Being a Hindi-speaking South Indian!

I was stripped stark naked,

By keepers of heritage,

That’s what they claimed to be.

Smelled my skin

for a whiff of my religion,

Dissected my body

to look into my caste.

‘Where do you belong from?’ They probed. 

‘Where do I belong?’ They made me wonder.

Am I fair enough 

not to be an outcast?

Or am I too dark

to be on their side?

The borders that they traced

with human blood.

Am I not human enough

to blur those bloodlines?

Idli-sambar, lungi, madrasi, similarly-sounding languages and dark complexion - these are some of the things that cross people's mind when they think of the word 'South India'. But the things that prominently draw a wedge between South and North India are dark complexion and Hindi language. It is a very common perception that South Indians dislike Hindi and North Indians love Hindi, while in reality people from every state love their own language - if you're from Tamil Nadu you'll love Tamil, if you're from Gujarat you'll love Gujarati, if you're from Andhra Pradesh, you'll love Andhra-slang Telugu and if you're from Telangana you'll love Telangana-slang Telugu.

But in my case, I'm from Telangana and my mother tongue is Hindi, which is not uncommon in Hyderabad. However, when a larger picture was painted where people from other states and regions barged in I began to realize what identity crisis feels like. Sadly further, being a Hindi-speaking South India is more or less a taboo. And this is for a very simple but dented logic - If you're Hindi speaking person, you're a North Indian and if you're a South Indian, Hindi can't be your language.

I would've complied with that logic still if not for my skin colour. I have a dark complexion, which 'discredits' me from being a North Indian because incidentally all the North Indians are fair and all the South Indians are dark. (Yes, that's a very racist perception, but then who're more racist than we Indians, right?)

I didn't have this problem until I finished schooling. But when I started college and eventually working, one question I frequently faced was: How come your mother tongue is Hindi if Hyderabad is your native? It should be Telugu, no? Things got tricky when AP was bifurcated because Telugu-speaking people started choosing between AP and Telangana. I handled it gently as I chose to say 'I'm a Hyderabadi first', which was true though.

My identity crisis worsened when I started working in a place where there were people from different states proudly flaunting the consistency of their language and nativity - or maybe I imagined them flaunting it. Some tried to find 'my roots' by dissecting my surname. It was similar to that of Maharashtrians and people declared that I may be a Marathi. I'm not sure if my ancestors ever been to that state and the one time I've been to Mumbai I'm pretty certain I didn't have any 'deja vu' sort-of feeling, which they usually show in movies.

But then, I took it upon myself to find 'my roots' and I zeroed in on Ayodhya as many people from my community claimed that we are the descendants of some Surya Vamshi clan. I successfully found a link from a word in a Telugu song from the movie 'Sri Ramadasu' and rejoiced. But, do I have to play that song everytime someone questions 'my roots'?

I found my peace after I decided that I don't have to entertain anyone who wonders about my roots just because I'm a specimen that disturbs their stereotype of South India or of Hindi-speaking people. And also, I'm not the only one. There's a Marathi-speaking South Indian, a Punjabi-speaking South Indian just like there are Telugu-speaking North Indians and Malayali-speaking North Indians.

So, let's tweak the decades-long slogan of 'India is a diverse nation with various languages', by adding 'people speaking these varied tongues are spread across the country, but this is one nation'.