Introducing The Next Generation Of Leaders And Thinkers

Why Indian Representation Matters

landscape-1458762569-zayn-malik-with-pink-hair-at-the-pre-grammy-galaIt was 12:00 am, March 25, 2016. Zayn’s debut album, Mind of Mine, had just been released. I wasted no time in downloading it, nevermind my sleepiness. As my iPhone finished syncing my music, I hopped in bed, popped some earphones in, and let the album run its course. My eyes closed and I slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, admiring the soothing, laid-back vibe of the album. Zayn crooned about reckless love, break-ups, and drinking while my body started to relax and my breathing became heavier. Then, the intermission song, “fLoWer”, came on. Suddenly, I was wide awake.

Suddenly, I was hearing the songs of my childhood-the various cassettes my mom had owned with Hindi and Urdu songs. Suddenly, I was at our family gatherings with the old-fashioned battery-operated stereo. I quickly fumbled around in bed, trying to extract my phone from under my pillow. My heart was racing but I didn’t dare to hope. I thought that I had perhaps forgotten to set Zayn’s album on repeat and somehow my iTunes had moved on to my Hindi playlist. Even as I heard Zayn’s distinct voice, I still refused to believe it. I actually checked my phone to see if it was still playing Mind of Mine, because there was no way I was hearing a song in my language, in Urdu, by a mainstream artist, by my favorite male artist, no less. And yet, here it clearly was.

Naturally, I jumped out of bed and ran into the living room screaming to my roommates that Zayn had recorded a song in my own language. I sent my family a link to the song. And for the first time ever, they enjoyed a song made by a mainstream artist. Elated, I texted all my Desi friends and we all fangirled over the song.

For the first time ever, I didn’t feel invisible. And I sure as heck was happy about it.

I rarely came across people that know of Urdu’s existence. As an American-born Indo-Fijian, I speak Hindustani, also known as Fijian Hindi. Although I am lucky enough to live in the diverse Bay Area, rarely do I come across people who have at least heard of the language Hindi. (I am even harder put to find people who have ever heard of Urdu.) It would be nice for others to be able to identify my language, as well as the culture that comes along with It, as its own entity rather than associate it with some stripped down, warbled, appropriated version that does it no justice.

Once, my friend asked me what language I spoke. I said Hindi. She responded with “Oh, is that like the stuff in Selena Gomez’s music video, Come and Get it?” Oh, you could just imagine my joy at being vaguely recognized in a song sung by a Latina artist that is commonly cited as a prime example of cultural appropriation. (/sarcasm)

Now replace that with someone who is doing the language and the culture justice-Zayn. You can only imagine my genuine pleasure and happiness.

Zayn produced one song in Urdu. That shouldn’t be a big deal, right? wRoNg. It is true that Zayn is relatively quiet when it comes to social justice. He stated in an interview that he “just doesn’t want to be influential in that sense.” Okay, so maybe he’s not one of those figures that heavily advocates for representation and social justice. But he did create a song in Urdu that many from the Desi community found representation and solace in.

fLoWer is a mere 1-minute 44-second intermission track. But it’s enough to make me feel visible. And that makes a world of difference.

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