaar is ready, VERY CAREFULLY take the inside pot from your instant pot and dump the contents into the bagaar. There will be splatter. Stir, stir, stir and get all of the spices mixed into the lentil mixture. Add some salt and then you’re done! Boom. Dhal.

I had videos of each each step to document the bagaar popping and the pouring of the dhal, but WordPress is making me upgrade my account to upload them. So sorry, guys. I’m cheap. But I did manage to take screen grabs of the videos.

Pouring the dhal mixture from the instant pot into the pot with the bagaar mixture can be intimidating. Pour quickly and carefully, and use an oven mitt so you don't burn your hands!
Pouring the dhal mixture into the bagaar pot. (Note the oven mitt!)
This is what dhal looks like when finished. It's delicious!
Final product! See how it’s bubbling? It’s going to be super hot after you pour it in, but will calm down quickly.

Eat dhal on top of some Basmati rice, with a side of meat or vegetable curry. Or just on its own. I particularly love a side of gongura pickle or achaar to give it some extra flavor.