A sum of our parts
THE
CULTURE OF
DIASPORA
IS WHAT
WE ARE
SHAPING
NOW, SAYS
REETA LOIThe culture of diaspora is something
I increasingly find myself having
conversations about. Especially be-
cause of the nuances that affect us as
queers of the diaspora.
We were raised in a time capsule.
Our parents and grandparents have
left the motherland – in my case a
partitioned Punjab, from where my
grandfather, a soldier in the British
Indian Army, was given the option of
coming to the UK. He chose to take
a brave and monumental step for
the security it might lend to future
generations of our family.
At the age of 13, my dad arrived
with his brothers and father in Eng-
land. Without their mother or sisters,
these boys must have missed home.
Without the familiar customs, food,
codes and language of the village
back home, they must have clung to
each other and the other Punjabis
they met.
My parents carry a snapshot of
a romanticised life from their youth.
They carry it in their pockets and use
it as a benchmark by which to raise
us. This is the time capsule. Waking to
the smell of aloo paratha on Sunday
mornings, made with love by my
mother and devoured with mango
achar (pickle) and dahi (homemade
yoghurt). The sound of 60s Hindi
love songs, sung with heartfelt and
breathtaking scales in poetry that
only forbidden love can muster in
the soul. Songs played on cassette in
the car with too many of us in there,
and the films that these songs were
nestled in. The protagonists were the
centrepiece of our homes. The dances,
the costumes, the three hours we
would invest learning what it was
to be Indian through Bobby, Sholay,
Mughal-E-Azam.
Outside of our homes, we as-
similated into a British school system,
white workplaces and friendship
circles. Compartmentalising all the
while, in the way our parents and
society had taught us. Never taking up
space. Quietly fitting in, always in fear
of being outed as other, foreign, not
from around here.
I was six years old and it was
nearing Remembrance Day. They
were selling memorial poppies at my
primary school and I bought one. A
white kid said I didn’t have a right
to wear it. I calmly explained that
my grandfather was a soldier in the
Second World War. I wish I’d known
then that Indians made up the largest
contingent of the British Army at that
time, but I think I made my point.
Compartmentalising is a survival
tool for those of us living in a foreignland constantly reminding us we are
not wanted, not good enough, and
must always bend to align with white
supremacy. Code switching, as it’s
now referred to, is the ability to adapt
to a particular audience or environ-
ment in order for them to benefit
and us to avoid conflict, survive, be
at peace. It’s tiring and quite a bore. I
don’t do it anymore. I bring my entire
self to everything I do, without apol-
ogy. Therein lies my power. We would
not be marginalised, colonised or
oppressed were it not for our inherent
power as women, as people from rich
and thriving cultures and as liberated
and free queers.We were raised in a time capsule.
Yet here we are, able to time travel
the multiple facets that make up who
we are and live just the lives that
generations of sacrifice could only
have dreamed of for us. All we have
to do is step into that knowledge,
because we are freer than we have
been in a very long time.I bring my entire
self to everything I do,
without apology”
REETA LOI
is a musician and
DJ aka LOIAL,
writer and CEO
of Gaysians.org
@r_e_e_t_a_25VIEWS | REETA LOI