i remember being in elementary school pretending like i didn’t understand my native language whenever someone spoke it. i pretended to not know what bollywood was and i would purposely mispronounce indian names of students. growing up in a predominantly immigrant area in new york, i prided myself on being “american” and “cool”.

god forbid my peers ever found out that i was the family translator at home who spoke on behalf of two immigrant parents that had struggles of their own in understanding a completely foreign world. looking back, i’m ashamed for not fully embracing my mother tongue and being proud of it. truthfully speaking, the punjabi tongue is one of the most beautiful; it can flow like a river or sting like a scorpion. how stupid was i to not even acknowledge it in fear of my stupid adolescent image.

it’s so important to remember our dialect because it shapes us and our future families for generations to come. even though i occasionally forget words or mispronounce certain phrases, my mother tongue will always be my home. the strangeness in our mouths is only temporary; the language of our mother countries will always take precedence.