The ABCD phenomenon started in the 70’s and kind of petered out by the early years of 2000.
We don’t see True ABCD’s anymore. While someone could apply for a research grant to delve into the causes of their apparent disappearance, I will refrain from speculation in this regard.
In the 80’s and 90’s, America was teeming with ABCD’s. Indeed, that was the golden age of ABCD’s
Some Desi’s loved them.
“See, they are the true descendants of Mother India”, they would point to a nerdy 25-year old accountant touching the feet of some old geezer in a Hindu temple. “What cultural awareness! What spontaneous show of respect! And he was born and brought up right here in America. Bravo betha, bravo!
Most of us that hardly go to the temples and such would hear about this young man and wonder about his true status.
Skeptics like me would follow him around for days, finding him on a Saturday morning in a Bhagawat-Gita reading class, trying to hit on the priest’s toothy teenage daughter.
The same Saturday evening, he would furtively drive fifty miles to a topless bar in another town, drinking coke there, not beer, because mom would smell alcohol on his breath and disapprove. He would ogle at the strippers but decline any lapdances because that would cost too much money.
Now the skeptic would smile broadly – that’s an aasli ABCD – a true specimen right there!
Alright, alright, I just made that one up. I never actually met such an accountant, he was merely the prototype. But some others that I did meet definitely qualified for a true ABCD status.
ABCDs in love
Imran is the first one that comes to mind. He went to the college where I teach, had a serious American girlfriend, but broke up with her because his parents would not approve of her.
Next, he went on a nationwide mate search through classified ads, matchmaking agencies and such. (hey, there was no serious internet in mid nineties!)
As luck would have it, he hooked up with Asha, a Bengali girl in Dallas. The lovebirds cooed over long distance phone calls for a while. His parents grudgingly agreed to a match with a hindu girl, while her parents viciously objected to a muslim boy, so Imran went to Dallas where they eloped and started living together.
Pretty normal stuff up to here, but it gets weird after this.
Imran called me two weeks after he eloped.
“Things are very weird, Pronto”
“Really?”
“We found a nice apartment, and I wanted to get married right away. But Asha says we should get married only after both of us find good jobs, so that we are financially secure”
“Have you found a job yet?”
“I found a job as a bank teller, pays the bills for now, but it will take a while before I get a real job. Asha is still looking, but not very seriously.”
“A little strange, yes.” I said
“But listen, meanwhile, our relationship is purely platonic, Asha wants to wait until we actually get married. She said she loves me more than anything else, though! Tell me, what should I do?”
“Hmmmm.. .., run away, scram!” I said “This is not gonna work”.
Obviously, Imran could not abandon the love of his life. Two weeks later, Asha’s parents found out where she lived. They came to visit, and Asha’s mom started sobbing
“Come back home, little girl!” she kept on crying.
A teary Asha went back home.
Incredibly, the fiasco continued for the next six months.
Asha continued writing long passionate letters to Imran about how much she loves him and how she is gonna leave her parents soon to be with him.
Imran kind of went crazy. His parents finally sent him home to Hyderabad , their home town, for recuperation and a forced negotiated marriage. I have no idea what happened to Asha.
ABCD ^ N
Sita’s parents came from Medinpur, a rural district in West Bengal, way back late 1950’s and settled in Chicago. Sita lived in Chicago since she was born. An old-fashioned negotiated marriage hooked her up with my friend’s brother, Chhote, who migrated from India in late seventies. I first went to visit them in the late eighties, five years after they were married. An hour after I arrived, I took Chhote aside
“Hey, why is Sita speaking like that? She was born here, wasn’t she?”
“You mean the thick Bengali Accent? Her parents taught her to speak with all Indians like that. It’s a sign of respect, apparently.”
“You are kidding me, right? Heck, she’s got this perfect. She even said deenar taybool back there. Wow! Did you ever tell her that some people may actually be offended?
Chhote smiled, “like a hundred times.”
When we went back inside, she was talking to her colleague on the phone, a school teacher, in impeccable American English.
It was early evening. Soon, she showered, put on a clean sari and sequestered herself in the puja room for the next three hours
Chhote shrugged. “She does puja every evening for three hours, very religious you know”.
We had a late dinner, and she excused herself immediately. She was a very conscientious teacher in the Chicago public schools, worked till late at night preparing lesson plans and such.
“What about weekends? Do you get to spend any time with her?
Chhote shrugged again. He was shrugging a lot.
“Yes, every Saturday, we drive out of town, to find a new temple, or a new Hare Krishna group, or some other religious gathering. The whole day is spent on prayers, bhajans and such. The praasad that I eat is usually pretty good though. And Sundays, she has special puja followed by lesson plans, homework-grading and all that.
“And she is only thirty years old! Well, at least you are eating well every Saturday. ” I said
Chhote laughed. He had a lot of patience.
For two days I listened to Sita speaking to me in the most comical Bengali accent . I left very baffled, to say the least.
Now, apart from professional and religious pursuits, young married couples also engage in some other pleasant activities, enthusiastically endorsed by all sorts of Hindu Gods, that usually result in the expansion of a nuclear family.
I never dared ask Chhote and Sita about this part of their married life.
Their childless marriage ended in a divorce after ten years. Like I said, Chhote had a lot of patience.
Well, these are the true ABCD’s. I met many others over the years as well.
So, to the hordes of self-proclaimed ABCD men and women of today, I have this message:
- You guys don’t stand a chance! You have been smoked already!.
- You are merely a group of fairly well-adjusted children of professional Indian folks that migrated here during the last twenty –five years.
- Sorry kids, you are not the true ABCD’s
However, should your profile fit the prototype of the accountant above, shoot me an e-mail.
I will first post a retraction of this blog, and then meet you in a bar where you prefer to drink coke.
I will buy you a coke and will gladly pay for a dance or two as well!
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