A Brown Woman’s Story
By Jaya Pandey
A friend once sent me a text message saying she admired how authentic and real I am—how I take pride in who I am, and in doing so, liberate those around me to be themselves. “Thank you, M K,” I am grateful for your comment as your words opened the floodgates of reflection and emotions.
At 32, I was a young mother with two children when we moved to Franklin. It was an exciting time in our lives—our first home in a country we had moved to just four years earlier. I had small, young dreams, two adorable children, and an amazing husband, and I looked forward to this new chapter. However, adjusting wasn’t easy, as most Indian immigrant women will understand. Without household help, managing the household, cooking, cleaning, and raising children became my sole focus. I never had to do any of these on my own before. Here I was, navigating meal planning, driving, and managing the schedules of three other people in the house. Yet, I was happy and enjoying this exciting journey. Life was busy, leaving no time for anything else.
In the back of my mind, though, I longed for friends in this new town. The rental community we lived in for four years had many Indian families—people of all ages, many of whom had moved to Franklin the same year. Despite having a supportive Indian circle, I yearned for a more diverse group of friends.
Perhaps I had been influenced by movies, books, or TV shows—stories where women hang out together, go to movies, or grab drinks, support each other, be there for one another through thick and thin. Growing up in India, I didn’t have the time or inclination for “kitty parties.” Instead, I surrounded myself with friends who shared interests in reading, writing, and music. Moving to Franklin, I hoped for the same.
But reality was a shock. Things weren’t as easy as I had imagined. As a Brown, immigrant woman in a predominantly white town, I stood out. Franklin hadn’t seen many immigrant families before, and people didn’t quite know what to make of us.
I am grateful to a few families who welcomed us with genuine curiosity about our culture. I’ll never forget my son’s elementary school classmates’ mothers who comforted me, taught me things about American culture, music, and history. Their warmth helped wash away the sting of negative remarks and judgmental stares.
I’ll always be thankful for my son’s teachers—his first-grade teacher, Mrs. R, who made me feel welcome and allowed me to help in the classroom, and his second-grade teacher, Mrs. Y, who patiently answered my questions. I cherish the memory of being the “book mom” for his fourth-grade class and the chance to contribute to the school’s website alongside the resource staff. His fourth-grade teacher remains a good friend to this day.
When we moved to Franklin my older son was in first grade. It was a challenging transition for him—his friends in Norwood were all Indian, but when we moved to Franklin, he didn’t find a single Indian friend. This change affected him in many ways. The lunches I packed for him, freshly made each morning, didn’t matter to him. What mattered was that they didn’t look like the sandwiches Steve or Andrew got from home. His teacher was wonderful and played a crucial role in helping us navigate that transition. I am forever grateful to Mrs. R.
However, the hurt lingered from moments like being excluded by the Franklin moms. At a parent council meeting, I felt judged by my appearance. I had hurriedly fed my kids, made dinner, and thrown on jeans, a sweater, and sneakers—only to find the other moms dressed in beautiful outfits. I felt invisible, unworthy of their attention or inclusion. That one evening taught me so much about acceptance, kindness, and the importance of being nonjudgmental. In a way, I am grateful for that experience.
Identity and connection are complex topics. As immigrants, we often move from feeling like outsiders to gradually claiming a sense of belonging. For me, it has been a journey of learning and growth.
Initially, I tried to fit in—learning social norms, donning dresses, and adapting to American culture. While I met wonderful people and gained valuable experiences, I eventually realized this wasn’t who I truly was. I found joy in wearing sarees and chose dresses only on my own terms.
Over time, I learned to embrace my duality—there are places where I take pride in being an Indian woman, and others where I feel comfortable in shorts or jeans. It has taken time to find the balance that lets me live authentically.
Even at 54, I grapple with defining my identity. I hold onto rituals and customs, not just as a nod to Indian culture, but because they shape who I am. That is one reason I celebrate Diwali at my home with my non-Indian neighbors and friends every year. Simultaneously, I’ve embraced aspects of my adopted home, letting go of baggage from my childhood in India while cherishing freedoms like self-expression.
Letting go of my Indian citizenship to become an American citizen was bittersweet. While I enjoy trips to India, my heart always yearns for the comforts and clarity of my home in the U.S. I call myself a global citizen—belonging everywhere and nowhere—but I’m grateful to experience the best of both worlds.
I left India when I was not even 26, setting up a home and raising two young children in two different foreign countries. My life in Singapore was comfortable, and I never felt out of place there. Its close proximity to India made it the perfect first move away from “home” and family. I could visit my family every six months. But moving to the United States was an entirely different experience.
Back then, there was no internet, no Facebook, and no WhatsApp, which made staying connected incredibly difficult. I missed out on the tremendous growth happening in India during those years. My husband, a computer engineer, had left India because there wasn’t enough quality work available then. I was so focused on raising children that I didn’t realize how rapidly things were changing. The internet and telecommunications boom transformed India into a global technology hub.
Visiting family was rare and expensive in those days. It wasn’t until 2012 that I decided to make an annual trip to India. By then, the kids were older and could manage without me for a few weeks. Traveling with four people had always seemed too costly. Looking back, I realize how foolish that thinking was. If I could do it all over again, I would visit far more frequently.
Now, when I visit, I see how much has changed. India has grown in ways I never could have imagined. Yet, at times, I feel disconnected from this new India. It doesn’t feel like the India I left behind, and even the people I grew up with seem different. I’ve missed major milestones in my families’ lives—my sisters getting married, where I was present only as a guest, not an integral part of the process. I missed seeing their young children grow up. I don’t have many memories of my parents in their late 50s and 60s, and those are the moments I regret missing the most.
The past catches up with the present in many ways. I cannot abandon my Desi ideology and transform overnight. My kids have to navigate the confusion of their mom balancing between two cultures.
I struggle with what I jokingly call the “overbearing Desi mom syndrome.” I’ve been overprotective, wanting to do things for my kids while also hoping they learn from our mistakes. I am frugal, hesitant to spend on fun things or designer clothes. My son often teased me about my love for reusable boxes, making up stories about “Mom’s reasons” for not using disposables. It’s such an Indian thing to make use of everything to the fullest—throwing away items in good condition feels wasteful.
Even today, wasting food or discarding things unnecessarily bothers me deeply. I feel in affluent countries, people often lack a sense of value for money or resources. Growing up in India, we learned to maximize what we had, sharing leftover items with maids or neighbors. It’s a mindset that I carry with me, even as I navigate life in a more abundant society.
Still, I believe we’ve done better than our parents in balancing life. We’ve lived for ourselves too, finding moments of joy and independence amidst the responsibilities. I am comfortable in my skin and my identity, and grateful to everyone who has helped me grow. Grateful to have each day as an opportunity to learn, connect, and embrace who I am, wherever life takes me. While I strive to blend two cultures seamlessly, I remain rooted in the values that shaped me—a journey of constant growth, resilience, and gratitude.
