I find myself beyond the limitations of identity

I decided long ago I am a ……….. This is the identity I am most comfortable with. Born, raised and educated in a conflicted environment. I am a person extremely sensitive about Nepali communities when with Indian communities, Indian communities when with Nepali communities and Tibetan when with both communities. When outside these communities, I neither know how fully to associate with them, nor know how fully disassociate.

 When very young, perhaps fifth grader, the question of my identity put me in a sort of crisis. Indian history book, Bollywood movies and Indian soil where I spent one third of my life told me numerous times I was an Indian. But the nation where I was born, a nation where my house lies had told me a different story, she convinces me I was a Nepali. Contrary to both arguments  our traditional belief, Chupa my mother wears, languages I speak at home and above all Tibetans in my soul never let me become both. Instead keep on telling me, I was a Tibetan until ultimately I grew confused and embarrassed.

If I was Tibetan, what right did I have to be living here in Kathmandu, speaking Nepali, being friend with those other children and what right I have to ShymbhouNath and BouddhaNath. Eventually if I was Nepali, what right did I had that I have done my schooling in India, to my school uniform, to the Indian national anthem, to local Momo’S of Darjelling and to the holy Bodhgaya. Equally  If I was Indian, what right did my mother have that she wear Chupa, what right I have that I speak Tibetan at home, to Tibetan Losar , to His Holiness.

After too many friends, too many uncles and aunties , too many strangers and tourist had asked me who I was , I went to my father  and question him. Who I was? A Tibetan, a Nepali or an Indian. And my father, so quickly frown and whisper, did not frown and whisper. He was emphatic and definite. But without an answer.  All he said was not Indian for sure, as he has nothing to relate with India but partly I was.  I had so many things to relate.

I whispered to myself am I identityless, no never I am not  identityless, nobody is and even I am not. Is it because of my father who says his father was migrated from Tibet before occupation but he had no evidence to relate to when? Why?  It may be because his foolishness. Or it might be because of the influence of Indian soil that jeopardize my identity. But above all I believed It is because of a strong desire to understand who we're, who we are now  and how our search for identity result in affects in our perception and action. In those searching evenings I called myself………. I loved the word because being it , I find myself beyond the limitation of identities.