If you’re from the South Asian diaspora, the term “desi” is probably a familiar word to you. According to Merriam-Webster, the word itself is derived from the Hindi word “des,” meaning native or indigenous to a specific country, aka “desh,” a common adjective and descriptor used by South Asians living abroad.
It’s not a word limited to Indians either — it’s an identifier for many from the Indian subcontinent, along with Indo-Caribbean and East African diasporas. For a second-generation Pakistani immigrant like me, “desi” was a term I could use at a very young age to describe myself, especially when I felt alienated from my white peers and I wanted to find some commonality with the Brown people around me.
Like most of the identities used by the South Asian diaspora, “desi” doesn’t have a singular definition. It’s very multi-faceted — synonymous with the Patel Brothers my parents like to get their groceries from, doodh-soda, my obsession with “Tere Bin” and “I kicked it by mistake.” The biggest positive is linked to the immigrant experience itself, through the loneliness of moving to a new country, finding remnants of the familiar through Instagram meme pages, TikTok, Laam hauls or searching for desi playlists on Spotify.
Despite the positives for some, the word is definitely controversial. At its worst, “desi” is an incredibly North Indian term, associated with Bollywood movies that fail to represent the cultural and linguistic diversity of India and encourage homogeneity, rife with stereotypes and tokenization. Being categorized as “desi” is ignorant to many South Asian communities pushed aside.
This homogeneity was most recently showcased when “Naatu Naatu” from Tollywood film “RRR” won an Oscar — Bollywood playback singer Adnan Sami declared the win Indian, sparking a regional versus national controversy afterward.
Part of the criticism surrounding “desi” is also reminiscent of a certain kind of mango diaspora poetry, aka privileged Rupi Kaur-esque writing that fails to recognize the nuance in immigrant experience and centers squarely on trauma porn. It’s often adjacent to upper-middle-class-centered perceptions, seen in the ignorance of colorism in South Asian media or surface-level assumptions of societal classism on trips to the motherland. I’ve fallen victim to this sort of writing as well — it definitely stems from an innate desire to be closer to your culture without recognizing your own privilege.
As a Punjabi Pakistani Muslim, I feel somewhat neutral toward “desi.” I definitely do use it when I’m feeling othered at my predominantly white university but in Brown spaces, “desi” doesn’t quite encompass my heritage either. It doesn’t resonate with me the same, especially as someone who can speak (somewhat) passable Urdu, watch saas-bahu Pakistani drama serials and listen to Qawwali. In a long list of identifiers, I use “desi” the least.
That being said, I’m still learning a lot about my own heritage. It’s been a gradual process — making the effort to love my culture and learn more about my ancestors while giving myself some grace to grow past my initial perceptions and towards the nitty-gritty.
With the beginning of Asian Pacific Islander South Asian American month getting closer, it’s important to highlight South Asian identities as part of the Asian American community on campus. Until now, I’ve never truly felt Asian. In my eyes, that’s always denoted someone of East Asian descent. Whether you identify as “desi,” Brown or part of a South Asian community, celebrating the diversity of Asia, and the South Asian subcontinent, is always a win.
